^•UBRARYOA,       ^E-UBRARY 


-UNIVBMfe. 


s$HMVB%      ^dftMGH&x 

oy,         ••&%     ^  ^-^        •>• 


o     ^? 

T       O 


§        "- 


THE 


WOBSIBfl 


OF 


THOMAS   MOORE, 


INCLUDING   HIS 


,  etc. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOL.UJIE 


CRISSY  &  MARKLEY,  GOLDSMITH'S  HALL, 

LIBRARY  STREET. 

AND  CHARLES  DESILVER,  No.  253  MARKET  STREET. 


CONTENTS. 


Pa«c. 


LALLA  IloOKII. 

The  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan      . 

Paradise  and  the  Peri       .        .        . 

The  Fire-worshippers          .        .*       . 

The  Light  of  the  Ilaram 

Notes  ...  ... 

EPISTLES,  ODES,  and  OTHER  POEMS. 

Dedication  .        . 

Preface 

EPISTLE  I.  To  Lord  Viscount  Strangford     100 

Stanzas 101 

The  Tell-tale  Lyre      .        .        .        .        .    ib. 

To  the  Flying  Fish  .  .102 

EPISTLE  II.    To  Miss  M— e      .        .        .  i&. 

ToCara                             ....  103 

To  ditto 104 

To  the  Invisible  Girl        ....  ib. 

Peace  and  Glory ib. 

To ,  1801 105 

Song    .                ib. 

The  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp     .        .  ib. 
EPISTLE  III.  To  the  Marchioness  Dowager 

of  D 11 106 

The  Genius  of  Harmony         .        .        .  107 

EPISTLE  IV.  To  G.  Morgan,  Esquire         .  108 

TIT?  Ring 109 

To ,  on  seeing  her  with  a  white 


veil  and  a  rich  girdle 
The  Resemblance 
To 


From  the  Greek  of  Meleager  . 

Lines,  written  in  a  storm  at  sea    .        - 

Odes  to  Nea    .... 

I  pray  you  let  us  roam  no  more   . 

You  read  it  in  my  languid  eyes 

A  Dream  of  Antiquity 

Well — peace  to  thy  heart         .' 

If  I  were  yonder  wave 

On  seeing  an  infant  in  Nea's  arms   . 

The  Snow  Spirit          .... 

I  stole  along  the  flowery  bank 

On  the  loss  of  a  letter  intended  for  Nea 

1  found  her  not         .... 

A  Kiss  a  V  Antique       .... 

There's  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine 

EPISTLE  V.    To  Joseph  Atkinson.  Esq 

Love  and  Reason     .... 

Nay,  do  not  weep,  my  Fanny  dear 

Aspasia    ....  . 

The  Grecian  Girl's  Dream  . 

The  Senses 120 

The  Steersman's  Song        .        .        .  H>. 

ToCloe  .  121 

To  the  Fire-fly it>. 

The  Vase ib. 

The  Wreath  and  the  Chain          .        .        .    ib. 


lagn. 
The  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head       .        .  121 

To 122 

EPISTLE  VI.  To  Lord  Viscount  Forbes  ib. 
Song  ...  ...  124 

Lying •        ib. 

Anacreontic     ...  .        .        16. 

To 's  Picture         ...  ib. 

Fragment  of  a  Mythological  Hymn  .  125 
To  the  Duke  of  Montpensier  .  ib. 

Aristippus  to  his  Lamp  .        ib. 

To  Mrs.  B— 1— d,  written  in  her  Album  .  127 
EPISTLE  VII.  To  T.  Hume,  Esq.  .  A. 
The  Snake  .  .  .129 

Lines  written  on  leaving  Philadelphia  ib. 

The  fall  of  Hebe t&. 

To ...  .131 

Anacreontic  ....  t&. 

To  Mrs. 


-,  on  some  calumnies  against 

her  character 

Hymn  of  a  Virgin  of  Delphi,  at  the  tomb  of 

her  mother 

Rings  and  Seals       .... 
To  Miss  Susan  B-ckf— d    . 
Lines  written  at  the  Cohos  falls 
Chloris  and  Fanny       .        .  .        . 

To  Miss 

To ,  on  asking  me  to  address  a 

poem  to  her          ..... 
Song  of  the  Evil  Spirit  of  the  Woods    . 
To  Mrs.  Henry  T-ghe         .... 
Impromptu  on  leaving  some  friends         . 
EPISTLE  VIII.    To  the  lit.  Hon.  W    R. 

Spencer        ...  . 

A  Warning 

To 

From  the  High  Priest  of  Apollo,  to  a  Virgin 

of  Delphi  .  .        . 

Woman 

Ballad  Stan/as          .                  ... 
To 


A  Vision  of  Philosophy 

To 

Dreams    . 


To  Mrs. 

A  Canadian  boat-song      .... 

EPISTLE  IX.  To  the  Lady  Charlotte  R-wd-n 
Impromptu,  after  a  visit  to  Mrs. ,  of 

Montreal       ...  . 

Lines  written  on  passing  Deadman's  Island 
To  the  Boston  frigate       .... 
To  La<iy  H ,  on  an  old  ring,  found  at 

Tunbridge-wells 

To 

Extract  from  the  Devil  among  the  Scholars 
Fragments  of  a  Journal  .... 
To  a  Friend 


132 

ib 

ib. 
133 

t&. 
134 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
135 
136 

ib. 
137 
ib. 

138 
139 

ib. 

ib. 
MO 
11-2 

ib. 
143 

it 

ib. 


140 
ib. 

147 

*. 
150 


CONTENTS. 


Fanny,  ray  lore,  we  ne'er  were  sages  .        . 

Song 

11  the  Greek  . 
On  a  beautiful  East-Indian 

At  night  .  • 

INTERCEPTED  LETTERS ;  or,  THE  TWO- 
PEN  NY  POST-BAG 
Dedication,  Prefaces,  etc. 
Appendix     . 
THE  fODGB  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 

Preface,  etc 

Notes 

TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 
Preface,  etc. 


A 
251 


154 


164 

183 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD,  etc. 

Nou» 

FABLES  FOR  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 

The  Dissolution  of  the  Holy  Alliance 

The  Looking-glasses        .... 

The  Fly  and  the  Bullock     . 

Church  and  State 

The  Little  Grand  Lama      .        . 

The  Extinguishers 

CORRUPTION  (an  epistle,)  Preface,  etc  . 

IN  TOLERANCE  (a  poem)  .... 

Appendix •        • 

THE  SCEPTIC,  Preface,  etc.      . 
ODES  OF  ANACRF.oN. 

Index  showing  the  number  of  each 
Ode  in  Barnes'  and  other  editions 
An  Ode  by  the  Translator 
Remarks  on  Anacreon 
1. 1  saw  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure 
II.  Give  me  the  harp  of  epic  song 

III.  Listen  to  the  Muse's  Lyre 

I V.  Vulcan !  hear  your  glorious  task    . 
V.  Grave  me  a  cup  with  brilliant  grace 

VI.  As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers 
VII.  The  women  tell  me  every  day  . 
VIII.  I  rare  not  for  the  idle  state     . 
IX.  I  pray  thee  by  the  gods  above  . 
X .  Till  me  how  to  punish  thee  . 
XI.  Tell  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee    . 
XII.  They. tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love 

XIII.  I  will,  I  will ;  the  conflict 's  past 

XIV.  Count  me  on  the  summer  trees 
XV.  TV II  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove 

XVI.  Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues    . 
XVII.  And  now,  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth 
XVIII.  Now  the  star  of  Jay  is  high 
XIX.  Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid 
XX.  One  day  the  Muses  twined  the  hands 

;   Olwrvc  when  mother  Earth  is  dry 
XXII  The  Phrygian  rock  that  braves  the 

-•"'.  i          .... 
XXIII  I  often  wish  this  languid  lyre         . 
XXIV.  T«  :ill  that  breathe  the  airs  of  heaven 
XXV.  ( )nce  in  each  revolving  year 
XXVI.  Thy  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms 
XXVII.  \\ '••  rr  :<!  the  flying  courser's  name 
XXVIII   AR  in  the  Lemnian  caves  of  fire 


135 
201 
209 


XXIX.  Yes — loving  is  a  painful  thrill    . 
XXX.  'T  was  in  an  airy  dream  of  night  . 
XXXI.  Arm'd  with  a  hyacinthine  rod    . 
\XXII.  Strew  me  a  breathing  bed  of  leaves 
XXXIIL  'T  was  noon  of  night  when  round  the 

pole 

XXXIV.  Oh  thou  of  all  creation  bles*'d 
XXXV.  Cupid  once  upon  a  bed 
XXXVI.  If  hoarded  gold  possess'd  a  power 

XXXVII.  'T  was  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl  i 

XXXVIII.  Let  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl 
XXXIX.  How  I  love  the  festive  boy        .        •  255 

XL.  I  know  that  Heaven  ordains  me  here    rb. 
XLI.  When  Spring  begems  the  dewy  scene 
XLI  I.  Yes,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine 
XLIII.  While  our  rosy  fillets  shed    . 
XLIV.  Buds  of  roses,  virgin  flowers     . 
XLV.  Within  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep  . 
XLVL  See,  the  young,  the  rosy  spring 
XLV1I.  'T  is  true,  my  fading  years  decline 
XLVIII.  When  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep 


838 

833 
ft. 

•2:;? 
ft, 

as 
ft. 

ft. 
a,. 

239 

ib. 
240 

ib. 

ib. 

il,. 
241 

ib. 

243 
244 
,  245 
246 
ft. 
Ml 

ft, 

ft, 
MS 

ft. 
ib. 
250 


ib. 


ih. 

2o3 

ib. 


256 
ib 
ib 

257 
ib 
ft. 

253 


,\  i  ,  >  i  i  i .    rr *•»»•  »"j    «••'-• — j    -~ 

XLIX.  When  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy    to. 


ib. 
259 


L.  When  I  drink,  I  feel,  I  feel 
LI.  Fly  not  thus  my  brow  of  snow 
LII.  Away,  away,  you  men  of  rules 
LIU-  When  I  behold  the  festive  train 
LIV.  Methinks  the  pictured  bull  we  see    .  260 
LV.  While  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring    ib 
LVI.  He  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew     ' 
LVII.  And  whose  immortal  hand  could  shed  262 
LVIII.  When  gold,  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  pinion    io 
LIX.  Sabled  by  the  solar  beam 
LX.  Awake  to  life,  my  dulcet  shell  .        .  264 
LXI.  Golden  hues  of  youth  are  fled 
LXII.  Fill  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 
LXIII.  To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child     ib 
LX1V.  Haste  thee,  nymph,  whose  winged 

spear *• 

LXV.  Like  some  wanton  filly  sporting       .     ih. 
LXVI.  To  thee,  the  queen  of  nymphs  divine  2f 
LXVII.  Gentle  youth!  whose  looks  assume  .    ib 
LXVIII.  Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn         .         * 
LXIX.  Now  Neptune's  sullen  month  appear* 


LXX.  They  wove  the  lotus  band,  to  decx  .  267 


LXXI.  A  broken  cake,  with  honey  swe-n 
LXXII.  With  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hurg 
LXXI II.  Fare  thee  well,  perfidious  maid 
LXX1V.  I  bloom'd  awhile,  a  happy  flower  . 
LXXV.  Monarch  Love  !  resistless  boy   . 
LXX VI.  Spirit  of  Love,  whose  tresses  shine 
LXX VI I.  Hither,  gentle  muse  of  mine 
LXX VIII.  Would  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre 
LXXIX.  When  Cupid  sees  my  beard  of  snow 

FRAGMENTS 

Cupid,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 
Let  me  resign  a  wretched  breath 
I  know  thou  lovest  a  brimming  measure  . 
I  fear  that  love  disturbs  my  rest  . 
From  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  steep     . 
Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine 

EPIGRAMS  TRANSLATED  FROM  ANTIPATER 

SIDONII-S. 

Around  the  tomb,  oh  bard  divine! 
Here  sleeps  Anacreon.  in  this  ivied  shade 


ib. 
ib. 
ib 
ib 
ih 
2 

268 
ib 
ib 

ib 
ib 
ib 
ib 
ib 
ib 


269 
ih 


r                                        i 

CONTENTS. 

r 

Oh  stranger!  if  Anacreon's  shell 
At  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wing'd  their 
flight 
LITTLE'S  POEMS. 
Preface        .... 
Dedication        ...                 .        • 

2C9 
270 

271 
272 
iTi 

Page. 

The  Shield       .        .                .                       282 
To  Mrs           —             ...                        A. 

Elegiac  Stanzas        ...                        283 
Fanny  of  Timmol        ...                 .    A. 
A  Night-thought       .                          .        .        ib 
Elegiac  Stanzas  .                 ....  284 
The  Kiss          A. 
To                A 

To  a  Lady,  with  some  manuscript  poems 
Tn  Mr- 

ib. 
273 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
ib. 
274 
A. 

A  reflection  at  Sea  ib 

An  ode  upon  morning     .                .              285 
Song    A 
Come,  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found   .      286 
Sweetest  love  !  I'  11  not  forget  thee      .             A. 
If  I  swear  by  that  eye      .                 .        .        A. 
Julia's  Kiss           A. 
To                    i&. 

Inconstancy          .... 
Imitation  of  Catullus 

•M        =      '       T      U    1 

ib. 
275 
ib. 

ib. 

A. 
276 
A. 

,7, 

To  Mrs.  M  .                 .                 .        • 
Song        ...                ,        .        . 
To  Julia       .                                  ... 

Fly  from  the  world,  O  Bessy  !  to  me  .        .  287 
Think  on  that  look  of  humid  roy     .        .        A. 
A  captive  thus  to  thee          .        .        .        .    A 
The  Catalogue         ib 
A  Fragment         .                        ...  288 
Where  is  the  nymph                                            A. 
When  time  who  steals  our  years  away        .    ib. 
The  Shrine      A. 

Sympathy          .... 

ib. 

The  Ring         ib. 

Of  all  my  happiest  hours  of  joy          .        .292 
To  a  boy  with  a  watch    ...                 A. 
Fragments  of  College  exercises  .        .        .    ib. 
Mary,  I  believed  thee  true        .        .        .      293 
Why  does  azure  deck  the  sky      .                 .    A. 
Morality,  a  familiar  epistle       ...        ib. 
The  Natal  Genius,  a  dream          .        .        .  294 

THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 
Preface    etc                                                 .      295 

Written  in  the  blank  leaf  of  a  Lady's  com- 
mon-place b6ok         .                 . 

ih. 
277 
ib. 
ib. 

ih. 
ib. 

278 

A. 

A. 
A. 
A. 

279 
A. 
ih 

To  Ditto      ...                ... 
Rondeau           ...... 
An  Argument  to  any  Phillis  or  Chloe 
To  Rosa  

Notes  ....                ...  311 

IRISH  MELODIES.—  No.  I. 

Advertisement  to  the  First  and  Second  Num- 
bers                 316 

Oh,  woman,  if  by  simple  wile     ... 

The  Kiss      

To  Mi-?3  •  j 

Go  where  glory  waits  thee          .        .        .    ib. 
Remember  the  glories  of  Brien  the  brave       317 
Erin  !  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes        A. 
Oh  !  breathe  not  his  name           .        .        .    A. 
When  he  who  adores  thee       .        .        .        ib. 
The  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  halls      .    A. 
Fly  not  yet,  't  is  just  the  hour  .                      318 
Oh!  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light     A. 
Though  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin          .        .    A. 
Rich  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore    .        ib. 
As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters          .  319 
There  is  not  in  this  wide  world        .        .        A. 

No.  II. 
Oh  !  haste  and  leave  this  sacred  isle    .        .    A. 
How  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  daylight  dies    A. 
Take  back  the  virgin  page                                   A. 
When  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline      .        .  320 
How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried        .        .        A. 
We  may  roam  through  this  world        .        .    it). 
Oh  !  weep  for  the  hour    ....      321 
Let  Erin  remember  the  days  of  old     .        .    A. 
Silent,  oh  Moyle  !  be  the  roar  of  thy  water      A. 
Come,  send  round  the  wine    .        .                 A 

Nonsense     ...                          .        . 
To  Julia,  on  her  birth-day        ... 

To  Rosa  ....                .        . 

Love  in  a  Storm          .                        .        . 
Song         .                          .... 
The  surprise        .                 ... 

A. 

A. 
A. 
280 
A. 
ib 

To  Phillis    

Song         .                          .... 
The  Ballad          

A. 

ih. 

ib. 
281 
A. 
A. 
A. 
A. 
A. 
il 

lure's  Kiss         ..... 
To  a  Lady,  on  her  Singing 
A  Dream          
Written  in  a  common-place  book        . 

Song    .                          
The  tear  .        .                .... 
To 

To  Julia  weeping     .        .                 .        . 

CONTENTS 


Page. 
Sublime  wm«  the  warning  which  Liberty 

•poke 3** 

Believe  m«,  if  all  tho«e  endearing  young 

charms          ...  .    *»• 

No  III. 

Letter  to  the  Marchioness  Dowager  of  Do- 
negal          *• 

Like  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  .        .        .325 
Drink  to  her,  who  long    .        .        . 
Oh !  blame  not  the  bard       .  .        .  326 

While  gazing  on  the  moon's  light  .        it. 

Wh.-n  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the 

billow .  #• 

By  the  hope,  within  us  springing  .  .  327 
Night  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way  16. 
Oh !  t'  is  sweet  to  think,  that,  where'er  we 

roam •&• 

Through  grief  and  through  danger  .  .  323 
When  through  life  unbless'd  we  rove  .  ib. 
It  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed  .  .  A. 
T  is  believed  that  this  harp,  which  I  wake 

now Si. 

No.  IV. 

Advertisement 329 

Oh !  the  days  are  gone,  when  beauty  bright  ib. 
Though  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we  '11 

forget  them '?>• 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past  .  .  330 
Lesbia  hath  a  beaming  eye  .  .  .  ih. 
I  saw  thy  form  in  youthful  prime  .  .  ib. 
By  that  lake,  whose  gloomy  shore  .  .  331 
She  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young 

hero  sleeps ib. 

Nay,  tell  me  not,  dear,  that  the  goblet  drowns  ih. 
Avenging  and  bright  fell  the  swift  sword  of 

F.rin  ....  .        ib. 

What  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret  .  .  .  332 
Here  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers  .  .  >6. 
This  life  is  all  chequer' d  with  pleasures  and 

woe*    .       .  .  .        .    S>. 

No.  V. 

Advertisement         .....      333 

Through  Erin's  isle 16. 

At  the  'mid  hour  of  night,  when  stars  are 

weeping ,7,. 

One  bumper  at  parting! — though  many  .334 
*T  is  the  lart  rose  of  summer  .  .  .  j7». 
The  young  May-moon  is  beaming,  love  .  ib. 
The  minstrel-boy  to  the  war  is  gone  .  ib. 
The  valley  lay  smiling  before  me  .  .  «6. 
Oh!  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  .  .  335 
Farewell ! — but  whenever  you  welcome  the 

hour ,7, 

Oh  !  doubt  me  not — the  season        .        .        ih. 
You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride        33f> 
I  *d  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me      .        .    ib 
No.  VI. 

Advertisement          ....  ?7> 

»>r  the  sea ,7, 

Has  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded  .  337 
No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers  ih. 
:ir*t  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young  .  #>. 
VN  hile  History's  muse  the  memorial  was 

338 


Page 

The  time  I  've  lost  in  wooing  33ft 

Where  is  the  slave,  so  lowly  .        .     it. 

Come,  rest  in  this  bosom,  .  .  .  ib. 
'T  is  gone,  and  for  ever,  the  light  we  saw 

breaking 339 

I  saw  from  the  beach       ...  16. 

Fill  the  bumper  fair !  .        .        .    «& 

Dear  harp  of  my  country         .        .  ib. 

No.  VII. 

Advertisement 340 

My  gentle  harp !  once  more  I  waken  tb 

As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track        .  i?>. 

In  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are 

unknown 34 

When  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  .  3> 
Remember  thee !  yes,  while  there  "s  life  in 

this  heart  .  ib 

Wreath  the  bowl li 

Whene'er  I  see  those  smiling  eyes  .  .  34S 
If  thou  'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air  .  ib. 
To  ladies'  eyes  a  round,  boy  .  ib. 

Forget  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd  .  ib 
They  may  rail  at  this  life — from  the  hour  I 

began  it 343 

Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  time    .        .        ib. 
No.  VIII. 

Ne'er  ask  the  hour — what  is  it  to  us  .    ib. 

Sail  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark    .  ib. 

Yes,  sad  one  of  Sfcon — if  closely  resembling  344 
Drink  of  this  cup — you  '11  find  there  's  a  spell  ib- 
Down  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-nignt  ib 
Oh,  ye  dead !  oh,  ye  dead !  whom  we  know  345 
Of  all  the  fair  months  that  round  the  sun  ib 
How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  makes  .  .  ib 
Oh,  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bowers  ib. 
The  dawning  of  morn,  the  daylight's  sinking  346 
Shall  the  harp  then  be  silent  .  .  .  ib. 
Oh,  the  sight  entrancing  .  .  .  tZ>. 
No.  IX. 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well  .  .  347 
'T  was  one  of  those  dreams  .  .  ib. 

Fairest !  put  on  awhile  .  .  .  .  ib. 
Quick!  we  have  but  a  second  .  .  348 
And  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  .  .  ib. 
In  yonder  valley  there  dwelt,  alone  .  349 
Aa  vanquished  Erin  wept  beside  .  .  ib. 
By  the  Feal's  wave  benighted  .  .  ib. 

They  know  not  my  heart  .  .    &. 

I  wish  I  was  by  that  dim  lake  .  .  .  350 
She  sung  of  love, — while  o'er  her  lyre  .  ib. 
Sing,  sing,  music  was  given  .  .  ib. 

NATIONAL  AIRS.— No.  I. 

Advertisement  351 

A  temple  to  Friendship. — Spanish  Air  .  ib. 
Flow  on,  thou  shining  river. — Portuguest 

Air ib. 

All  that 's  bright  must  fade. — Indian  Air  .  ib. 
So  warmly  we  met. — Hungarian  Air  .  ib 
Those  evening  bells.— AIR,  The  Bella  of  St. 

Petersburgh  .        .  .352 

Should  those  fond  hopes. — Portuguese  Air  ib 
Reason,  Folly,  and  Beauty. — Italian  Air  ih 
Fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ! — Sicilian 

Air  .     ib 


CONTENTS. 


Vll 


Pqp. 

Dost  thou  remember  ? — Portuguese  Air  .  352 
Oh !  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets. — Ve- 

iictinn  Air    ......  363 

Oft,  in  the  stilly  night. — Scotch  Air  .  ib. 
Hark!  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing. — Russian 

Air *&. 

No.  II. 

Love  and  Hope. — Swiss  Air   .        .        . 

There  comes  a  time. — German  Air.     . 

My  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme. — Swe- 
dish Air 

Oli !  no— not  e'en  when  first  we  loved. — 
Cashmerian  Air  ...  . 

Peace  be  around  thee ! — Scotch  Air 

Common  Sense  and  Genius. — French  Air  . 

Then,  fare  thee  well ! — Old  English  Air 

Gaily  sounds  the  Castanet. — Maltese  Air. 

Love  is  a  hunter-boy. — Languedocian  Air 

Come,  chase  that  starting  tear  away. — 
French  Air  ...... 

Joys  of  youth,  how  fleeting! — Po-luguese 
Air *• 

Hear  me  but  once. — French  Air          ,        .  356 

No    III. 

When  Love  was  a  child. — Swedish  Air  ,  ib. 

Say,  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  ? — Sici- 
lian Air  ...  .  .  &>. 

Bright  be  thy  dreams  !— Welsh  Air  .        .  ib. 

Go,  then — 't  is  vain. — Sicilian  Air      .        .  ib. 

The  crystal  hunters. — Siciss  Air      .        .  ib. 

Row  gently  here. — Venitian  Air          ,        .  357 

Oh !  the  days  of  youth. — French  Air        ,  ib. 

When  first  that  smile. — Venetian  Air  .        .  ib. 

Peace  to  the  slumberers  ! — Catalonian  Air  ib. 

When  thou  shall  wander. — Sicilian  Air  ib. 

Who'll  buy  my  love-knots? — Portuguese  Air    ib. 

See,  the  dawn  from  Heaven. — Sung  at 

Rome  on  Christmas  Eve  .  .  358 

No.  IV. 

Nets  and  cages. — Swedish  Air         .        .  ib. 

When  through  the  piazzetta. — Venetian  Air  ib. 

Go,  now,  and  dream. — Sicilian  Air    .        .  ib. 

Take  hence  the  bowl. — Neapolitan  Air  .  359 

Farewell,  Theresa ! — Venetian  Air      .        .  ib. 

How  oft,  when  watching  stars. — Savoyard 

Air i&. 

When  the  first  summer  bee. — German  Air  ib. 

Though  't  is  all  but  a  dream. — French  Air  ib. 

'T  is  when  the  cup  is  smiling. — Italian  Air  ib. 

Where  shall  we  bury  our  shame  ? — Neapoli- 
tan Air 360 

Ne'er  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools. — 

Mahralta  Air  .....  t^. 

Here  sleeps  the  bard. — Highland  Air  .        .  ib. 

SACRED  SONGS.    No.  I. 

Thou  art,  oh  God !  .      36r 

This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show  .  .  w. 
Fallen  is  thy  throne  .  .  .  .  ib. 

Who  is  the  maid  ? 3G2 

The  bird,  let  loose ib. 

Oh  !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear         w. 

Weep  not  for  those ib. 

The  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine        .      363 


Sound  the  loud  timbrel        .        . 

Go,  let  me  weep       .        .  .        . 

Come  not,  oh  Lord !    .        .        . 

Were  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears      .        . 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  . 

But  who  shall  see  ?          .... 

Almighty  God  ! — Chorus  of  priests     . 

Oh,  fair !  oh,  purest          .... 

No.  II. 

Angel  of  Charity          .... 
Behold  the  sun 

Lord,  who  shall  bear  that  day  ?    .        . 
Oh  !  teach  me  to  love  thee       .        .        . 
Weep,  children  of  Israel     .        .        . 
Like  morning,  when  her  early  breeze       . 
Come,  ye  disconsolate         .        .        . 
Awake,  arise,  thy  light  is  come        .        . 
There  is  a  bleak  desert        ... 
Since  first  thy  word  ... 

Hark  !  't  is  the  breeze  .... 
Where  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted  ?       . 
How  lightly  mounts  the  muse's  wing 
Go  forth  to  the  mount     .... 
Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter  ? 
War  against  Babylon        .... 

BALLADS,  SONGS,  etc. 

Black  and  Blue  eyes  .        .        . 

Cease,  oh  cease  to  teruj.t!  . 

Dear  Fanny  .... 

Did  not    .  .... 

Fanny,  dearest !  .         .  . 

Fanny  was  in  the  grove   .        .  . 

From  life  without  freedom  . 

Here  's  the  bower    .  . 

Holy  be  the  pilgrim's  sleep  . 

I  can  no  longer  stifle        .... 
1  saw  the  moon  rise  clear    ... 
Joys  that  pass  away  . 

Light  sounds  the  harp  . 

Little  Mary's  eye      .  . 

Love  and  the  Sun-Dial  . 

Love  and  Time 

Love,  my  Mary,  dwells  with  thee        . 
Love's  light  summer-cloud       .        .        . 
Love  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maze 
Merrily  every  bosom  boundeth    .        . 
Now  let  the  warrior         .... 

Oh,  lady  fair! 

Oh  !  remember  the  time   .... 
Oh !  see  those  cherries         ... 

Oh  !  soon  return 

Oh,  yes !  so  well         .... 
Oh,  yes  !  when  the  bloom        ... 

One  dear  smile 

Poh,  Dermot !  go  along  with  your  goster 
Send  the  bowl  round  merrily      . 

The  Day  of  Love 

The  Probability 

The  Song  of  War 

The  Tablet  of  Love    .... 

The  young  Rose 

When  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart       . 
When  'midst  the  gay  I  meet    .        . 
When  twilight  dews    .... 


Page. 

.  363 

ih. 
.  364 

ib. 
•  ib. 

ib 

.  ih. 
36a 


ib. 

ib. 
ib. 
366 
16. 
ib. 
ib. 


ib 
367 

ib. 

ib. 
368 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
369 

370 

ih. 

ib 

ib. 

ib. 
371 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
372 

* 

ib 

ib. 

ib 
373 

A 

ib. 

ib 
371 

ib. 

ib. 

ib. 

ib 

ib. 
375 

ib. 

ih. 

ib. 
376 

i 

ib. 
ib 
377 
ib. 
ff> 
ib 


CONTENTS. 


Will  you  come  to  the  bower   .       . 

Young  Jessica 

The  Rabbinical  Origin  of  Women  . 

Farewell,  Bessy 

To-day,  dearest !  is  ours 

When  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays          . 

Here,  take  my  heart         .... 

Oh !  call  it  by  some  better  name          . 

Poor  wounded  heart        .        .        •        • 

The  East  Indian 

Pale  broken  flower  .... 

The  pretty  rose-tree    ..... 

Shine  out,  stars        ..... 

The  young  muleteers  of  Grenada        .        . 

Tell  her !  oh  tell  her        .... 

Nights  of  Music          .  ... 

Our  first  young  love         .... 
HISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A  Melologue  upon  national  music       .        . 

Lines  on  the  death  of  Mr.  P-rc-v-1  .        . 

Lines  on  the  death  of  Sh-r-d-n    . 

Lines  written  on  hearing  that  the  Austrians 
had  entered  Naples       .... 

The  Insurrection  of  the  Papers        .        . 

Parody  of  a  celebrated  Letter      ... 

Anacreontic. — To  a  Plumassier       .        . 

Extracts  from  the  Diary  of  a  Politician 

King  Crack  and  his  Idols         .        .        . 

Wreaths  for  the  Ministers    .... 

The  new  Costume  of  the  Ministers         . 

Occasional  Address     .       .       .       .        . 

The  sale  of  the  Tools     .... 

Little  Man  and  little  Soul    .... 

Reinforcements  for  Lord  Wellington 

I/ord  Wellington  and  the  Ministers     .        . 

Fum  and  Hum,  the  two  birds  of  nyalty 

Epistle  from  Tom  Crib  to  Big  Ben  . 

To  Lady  Holland,  on  Napoleon's  legacy  of 
a  snuff-box 

Correspondence  between  a  lady  and  gentle- 
man     ....  .        . 

Horace,  ode  XI.  lib.  II    . 

,  ode  XXII.  lib.  I 

,  ode  I.  lib.  Ill 

,  ode  XXXVIII.  lib.  I.     . 

To .    Die  when  you  will  .        . 

Impromptu. — Between  Adam  and  me 

What  is  ray  thought  like  ? 

Epigram.    What  news  to-day?  .        .•       . 

Said  his  Highness  to  Ned         . 

I  want  the  court-guide 

I  never  give  a  kiss  .        . 


377 
.    ib. 
378 


On  a  squinting  poetess 
The  torch  of  Liberty 

Epilogue 

To  the  memory  of  J.  Atkinson,  Esq. 
Epitaph  on  a  well-known  poet 
The  Sylph's  ball 

ALCIFURON  .. 


ft 
ii,. 
ft, 
ft, 
37'.i 
ft, 
ft, 
ft, 
ft 

no 

ft 
& 
ft 

3-^1 
3vj 
ft, 

3S3 
ft, 

3S1 

3S.5 
ft 
ft 
ft. 

3-7 
ft 

886 
ft 

3-.'j 
ft 
ft, 

390 

ft 

ft 

S'Jl 
ft. 

G'.t-J 
ft, 
)-'.. 

999 
t&. 
ft 
ft 
ft, 
ft 
ft 
ft, 

S'Jl 
ft 
ft, 

3V5 


Remonstrance  to  Lord  J.  Russell        . 
Epitaph  on  a  lawyer        .        .        .        . 
My  birth-day        .        .        .        .        . 
Fancy — the  more  I  've  view'd  this  world 

Love  had  a  fever 

Translation  from  Catullus    . 

To  my  mother;  written  in  a  pocket-book 

Illustration  of  a  bore        . 

A  Speculation      ..... 

Ere  Psyche  drank  the  cup  that  shed        . 

Of  all  the  men  one  meets  about 

Romance 

A  Joke  versified 


Page. 

.  396 
ib. 


On 


Like  a  snuffers,  this  loving 


old  dame  .... 

Factotum  Ned 

Country-dance  and  Quadrille  . 

To  those  we  love  we  've  drank  to-night 

Genius  and  Criticism  .        . 


397 
tb 
ib 
ib 
ib 
ib 
ib. 

39S 
ib 
ib. 

ib. 

ib. 
329 
400 
401 


ATTRIBUTED  PIECES. 

An  amatory  colloquy  between   Bank  and 

Government 402 

Ode  to  the  Goddess  Ceres  ib. 

Said  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note  .  .  .  403 
An  Expostulation  to  Lord  King  .  .  ib. 

Moral  positions 404 

Memorabilia  of  last  week  .  .  .  ib. 
A  hymn  of  welcome  after  the  Recess  .  405 
All  in  the  family  way  ...  ib. 

Canonization  of  St.  B-tt-rw-rth  .  .  406 
New  Creation  of  peers  .  .  .  407 

Cambridge  university ib. 

Lines  written  in  St.  Stephen's  chapel,  after 

the  Dissolution  ....  403 
Copy  of  an  intercepted  Despatch  .  .  ib. 
Mr.  Roger  Dodsworth  ....  409 

The  Millennium ib. 

The  three  Doctors  ....      410 

Epitaph  on  a  tuft-hunter  ....  .»7>. 
The  petition  of  the  Orangemen  of  Ireland  ib. 
A  Vision,  by  the  Author  of  Christabel  .411 
News  for  country  cousins  ...  41*2 
An  Incantation,  sung  by  the  bubble  spirit  ib. 
A  dream  of  turtle,  by  Sir  W.  Curtis  .  413 

A  voice  from  Marathon  .        .        .        ib. 

Cotton  and  Corn 414 

The  Donkey  and  his  panniers  .  .  ib. 
Ode  to  the  Sublime  Porte  .  .  .415 

Reflections  suggested  by  a  late  correspond- 
ence on  the  Catholic  question  .        .        ib. 
The  Ghost  of  Miltiades       .        .        .        .    ib. 
Corn  and  Catholics          .       .        .        .416 

Crockfordiana ib. 

The  two  Bondsmen  ....  ib. 
The  Periwinkles  and  the  Locusts  .  417 

A  case  of  libel          ....  ib. 

Literary  advertisement        .        .        .  413 

The  Slave  tb 


420 


\  BIOGRAPHICAL  AND  CRITICAL  SKETCH 

OF 

THOMAS  MOORE,  ESQ. 

COMPRISLNG  ANECDOTES  OF  ANCIENT  MINSTRELSY,  ILLUSTRATIVE  OP  THE 
"IRISH  MELODIES." 

BY  J.  W.  LAKE. 


NOTWITHSTANDING  the  number  of  literary  men  to 
whom  Ireland  has  given  birth,  there  is  very  little 
connected  with  their  names  which  conveys  to  us  any 
thing  of  a  national  association ;  for  the  land  of  their 
nativity  scarcely  enjoys  a  single  ray  of  that  brilliant 
mind,  which  sheds  its  intellectual  brightness  over  the 
iister  country.  Congreve  was  an  apostate,  and  Swift 
only  by  accident  a  patriot;  whilst  Goldsmith  was 
weak  enough  to  affect  an  air  of  contempt  for  a  peo- 
ple whose  accent  was  indelibly  stamped  on  his  tongue. 
We  could  protract  the  list  of  her  ungrateful  and 
thoughtless  "  men  of  mind"  even  to  our  own  day ; 
but  the  task  would  be  invidious,  and  we  gladly  turn 
from  it  to  one  who  forms  a  splendid  exception — one 
who  is  not  ashamed  of  Ireland,  and  of  whom  Ireland 
is  justly  proud. — 

Land  of  the  Muse !  in  glory's  lay,  m 

In  history's  leaf  thy  name  shall  soar 
When,  like  a  meteor's  noxious  ray, 

The  reign  of  tyranny  is  o'er; 
Immortal  names  have  honour'd  thee— 

A  Sheridan,  a  Wellesley ; 
And  still  is  beaming  round  thy  shore 

The  spirit  bright  of  Liberty, 
For  thou  canst  boast  a  patriot,  Moore! 

Mr.  Moore  is  every  way  an  Irishman,  in  heart,  in 
feelings,  and  in  principles.  For  his  country  he  has 
done  more  than  any  man  living :  he  has  associated 
her  name,  her  wrongs,  and  her  attributes,  with  poetry 
and  music,  neither  of  which  can  ever  die,  while  taste, 
patriotism,  and  literature  subsists  in  the  world ;  and 
whilst  these  survive,  Ireland  will  form  the  theme  of 
Beauty's  song,  and  Irish  music  the  charm  of  every 
cultivated  mind.  But,  all  extrinsic  circumstances 
apart,  there  is  in  the  melodies  of  Mr.  Moore  a  sacred 
fire,  which  conveys  its  vividness  to  the  soul  of  his 
readers ;  and  they  must  be  made  of  sterner  stuff  than 
the  ordinary  race  of  men,  if  their  bosoms  do  not  glow 
with  liberal  and  patriotic  enthusiasm,  while  they  pe- 
/use  the  harmonious  creations  of  a  poet  who  has 
clothed  the  wild  and  eccentric  airs  of  his  country  in 
B 


words  that  burn,  and  sentiments  that  find  an  echo  in 
every  generous  breast. 

Had  Mr.  Moore  done  no  more  than  this,  he  would 
be  entitled  to  the  gratitude  of  his  countrymen ;  but 
his  genius,  like  his  own  Peri,  seems  never  pleased, 
but  while  hovering  over  the  region  he  loves  ;  or  if  it 
makes  a  short  excursion,  it  is  only  in  the  hope  of 
securing  some  advantage  that  may  accelerate  tlte 
removal  of  those  disqualifications,  which  are  supposed 
to  exclude  happiness  from  the  limits  of  his  country 
In  "  Lalla  Rookh"  he  has  given  his  fire-worshippers 
the  wrongs  and  feelings  of  Irishmen ;  while,  in  th« 
"  Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock,"  he  has  accomplished  a 
most  difficult  task — written  a  history  of  Ireland  that 
has  been  read. 

On  such  grounds  we  may  well  claim  for  Mr.  Moore 
what  he  deserves — the  crown  of  patriotism ;  but  it  ia 
not  on  this  head  alone  he  is  entitled  to  our  praise. 
As  a  poet,  since  the  lamented  death  of  Byron,  he 
stands  almost  without  a  competitor ;  and  as  a  prose- 
writer,  he  is  highly  respectable. 

Mr.  Moore  is  the  only  son  of  the  late  Mr.  Garret 
Moore,  formerly  a  respectable  tradesman  in  Dublin, 
where  our  poet  was  born  on  the  28th  of  May,  1780. 
He  has  two  sisters ;  and  hia  infantine  days  seem  to 
have  left  the  most  agreeable  impressions  on  his  me- 
mory. In  an  epistle  to  his  eldest  sister,  dated  Novem- 
ber, 1803,  and  written  from  Norfolk  in  Virginia,  he 
retraces  with  delight  their  childhood,  and  describes 
the  endearments  of  home,  with  a  sensibility  as  exqui- 
site as  that  which  breathes  through  the  lines  of  Cow- 
per  on  receiving  his  mother's  picture. 

He  acquired  the  rudiments  of  an  excellent  education 
under  the  care  of  the  late  Mr.  Samuel  Whyte,  of 
Grafton-street,  Dublin,  a  gentleman  extensively  known 
and  respected  as  the  early  tutor  of  Sheridan.  He 
evinced  such  talent  in  early  life,  as  determined  Ins 
rather  to  give  him  the  advantages  of  a  superior  edu- 
cation, and  at  the  early  age  of  fourteen,  he  was  entered 
a  student  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin. 

Mr.  Moore  was  greatly  distinguished  while  at  the 
University,  by  an  enthusiastic  attachment  to  the  liberty 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


and  independence  of  his  country,  wliich  he  more  than ;  ment  of  Registrar  to  the  Admiralty. 
"ce  pubhcly  asserted  with  uncommon  energy  and  -patent  place,  and  of  a  description  so  unsuitable  to  hu 
loquence ;  and  he  was  equally  admired  for  the  splen-  temper  of  mind,  that  he  soon  found  ,t  expedient  to 
\2  of  hU  Clascal  attainments,  and  the  sociability  fulfil  the  duties  of  it  by  a  deputy,  w,th  whom,  m  con 
of  his  disposition.  On  the  19th  November,  1799,  Mr.  |  sideration  of  circumstances,  he  consented  to  dm 
Moore  entered  himself  a  member  of  the  honourable  the  profits  accruing  from  it  From  th,s  situation, 
Society  of  the  Middle  Temple,  and  in  the  course  of  :  however,  he  never  denved  any  emolument :  tnough, 
the  year  1800,  before  he  had  completed  the  20th  year  a  few  years  since,  he  suffered  some  pecuniary •mcon- 
ofhiaee  he  published  his  translation  of  the  "Odes  venience,  owing  to  the  misconduct  of  his  deputy 
of  Anacreon"  into  English  verse  with  notes,  from  Alluding  to  his  trip  across  the  Atlantic,  in  a  work 
whence  in  the  vocabulary  of  fashion,  he  has  ever  published  soon  after  his  return  to  Europe,  he  says: 
•incebe^n  designated  by  the  appellation  of  Anacreon  i"  Though  curiosity,  therefore,  was  certainly  not  the 
Moore  So  early  as  his  twelfth  year  he  appears  to  motive  of  my  voyage  to  America,  yet  it  happened 
have  meditated  on  executing  this  performance,  which, !  that  the  gratification  of  curiosity  was  the  only  advan- 
if  not  a  close  version,  must  be  confessed  to  be  a  fas-  j  tage  which  I  derived  from  it.  Having  remained  about 
cinating  one,  of  this  favourite  bard.  The  work  is  J  a  week  at  New  York,"  he  continues,  "where  I  saw 
introduced  by  a  Greek  ode  from  the  pen  of  the  Trans-  Madame,  the  half  repudiated  wife  of  Jerome  Bnona- 
lator  and  is  dedicated,  with  permission,  to  his  RoyaJ ;  parte,  and  felt  a  slight  shock  of  an  earthquake,  the 
Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales,  now  George  the !  only  things  that  particularly  awakened  my  attention. 
"Fourth  When  Mr.  Moore  first  came  to  London,  his  j  I  sailed  again  for  Norfolk,  where  I  proceeded  on  my 
youthful  appearance  was  such,  that  being  at  a  large ;  tour  northward  through  Williamsburg,  Richmond," 
dinner-party,  and  getting  up  to  escort  the  ladies  to  the !  etc.  In  October,  1804,  he  quitted  America  on  his 
drawing  room,  a  French  gentleman  observed, "  Ah!  le  j  return  to  England,  in  the  Boston  frigate,  commanded 
petit  bon  homme  qui  s'en  va!"  Mr.  Moore's  subse-  j  by  Capt.  Douglas,  whom  he  has  highly  eulogized  for 
quent  brilliant  conversation,  however,  soon  proved ;  his  attention  during  the  voyage.  In  1806,  he  pub- 
him  to  be,  though  little  of  stature,  yet,  like  Gay,  "  in  lished  his  remarks  on  the  Manners  and  Society  of 
wit  a  man."  Assuming  the  appropriate  name  of  I  America,  in  a  work  entitled  Odes  and  Epistles.  The 
Little,  our  author  published,  in  1801,  a  volume  of  •  preface  to  this  little  work  sufficiently  evinced  the 
original  poems,  chiefly  amatory.  Of  the  contents  of  talent  of  Mr.  Moore  as  a  writer  of  prose. 
this  volume  it  is  impossible  to  speak  in  terms  of  un-  The  fate  of  Addison  with  his  Countess  Dowager 
qualified  commendation.  Several  of  the  poems  ex- !  holding  out  no  encouragement  for  the  ambitious  love 
hibit  strong  marks  of  genius:  they  were  the  productions 'of  Mr.  Moore,  he  wisely  and  happily  allowed  his 
of  an  age,  when  the  passions  very  often  give  a  colour- '  good  taste  to  regulate  his  choice  in  a  wife,  and  some 
ing  too  warm  to  the  imagination,  which  may  in  some  years  ago  married  Miss  Dyke,  a  lady  of  great  personal 
degree  palliate,  if  it  cannot  excuse,  that  air  of  lubricity  beauty,  most  amiable  disposition,  and  accomplished 
which  pervades  too  many  of  them.  In  the  same  manners,  in  whose  society  he  passes  much  of  his 
year,  his  "  Philosophy  of  Pleasure"  was  advertised,  time  in  retirement  at  his  cottage  near  Devizes,  diver- 
sified by  occasional  visits  to  London.  To  complete 


but  was  never  published. 


Mr.  Moore's  diffidence  of  his  poetical  talents  in-  this  picture  of  domestic  happiness,  he  is  the  father  of 
duced  him  to  adopt,  and  with  reluctance  to  reject,  as  -,  several  lovely  children,  on  whose  education  he  be- 
stows the  most  judicious  and  attentive  care. 

Mr.  Moore  appears  equally  to  have  cultivated  a 
taste  for  music  as  well  as  for  poesy,  and  the  late  cele- 
brated Dr.  Burney  was  perfectly  astonished  at  his 


a  motto  for  his  work,  the  quotation  from  Horace, 


Piimum  ego  me  illorum,  quibus  dederim  csse  poctis, 
Excerpam  nurnero;  Deque  euim  concludere  versus 
Dixeru  rue  iatis — 


and  at  a  later  period,  when  his  reputation  was  fully 
established,  he  spoke  of  himself  with  his  wonted  mo- 
desty. "  Whatever  fame  he  might  have  acquired,  he 
attributed  principally  to  the  verses  which  he  had 
adapted  to  the  delicious  strains  of  Irish  melody.  His 
Tcreeh,  in  themselves,  could  boast  of  but  little  merit ; 
but,  like  flies  presemxl  in  amber,  they  were  esteemed 
in  consequence  of  the  precious  material  by  which 
they  were  surrounded." 

Mr.  Sheridan,  in  speaking  of  the  subject  of  this 
memoir,  iaid,  "  That  there  was  no  man  who  put  so 
mucli  of  his  heart  into  his  fancy  as  Tom  Moore :  that 
his  soul  seemed  Is  if  it  were  a  particle  of  fire  sepa- 
rated from  the  sun,  and  was  always  fluttering  to  get 
back  to  that  source  of  light  and  heat." 

Towaids  the  autumn  of  1803,  Mr.  Moore  embarked 
for  Bermuda  ;*  where  he  had  obtained  the  appoint- 


•  The  icene  of  Shakip«are'i  inimitable  tragedy  of  "  The 
Tempeit,"  U  laid  to  have  been  laid  in  the  island  of  Ber- 


talent,  which  he  emphatically  called  "  peculiarly  his 
own."  Nor  has  he  neglected  those  more  solid 
attainments  which  should  ever  distinguish  the  well- 
bred  gentleman,  for  he  is  an  excellent  general  scholar, 
and  particularly  well  read  in  the  literature  of  the 
middle  ages.  His  conversational  powers  are  great, 
and  his  modest  and  unassuming  manners  have  placed 
him  in  the  highest  rank  of  cultivated  society. 

The  celebrated  poem  of  Lalla  Rookh  appeared  in 
1817;  in  the  summer  of  which  year  our  pool  visited 
the  French  capital,  where  he  collected  the  materials 
for  that  humorous  production,  "  The  Fudge  Family 
in  Paris."  In  the  following  year,  he  went  to  Ireland, 
on  which  occasion  a  dinner  was  given  to  him,  on  the 
8th  of  June,  1818,  at  Morrison's  Hotel  in  Dublin, 
which  was  graced  by  a  large  assemblage  of  the  mosi 
distinguished  literary  and  political  characters.  The 
Earl  of  Charlemont  took  the  head  of  the  table ,  Mr. 
Moore  sat  on  his  right  hand,  and  MV.  Moore,  sen 
(since  dead,)  a  venerable  old  gentleman,  the  father  of 
our  bard,  was  on  his  left.  As  soon  as  the  cloth  was 
removed,  Non  nobis,  Domine,  was  sung  by  the 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


vocalists  present ;  numerous  loyal  and  patriotic  toasts 
Followed.  The  Earl  of  Charlemont  then  proposed 
the  memory  of  the  late  lamented  Princess  Charlotte, 
which  was  drank  in  solemn  silence ;  after  which  a 
eweet  and  plaintive  song  was  sung,  in  commemora- 
tion of  her  late  Royal  Highness.  After  a  short  inter- 
val, the  Earl  of  Charlemont  again  rose,  and,  with  a 
suitable  eulogium,  proposed  the  health  of  the  distin- 
guished Irishman  who  had  honoured  the  country  with 
his  presence.  When  the  applause  had  subsided,  Mr. 
Moore  rose,  much  affected,  and  spoke  to  the  follow- 
ing effect : — 

"  I  feel  this  the  very  proudest  moment  of  my  whole 
life  ;  to  receive  such  a  tribute  from  an  assembly  like 
this  around  me,  composed  of  some  of  the  warmest 
and  manliest  hearts  that  Ireland  can  boast,  is  indeed 
a  triumph  that  goes  to  my  very  heart,  and  awakens 
there  al!  that  an  Irishman  ought  to  feel,  whom  Irish- 
men {ike  you  have  selected  for  such  a  distinction. — 
Were  my  merits  a  hundred  times  beyond  what  the 
partiality  of  the  noble  chairman  has  invested  me  with, 
this  moment,  this  golden  moment  of  my  life,  would 
far  exceed  them  all.  There  are  some  among  you, 
gentlemen,  whose  friendship  has  been  the  strength 
and  ornament,  the  '  dulce  decus'  of  my  existence ; 
who,  however  they  differ  from  my  public  sentiments, 
have  never  allowed  that  transient  ruffle  on  the  surface 
to  impede  the  progress  of  the  deep  tide  of  friendship 
beneath ;  men  who  feel  that  there  is  something  more 
sacred  than  party,  and  whose  noble  natures,  in  the 
worst  of  times,  would  come  out  of  the  conflict  of 
public  opinion,  like  pebbles  out  of  the  ocean,  but  more 
smooth  and  more  polished  from  its  asperities  by  the 
very  agitation  in  which  they  had  been  revolving.  To 
see  them  beside  me  on  a  day  like  this,  is  pleasure  that 
lies  too  deep  for  words.  To  the  majority  of  you, 
gentlemen,  I  am  unknown  ;  but  as  your  countryman, 
as  one  who  has  ventured  to  touch  the  chords  of  Ire- 
land's Harp,  and  whose  best  fame  is  made  out  of  the 
echoes  of  their  sweetness ;  as  one  whose  humble 
talents  have  been  ever  devoted,  and,  with  the  blessing 
'of  God,  ever  shall  be  devoted  to  the  honour  and  ad- 
vancement of  his  country's  name ;  whose  love  for 
that  country,  even  they,  who  condemn  his  manner  of 
showing  it,  will  at  least  allow  to  be  sincere,  and  per- 
haps forgive  its  intemperance  for  its  truth — setting 
Him  down  as  '  one  who  loved,  not  wisely,  but  too 
well :' — to  most  of  you,  gentlemen,  I  say,  I  am  but 
thus  known.  We  have  hitherto  been  strangers  to 
each  other ;  but  may  I  not  flatter  myself  that  from  this 
night  a  new  era  of  communion  begins  between  us  ? 
The  giving  and  receiving  of  a  tribute  like  this  is  the 
very  hot-bed  of  the  heart,  forcing  at  once  all  its  feel- 
ing into  a  fulness  of  fruit,  which  it  would  take  years 
of  ordinary  ripening  to  produce ;  and  there  is  not  a 
man  of  you  who  has  pledged  the  cup  of  fellowship 
this  night,  of  whom  I  would  not  claim  the  privilege  j 
of  grasping  by  the  hand,  with  all  the  cordiality  of  a 
long  and  well-cemented  friendship.  I  could  not  say  ' 
moro  if  I  were  to  speak  for  ages.  With  a  heart  full 
as  this  glass,  I  thank  you  for  your  kindness  to  me, 
and  have  the  sincere  gratification  of  drinking  all  your 
healths." 

Lord  Allen  gave  "  the  memory  of  Mr.  Curran  ;"  on 
which  a  very  modest,  pathetic,  and  eloquent  speech 
ivas  delivered  by  his  son,  in  a  tone  and  manner  > 


that  produced  the  most  lively  emotion  throughout  the 
room. 

A  gentleman  afterwards  sang  a  lively  and  well- 
written  song,  composed  for  the  occasion.  The  sub- 
ject was  the  poets'  Election  in  Olympus,  at  which 
there  were  several  candidates,  such  as  Byron,  Scott, 
Southey,  etc. ;  but  which  ended  in  a  due  return  of 
Moore,  who  had  a  great  majority  of  voies.  This  jeu 
d'esprit  produced  much  merriment,  and  the  health  of 
the  author  was  drank  with  applause. 

Lord  Charlemont  then  gave  'the  living  Poets  of 
Great  Britain ;'  on  which  Mr.  Moore  said  : — 

"  Gentlemen,  notwithstanding  the  witty  song  which 
you  have  just  heard,  and  the  flattering  elevation  which 
the  author  has  assigned  me,  1  cannot  allow  guch  a 
mark  of  respect  to  be  paid  to  the  illustrious  names 
that  adorn  the  literature  of  the  present  day,  without 
calling  your  attention  awhile  to  the  singular  constel- 
lation of  genius,  and  asking  you  to  dwell  a  little  on 
the  brightness  of  each  particular  star  that  forms  it. 
Can  I  name  to  yona  Byron,  without  recalling  to  your 
hearts  recollections  of  all  that  his  mighty  genius  has 
awakened  there ;  his  energy,  his  burning  words,  his 
intense  passion,  that  disposition  of  fine  fancy  to  wan- 
der only  among  the  ruins  of  the  heart,  to  dwell  in 
places  which  the  fire  of  feeling  has  desolated,  and, 
like  the  chesnut-tree,  that  grows  best  in  volcanic 
soils,  to  luxuriate  most  where  the  conflagration  of 
passion  has  left  its  mark?  Need  I  mention  to  you  a 
Scott,  that  fertile  and  fascinating  writer,  the  vegeta- 
tion of  whose  mind  is  as  rapid  as  that  of  a  northern 
summer,  and  as  rich  as  the  most  golden  harvest  of 
the  south ;  whose  beautiful  creations  succeed  each 
other  like  fruits  in  Armida's  enchanted  garden — '  one 
scarce  is  gathered  ere  another  grows  !'  Shall  I  recall 
to  you  a  Rogers  (to  me  endeared  by  friendship  as 
well  as  genius,)  who  has  hung  up  his  own  name  on 
the  shrine  of  memory  among  the  most  imperishable 
tablets  there  ?  A  Southey,  not  Hie  Laureate,  but  the 
author  of  "  Don  Roderick,"  one  of  the  noblest  and 
most  eloquent  poems  in  any  language  ?  A  Campbell, 
the  polished  and  spirited  Campbell,  whose  song  of 
"  Innisfal"  is  the  very  tears  of  our  own  Irish  muse, 
crystaiized  by  the  touch  of  genius,  and  made  eternal? 
A  Wordsworth,  a  poet,  even  in  his  puerilities,  whose 
capacious  mind,  like  the  great  pool  of  Norway,  draws 
into  its  vortex  not  only  the  mighty  things  of  the  deep, 
but  its  minute  weeds  and  refuse  ?  A  Crabbe,  who 
has  shown  what  the  more  than  galvanic  power  of 
talent  can  effect,  by  giving  not  only  motion,  but  life 
and  soul  to  subjects  that  seemed  incapable  of  it  ?  I 
could  enumerate,  gentlemen,  still  more,  and  from 
thence  would  pass  with  delight  to  dwell  upon  the 
living  poets  of  our  own  land ; — the  dramatic  powers 
of  a  Maturin  and  a  Sheil,  the  former  consecrated  by 
the  applause  of  a  Scott  and  a  Byron,  and  the  latter 
by  the  tears  of  some  of  the  brighteswfeyes  in  the  em- 
pire ;  the  rich  imagination  of  a  Phillips,  who  hns 
courted  successfully  more  than  one  muse — the  versa- 
tile genius  of  a  Morgan,  who  was  the  first  that  mated 
our  sweet  Irish  strains  with  poetry  worthy  of  their 
pathos  and  their  force.  But  I  feel  1  have  already 
trespassed  too  long  upon  your  patience  and  your 
time.  I  do  not  regret,  however,  that  you  have  deigned 
to  listen  with  patience  to  this  humble  tribute  to  the 
living  masters  of  the  English  lyre,  which  I,  'the 


lii 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


meanest  of  the  throng,'  thus  feebly,  but  heartily,  have 
paid  them  " 

In  1822,  our  author  made  a  second  visit  to  Paris, 
where  he  resided  for  a  considerable  time  with  his 
amiable  wife  and  family.  The  fame  of  liis  genius,  his 
social  yet  unpretending  manners,  and  his  musical 
talents  and  conversation,  acquired  him  much  esteem 
with  the  most  eminent  literary  and  literary-loving 
characters  of  the  French  capital.  During  his  stay  in 
that  city,  at  the  request  of  Messrs.  Galignani,  he  sat 
for  liis  portrait,  which  was  most  ably  executed  by  F. 
Sieurac,  and  is  allowed  by  all  who  have  seen  Mr. 
Moore  to  be  a  masterly  likeness.  An  excellent  en- 
graving from  it,  is  prefixed  to  the  present  edition  of  his 
works.  The  writer  of  this  sketch  may  perhaps  be  ex- 
cused for  introducing  here  an  impromptu  he  wrote,  in 
the  blank  leaf  of  a  book  belonging  to  a  little  girl,  the 
daughter  of  Mr.  Moore,  at  his  house  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  Pahs  :— 

Sweet  child !  when  on  thy  beauteous  face, 

The  blush  of  innocence  I  view, 
'     Thy  genUe  mother'*  feature*  trace, 

Thy  lather'*  eye  of  genius  too, 

If  envy  wake*  a  transient  sigh, 

That  face  is  my  apology. 

Previous  to  Mr.  Moore  leaving  Paris,  the  British 
nobility  and  gentry  resident  in  that  capital  gave  him  a 
most  splendid  dinner  at  Roberta's.  About  60  persons 
were  present ;  Lord  Trimblestown  was  in  the  chair, 
supported  on  his  right  by  Mr.  Moore,  and  on  his  left 
by  the  Earl  of  GrananL  The  vice-presidents  were 
Sir  Godfrey  Webster,  Sir  John  Byerley,  and  the 
Reverend  Archibald  Douglas,  who  superintended  the 
preparations  for  the  banquet,  which  consisted  of 
every  luxury  the  gastronomic  art  could  produce.  Mr. 
Moore  was  in  high  health  and  spirits ;  songs,  catches, 
and  glees,  blended  delightfully  with  the  sparkling 
Champagne.  Several  speeches  were  made  by  Lord 
Trimblestown,  Messrs.  Byerley,  Kenney,  Grattan, 
etc. ;  and  Mr.  Moore  introduced  the  toast  of  "  Pros- 
perity to  Old  England"  in  the  following  eloquent 
language : — 

"  As  the  noble  chairman  has,  in  compliment  to  the 
land  of  my  birth,  given  the  ever-welcome  toast  of 
'Prosperity  to  Ireland,'  I  beg  leave  to  suggest  a 
similar  tribute  to  that  other  country  to  which  we  all 
belong,  and  to  whose  real  greatness  and  solid  glory — 
all  Irishman  as  I  am,  and  with  my  political  and  his- 
torical recollections  fresh  about  me — 1  am  most  ready 
to  bear  testimony  and  homage  before  the  world. 
Yes,  gentlemen,  there  may  be,  and  there  are  (for  God 
forbid  that  I  should  circumscribe  virtue  within  any 
particular  latitude,)  there  may  be,  and  there  are  high 
minds,  warm  hearts,  and  brave  arms  every  where. 
But  for  that  genuine  high-mindedness,  which  has 
honesty  for  its  basis — the  only  sure  foundation  upon 
which  any  thirs^loiry  was  ever  built — which  can  dis- 
tinguish between  real,  substantial  greatness,  and  that 
false,  inflated  glory  of  the  moment,  whose  elevation, 
like  that  of  the  balloon,  is  owing  to  its  emptiness,  or 
if  not  to  its  emptiness,  at  least  to  the  levity  of  its 
freight — for  that  good  faith,  that  punctuality  in  en- 
gagements, which  is  the  soul  of  all  commercial  as 
well  as  all  moral  relations,  and  which,  while  it  gives 
to  business  the  confidence  and  good  understanding 
rf  friendship,  introduces  into  friendship  the  regularity 


and  matter-of-fact  steadiness  of  business — for  that 
spirit  of  fairness  and  liberality  among  public  men, 
which  extracts  the  virus  of  personality  out  of  party 
zeal,  and  exhibits  so  often  (too  often,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
of  late)  the  touching  spectacle  of  the  most  sturdy  po- 
litical chieftains  pouring  out  at  the  grave  of  their  most 
violent  antagonists  sucli  tributes,  not  alone  of  justice, 
but  of  cordial  eulogy,  as  show  how  free  from  all  pri- 
vate rancour  was  the  hostility  that  separated  them — 
and  lastly  (as  I  trust  I  may  say,  not  only  without 
infringing,  but  in  strict  accordance  with,  that  wise 
tact  which  excludes  party  politics  from  a  meeting  like 
the  present,)  for  that  true  and  well-understood  love 
of  liberty,  which,  through  all  changes  of  chance  and 
time,  has  kept  the  old  vessel  of  the  Constitution  sea- 
worthy— which,  in  spite  of  storms  from  without,  and 
momentary  dissensions  between  the  crew  within, 
still  enables  her  to  ride,  the  admiration  of  the  world, 
and  will,  I  trust  in  God,  never  suffer  her  to  founder— 
for  all  these  qualities,  and  many,  many  more  that 
could  be  enumerated,  equally  lofty  and  equally  vplua- 
ble,  the  most  widely-travelled  Englishman  may 
proudly  say,  as  he  sets  his  foot  once  more  upon  the 
chalky  cliffs, — '  This  is  my  own,  my  native  land,  and 
I  have  seen  nothing  that  can,  in  the  remotest  degree, 
compare  with  it.'— Gentlemen,  I  could  not  help, — in 
that  fulness  of  heart,  which  they  alone  can  feel  to- 
wards England  who  have  been  doomed  to  live  for 
some  time  out  of  it — paying  this  feeble  tribute  to  that 
most  noble  country ;  nor  can  I  doubt  the  cordiality 
with  which  you  will  drink — '  Prosperity,  a  long  pros- 
perity to  Old  England.' " 

This  speech  was  hailed  with  the  warmest  acclama- 
tions, and  the  utmost  hilarity  prevailed  till  "  morning 
grey  began  to  peep."  Never  did  more  gaiety,  good 
humour,  and  cordiality  grace  a  poet's  festival,  than  at 
this  farewell  dinner  to  Tom  Moore. 

To  the  above  specimens  of  our  author's  oratorical 
powers,  we  subjoin  here  two  other  speeches,  of  more 
recent  date,  which  he  delivered  on  occasions  which 
called  forth  all  the  glow  of  liis  heart,  and  sympathy 
of  his  nature. 

On  the  6th  of  last  May,  the  anniversary  meeting 
of  the  patrons  and  friends  of  the  "  Artists'  Benevo- 
lent Fund"  was  held  at  the  Freemasons'  Ta«rn,  the 
Right  Hon.  Frederick  Robinson,  Chancellor  of  the 
Exchequer,  in  the  chair.  In  the  course  of  the  even- 
ing, Mr.  Shee,  R.  A.,  proposed  as  a  toast  "  The  health 
of  Thomas  Moore,  and  Thomas  Campbell,"  which 
was  drunk  with  enthusiastic  applause.  Immediately 
after  this  Mr.  Moore  rose,  and  returned  thanks  ad 
follows : — 

"  I  assure  the  meeting  that  I  feel  very  sensibly  and 
very  strongly  the  high  honour  which  has  been  con- 
ferred on  me,  nor  do  I  feel  it  the  less  sensibly,  from 
the  kind  and  warm-hearted  manner  in  which  the  toast 
hast  been  proposed  by  my  excellent  friend  and  fellow- 
countryman.  To  have  my  name  coupled  with  tha> 
of  Mr.  Campbell,  I  feel  to  be  no  ordinary  distinction. 
If  a  critical  knowledge  of  the  arts  were  necessary  foi 
a  just  admiration  of  them,  I  must  at  once  admit,  much 
as  I  delight  in  them,  that  I  cannot  boast  of  that  know 
ledge.  I  am  one  of  those  uninitiated  worshippers 
who  admire  very  sincerely,  though  perhaps  I  could 
not,  like  the  initiated,  give  a  perfectly  satisfactory 
reason  for  my  admiration.  I  enjoy  the  arts,  as  a  man 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


unacquainted  with  astronomy  enjoys  the  beauty  of 
sunset,  or  the  brilliant  wonders  of  a  starry  night. 
Amongst  the  many  objects  of  commiseration  with 
which  the  world  unfortunately  abounds,  there  is  not 
one  that  appeals  more  intensely  to  the  feelings  than 
Ihe  family  which  a  man  of  genius  leaves  behind  him, 
desolate  and  forsaken ;  their  only  distinction  the  re- 
flected light  of  a  name  which  renders  their  present 
misery  more  conspicuous,  and  the  contemplation  of 
which  must  add  poignancy  to  their  sufferings.  There 
is  no  object  under  heaven  more  sure  to  be  visited 
with  the  blessings  of  success  than  that  which  has  in 
view  the  alleviation  of  such  misery.  I  am  happy  to 
find  that  the  Government,  of  which  the  Right  Ho- 
nourable Chairman  forms  a  part,  has  taken  the  fine 
urts  under  their  protection.  It  is  for  them  a  proud 
and  honourable  distinction,  that,  while  they  show 
they  possess  the  talents  of  statesmen,  they  also  prove 
they  have  the  liberal  feelings  which  belong  to  men 
of  taste." 

Tffis  speech  was  received  with  repeated  cheering, 
and  the  eloquent  speaker  sat  down  amidst  the  loudest 
applause. 

At  the  37th  Anniversary  of  the  "  Literary  Fund 
Society,"  Sir  John  Malcolm  introduced  the  health  of 
our  poet  in  the  following  manner : — 

"  It  is  another  remarkable  feature  of  this  Institution, 
that  its  applause  may  be  valuable  to  genius,  when  its 
money  is  not  wanted.  I  allude  to  one  now  present 
amongst  us,  whom  I  have  not  the  honour  of  knowing 
personally,  but  whose  fame  is  well  known  all. over 
<Jie  world.  I  now  claim  the  liberty  to  pay  my  tribute 
of  admiration  to  the  individual  in  question ;  for,  al- 
though I  have  spent  a  great  part  of  my  life  in  distant 
climes,  his  fame  has  reached  me ;  and  the  merit  of 
one  of  his  works  I  am  myself  well  able  to  appreciate 
—I  mean  Lalla  Rookh — in  which  the  author  has 
combined  the  truth  of  the  historian  with  the  genius 
of  the  poet,  and  the  vigorous  classical  taste  of  his 
own  country  with  the  fervid  imagination  of  the  East. 
I  propose  the  health  of  Mr.  Thomas  Moore." 

The  health  was  then  received  witli  all  the  honours ; 
jpon  which  Mr.  Moore  rose  and  said  : — 

"I  feel  highly  flattered  by  the  compliment  now 
paid  me,  although  there  are  others  who  might  more 
justly  have  laid  claim  to  it — I  allude  to  the  translator 
of  Oberon  (Mr.  Sotheby,)  whose  genius  instructed, 
enlightened,  and  delighted  the  world,  long  ere  a  lay 
of  mine  appeared  before  the  public.  I  cannot,  how- 
ever, but  feel  myself  highly  honoured  by  the  manner  in 
which  my  health  has  been  received  in  such  an  assem- 
bly as  the  present.  The  soldier  is  delighted  with  the 
applause  of  his  companions  in  arms  ;  the  sailor  loves 
to  hear  the  praises  of  those  who  have  encountered  the 
perils  of  the  deep  and  of  naval  warfare  ;  so  I  cannot 
help  feeling  somewhat  like  a  similar  pleasure  from 
the  approbation  of  those  who  have  laboured  with  me 
in  the  same  field.  This  is  the  highest  honour  which 
hey  can  offer,  or  I  can  receive.  As  to  the  Honoura- 
»le  Baronet  who  has  proposed  my  health  in  so  flat- 
ering  a  manner,  I  feel  that  much  of  what  he  has  said 
may  arise  from  the  influence  of  the  sparkling  glass 
which  has  been  circulating  among  us.  (A  laugh.)  I 
do  not  by  any  means  say  that  we  have  yet  reached 
(lie  state  of  double  vision  (a  laugh,)  but  it  is  well 
Iliiown  that  objects  seen  through  a  glass  appear  mag- 


nified and  of  a  higher  elevation.  There  is  an  anec- 
dote in  the  history  of  literature  not  unconnected  with 
this  topic.  When  the  art  of  printing  was  first  intro- 
duced, the  types  with  which  the  first  works  were 
printed  were  taken  down  and  converted  into  drinking- 
cups,  to  celebrate  the  glory  of  the  invention. — To  lie 
sure,  there  have  been  other  literary  glasses  not  quiio. 
so  poetical;  for  it  has  been  said,  that  as  the  warriors 
of  the  North  drank  their  mead  in  the  hall  of  Odin  jut 
of  the  skulls  of  those  whom  they  had  slain  in  battle — • 
so  booksellers  drank  their  wine  out  of  the  skulls  of 
authors.  (Laughter  and  applause.)  But  different 
times  have  now  arrived ;  for  authors  have  got  their 
share  of  the  uurum  potabile,  and  booksellers  have  got 
rather  the  worst  of  it.  There  is  one  peculiarity  at- 
tendant upon  genius,  which  is  well  worth  mentioning, 
with  reference  to  the  great  objects  of  this  admirable 
Institution.  Men  of  genius,  like  the  precious  per- 
fumes of  the  East,  are  exceedingly  liable  to  exhaus- 
tion .  and  the  period  often  comes  when  nothing  of  it 
remains  but  its  sensibility  ;  and  the  light,  which  long 
gave  life  to  the  world,  sometimes  terminates  in  be- 
coming a  burden  to  itself.  (Great  applause.)  When 
we  add  to  that  the  image  of  Poverty — when  we  con- 
sider the  situation  of  that  man  of  genius,  who,  in  his 
declining  years  and  exhausted  resources,  sees  nothing 
before  him  but  indigence — it  is  then  only  that  we  can 
estimate  the  value  of  this  Institution,  which  stretches 
out  its  friendly  hand  to  save  him  from  the  dire  ca- 
lamity. (Applause.)  This  is  a  consideration  which 
ought  to  have  its  due  effect  upon  the  minds  of  the 
easy  and  opulent,  who  may  themselves  be  men  of 
genius  ;  but  there  may  be  others  who  have  no  property 
to  bestow  upon  them ;  and  the  person  who  now  ad- 
dresses you  speaks  the  more  feelingly,  because  he 
cannot  be  sure  that  the  fate  of  genius,  which  he  has 
just  been  depicting,  may  not  one  day  be  his  own." 
(Immense  applause.) 

In  1823,  Mr.  Moore  published  "The  Loves  of  the 
Angels,"  of  which  two  French  translations  soon  after 
appeared  in  Paris.  While  Mr.  Moore  was  compos- 
ing this  poem,  Lord  Byron,  who  then  resided  in 
Italy,  was,  by  a  singular  coincidence,  writing  a  similai 
poem,  with  the  title  of  "  Heaven  and  Earth,"  both  of 
them  having  taken  the  subject  from  the  second  verse 
of  the  6th  chapter  of  Genesis  :  "  And  it  came  to  pass, 
that  the  sons  of  God  saw  the  daughters  of  men  that 
they  were  fair;  and  they  took  them  wives  of  aU 
which  they  chose." 

The  two  poets  presumed  that  the  Sons  of  God  were 
angels,  which  opinion  is  also  entertained  by  some  of 
Uio  fathers  of  the  Church. 

We  have  already  alluded  to  our  author's, "  Memoirs 
of  Captain  Rock,"  the  celebrated  "  Rinaldo  Rinal- 
dini"  of  Ireland  ;  or  ra'her  the  designation  adopted 
by  the  "  Rob  Roys"  of  that  unfortunately  divided 
country.  Mr.  Moore  has  since  increased  his  reputa- 
tion, as  a  prose  writer,  by  his  publication  of  the  Life 
of  the  late  Right  Honourable  Richard  Brinsley  Sheri- 
dan, which,  from  the  superior  sources  of  information 
at  his  command,  is,  in  a  literary  point  of  view  at  least, 
a  valuable  acquisition  to  the  lovers  of  biography. 

We  here  annex  a  list  of  Mr.  Moore's  works,  with 
their  respective  dates  of  publication,  as  far  as  we  have 
been  able  to  verify  them. 

The  Odes  of  Anacreon,  translated  into  English 


SKuTCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


irrse,  with  notes;  dedicated  by  permission  to  his 
Royal   Highness  the  Prince  of  Wales  (his  present 
;y.)    4to.     1800. 

A  Candid  Appeal  to  Public  Confidence,  or  Con- 
siderations on  the  Dangers  of  the  Present  Crisis. 
8ro.  1803. 

Corruption  and  Intolerance,  two  poems. 
;les,  Odes,  and  other  Poems.    1806. 
U,  un  Jer  the  assumed  name  of  the  late  Thomas 
Little,  Ksq.    8vo.     1803. 

A  Letter  to  the  Roman  Catholics  of  Dublin.  8vo. 
1810. 

M.  P.,  or  the  Blue  Stocking,  a  comic  opera  in  three 
•cts,  performed  at  the  Lyceum.  1S11. 

Intercepted  Letters,  or  the  Twopenny-Post  Bag 
(in  verse,)  by  Thomas  Brown  the  Younger.  8vo. 
1S12.— Of  this  upwards  of  fourteen  editions  have  ap- 
peared in  England. 

A  Selection  of  Irish  Melodies,  continued  to  9  num- 
bers. 

Mr.  Moore  completed  the  translation  of  Sallust, 
which  )-ad  been  left  unfinished  by  Mr.  Arthur  Mur- 
phy, and  he  superintended  the  printing  of  the  work 
for  the  purchaser,  Mr.  Carpenter. 

The  Sceptic,  a  philosophical  satire. 

Lalla  Rookh,  an  oriental  romance,  dedicated  to 
Samuel  Rogers,  Esq.  1817. 

The  Fudpe  Family  in  Paris,  letters  in  verse.    1818. 
nal  Airs,  continued  to  four  numbers. 

Sacred  Songs,  two  numbers. 

Ballads,  Songs,  etc. 

Tom  Crib's  Memorial  to  Congress,  in  verse. 

Trifles  Reprinted,  in  verse. 

Loves  of  the  Angels.     1823. 

Rhymes  on  the  Road  extracted  from  the  journal 
of  a  travelling  member  of  the  Pococurante  Society. 

Miscellaneous  Poems,  by  different  members  of  the 
Pococurante  Society. 

Fables  for  the  Holj  Alliance,  in  verse. 

Ballads,  Songs,  Miscellaneous  Poems,  etc. 

Memoirs  of  Captain  Rock. 

The  Life  of  the  late  Right  Honourable  Richard 
Brinsley  Sheridan. 

For  Lalla  Rookh  Mr.  Moore  received  3,000  guineas 
of  Messrs.  Longman  and  Co.  For  the  Life  of  Sheri- 
dan he  was  paid  2,000  guineas  by  the  same  house. — 
Mr.  Mooru  enjoys  an  annuity  of  500Z.  from  Power, 
the  music-seller,  for  the  Irish  Melodies  and  other 
lyrical  pieces.  He  has,  moreover,  lately,  we  under- 
stand, engaged  to  write  for  the  TIMES  newspaper,  at 
«  salary  of  500Z.  per  annum. 

It  is  well  kn^wn  that  the  Memoirs  of  the  late  Lord 
Byron,  written  by  himself,  had  been  deposited  in  the 
keeping  of  Mr.  Moore,  and  designed  as  a  legacy  for 
his  benefit.  It  is  also  known  that  the  latter,  with  the 
consent  and  at  the  desire  of  his  lordship,  had  long  ago 
•old  the  manuscript  to  Mr.  Murray,  the  bookseller, 
for  the  sum  of  two  thousand  guineas.  These  me- 
moirs are,  however,  lost  to  the  world :  the  leading 
facts  relative  to  which  were  related  in  the  following 
letter  addressed  by  Mr.  Moore  to  the  English  jour- 
nals •— 

"Without  entering  into  the  r-spective  claims  of 
M-.  Murray  and  myself  to  the  property  in  these  me- 
moirs (a  question  which,  now  that  they  are  destroyed, 
«an  be  but  of  little  moment  to  any  one,)  it  us  sufficient 


to  say  that,  believing  the  manuscript  still  to  be  mine, 
I  placed  it  at  the  disposal  of  Lord  Byron's  sister,  Mrs. 
Leigh,  with  the  sole  reservation  of  a  protest  against 
its  total  destruction — at  least  without  previous  perusal 
and  consultation  among  the  parties.  The  majority 
of  the  persons  present  disagreed  with  this  opinioni 
and  it  teas  the  only  point  upon  which  there  did  exitt 
any  difference  between  us.  The  manuscript  was,  ac- 
cordingly, torn  and  burnt  before  our  eyes;  and  1 
immediately  paid  to  Mr.  Murray,  in  the  presence  of 
the  gentlemen  assembled,  two  thousand  guineas,  vith 
interest,  etc.,  being  the  amount  of  what  I  owed  him 
upon  the  security  of  my  bond,  and  for  which  I  now 
stand  indebted  to  my  publishers,  Messrs.  Longman 
and  Co. 

"  Since  then  the  family  of  Lord  Byron  have,  in  a 
manner  highly  honourable  to  themselves,  proposed 
an  arrangement,  by  which  the  sum  thus  paid  to  Mr. 
Murray  might  be  reimbursed  to  me ;  but,  from  feelings 
and  considerations  which  it  is  unnecessary  here  to  ex- 
plain, I  have  respectfully,  but  peremptorily,  declined 
their  offer." 

Before  we  proceed  to  offer  a  few  unprejudiced  ob- 
servations on  this  unpleasant  subject,  we  deem  it 
proper  to  lay  before  our  readers  the  various  opinions, 
pro  et  contra,  to  which  this  letter  of  Mr.  3Ioore  gave 
rise.  It  is  but  justice,  however,  to  3Ir.  Moore's  high 
and  unblemished  reputation  to  premise,  that  neither 
by  those  who  regretted  the  burning  of  Byron's  Me- 
moirs, as  a  public  loss,  nor  by  those  who  condemned 
it  as  a  dereliction  of  the  most  important  duty  he  owed 
to  the  memory  and  fame  of  his  noble-minded  friend 
— by  none  of  these,  nor  by  any  one  we  ever  heard  of, 
has  Mr.  Moore's  honour,  disinterestedness,  or  deli- 
cacy— extreme  delicacy — ever  been,  in  the  slightest 
degree  impeached. 

The  enemies  of  "The  Burning"  said,  that  Mr. 
Moore's  explanatory  letter  was  an  ingenious  but  not 
an  ingenuous  one — for  that,  at  any  rate,  it  threw  no 
light  on  the  subject. — They  cavilled  at  the  words 
"and  it  was  the  only  point  on  which  there  did  exist 
any  difference  between  us,"  professing  to  wonder 
what  other  "  point"  of  any  consequence  could  pos- 
sibly have  been  in  discussion,  save  that  of  preserving 
or  destroying  the  manuscript.  They  could  not  see, 
or  were  incapable  of  feeling,  what  paramount  sense 
of  delicacy  or  duty  could  operate  upon  a  mind  like 
Mr.  Moore's  to  counterbalance  the  delicacy  and  duty 
due  to  his  dead  friend's  fame,  which,  according  to 
them,  he  had  thus  abandoned  to  a  sea  of  idle  specu- 
lation.— Moreover,  they  were  unable  to  comprehend 
what  business  Mr.  Murray  the  bookseller,  or  any  of 
the  gentlemen  present,  had  with  the  business,  when 
Mr.  Moore  had  redeemed  the  MS.,  "with  interest, 
etc.,"  and  with  his  own  money  (that  is,  the  sum  he 
borrowed  for  the  purpose.)  Finally,  it  was  past  their 
understanding  to  conceive,  how  any  person  could 
allow  his  own  fair,  just,  and  horn  urably-acquired  pro- 
perty to  be  burnt  and  destroyed  before  his  eyes,  and 
against  his  own  protested  opinion,  even  if,  from  an 
honrsi  but  too  sensitive  deference  for  others,  he  had 
conceded  so  far  as  to  withhold  its  publication  to  "  a 
more  convenient  season  ;"  or  simply  to  preserve  it  as 
precious  relic  in  his  family. 

To  this,  the  firm  supporters  of  church  and  state — 
the  pure  sticklers  for  public  morals-  the  friends  of 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


decorum  and  decency — the  respecters  of  the  inviola- 
oility  of  domestic  privacy — the  foes  to  unlicensed  wit 
and  poetic  license — the  disinterested  and  tender  re- 
garders  of  Lord  Byron's  character  itself, — one  and  all 
proudly  replied,  that  Mr.  Moore  had  performed  one 
of  the  most  difficult  and  most  delicate  duties  that  ever 
fell  to  the  lot  of  man,  friend,  citizen,  or  Christian  to 
perform,  in  the  most  manly,  friendly,  patriotic,  and 
christian-like  manner.  As  a  man,  he  had  nobly 
sacrificed  his  private  interest  and  opinion,  out  of 
respect  to  Lord  Byron's  living  connexions;  as  a 
friend,  he  h;id  evinced  a  real  and  rare  friendship  by 
withholding,  at  his  own  personal  loss,  those  self-and- 
Ihoughtlessly-intruded  specks  and  deformities  of  a 
great  character  from  the  popular  gaze,  which  delights 
too  much  to  feast  on  the  infirmities  of  noble  minds. 
As  a  citizen,  he  has  forborne  to  display  sparkling  wit 
at  the  expense  of  sound  morality ;  and,  finally,  as  a 
Christian,  he  had  acted  like  a  good  and  faithful  servant 
of  the  church,  in  leaving  his  friend's  memory,  and 
exposing  his  own  reputation,  to  martyrdom,  from  the 
most  religious  and  exalted  motives. 

The  private  and  particular  friends  of  3Ir.  Moore 
briefly  and  triumphantly  referred  to  his  unspotted 
character, 

Winch  nevor  yet  the  breath  of  calumny  had  tainted, 
and  they  properly  condemned  uncharitable  conjecture 
on  a  subject  of  which  the  most  that  could  be  said  was 
Causa  latut,  vis  est  notissima. 

The  Examiner  newspaper  gave  the  subjoined  state- 
ment, which,  if  it  were  properly  authenticated,  would 
at  once  set  the  matter  at  rest,  to  the  entire  justification 
of  the  Bard  of  Erin. 

"  We  were  going  to  allude  again  this  week  to  the 
question  between  3Ir.  Moore  and  the  public,  respect- 
ing the  destruction  of  Lord  Byron's  Memoirs.  We 
have  received  several  letters  expressing  the  extreme 
mortification  of  the  writers  on  learning  the  fact,  and 
venting  their  indignation  in  no  very  measured  terms 
against  the  perpetrators;  and  we  should  not  have  con- 
cealed our  own  opinion  that,  however  nobly  Mr. 
Thomas  Moore  may  have  acted  as  regards  his  own 
interest,  his  published  letter  makes  out  no  justification 
either  in  regard  to  his  late  illustrious  friend,  whose 
reputation  was  thus  abandoned  without  that  defence, 
which  probably  his  own  pen  could  alone  furnish,  of 
many  misrepresented  passages  in  his  conduct;  or 
in  regard  to  the  world,  which  is  thus  robbed  of  a 
treasure  that  can  never  be  replaced.  But  we  have 
learnt  one  fact,  which  puts  a  different  face  upon  the 
whole  matter.  It  is,  that  Lord  Byron  himself  did  not 
wish  the  Memoirs  pMiahed.  How  they  came  into 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Moore  and  the  bookseller — for  what 
purpose  and  under  what  reservations — we  shall  pro- 
bably be  at  liberty  to  explain  at  a  future  time ;  for  the 
present,  we  can  only  say  that  such  is  the  fact,  as  the 
noble  poet's  intimate  friends  can  testify." 

This  is  indeed  an  explanation  "devoutly  to  be 
wished,"  nor  can  we  conceive  why  it  should  be  still 
delayed.  It  is  highly  probable,  however,  that  Mr. 
Moore  will  himself  fully  and  satisfactorily  elucidate 
the  affair,  in  the  life  he  is  said  to  be  writing  of  Lord 
Byron. 

Such  were  the  conflicting  opinions  of  the  time  re- 


lating to  this  mysterious  and  painfully  delicate  sub- 
ject ;  on  which,  however,  we  are  bound  to  introduce 
a  few  summary  remarks. 

When  Lord  Byron's  death  was  once  ascertained, 
the  whole  interest  of  society  seemed  centered  in  his 
Memoirs.  Curiosity  swallowed  up  grief;  and  people, 
becoming  wearied  by  the  comments  of  other  writers 
on  him  who  was  no  more,  turned  with  unexampled 
anxiety  to  know  what  he  had  written  upon  himself 
Whether  or  not  the  public  had  a  right  to  these  Me- 
moirs, is  a  question  which  it  is  not,  perhaps,  quite 
useless  to  discuss.  It  is,  at  any  rate,  our  opinion  that 
they  had  the  right ;  and  that  the  depositary  of  the 
manuscript  was  no  more  than  a  trustee  for  the  public, 
however  his  individual  interest  was  concerned  or 
consulted.  Lord  Byron  bequeathed  his  Memoirs  to 
the  world.  The  profits  of  their  sale  were  alone 
meant  for  Mr.  Moore.  Lord  Byron's  family  had  no 
pretension  whatever  to  the  monopoly.  And  though 
the  delicate  consideration  of  Mr.  Moore  prompted 
his  offer  of  having  the  manuscript  perused  and  puri- 
fied, if  such  be  the  proper  word,  by  the  nearest  sur- 
viving relative  of  Lord  Byron,  we  maintain  that  he 
was  right,  strictly  right,  in  protesting  against  its  un- 
conditional destruction. 

For  ourselves,  we  think  that,  in  respect  to  the 
burning,  Mr.  Moore's  conduct  is  not  clearly  under- 
stood or  appreciated.  Some  blame,  as  we  have 
shown,  appears  to  have  been  attached  to  his  share  in 
the  matter,  not  only  in  Great  Britain,  but  on  the  con- 
tinent, where  the  subject  excited  an  interest  quite  as 
lively  as  in  England.  But  it  is  our  opinion  that  Mr 
Moore's  conduct  in  the  affair  has  been  too  hastily 
condemned.  One  duty,  we  think,  remains  for  his 
performance — but  one,  and  that  most  imperative :  it 
is  to  give  to  the  world  the  genuine  work  of  Lord 
Byron,  if  it  be  in  his  power  to  do  so.  The  opinion 
is  at  all  events  wide  spread,  if  not  well  founded,  thai 
one  copy  at  least  of  the  original  work  is  in  existence. 
That  opinion  is  afloat,  and  nothing  will  sink  it.  If 
the  life  which  Mr.  Moore  is  supposed  to  be  prepar- 
ing come  out  as  his  own  production,  it  will  be  diffi 
cult,  if  not  impossible,  to  convince  the  public  that  i 
is  not  a  compilation  from  the  copy  which  we  alluda 
to,  or  from  a  memo'-y  powerfully  tenacious  of  th« 
original.  If  it  be  not  avowed  as  such,  its  genuineness 
v.'ill  be  doubted,  and  a  dozen  spurious  lives  will  pro 
bably  appear,  professing  to  be  that  identical  copy,  of" 
whose  existence  no  one  will  consent  to  doubt.  No 
reasoning,  nothing,  in  fact,  short  of  Mr.  Moore's 
positive  assertion  to  the  contrary,  will  persuade  peo- 
ple that  he  could,  for  years,  have  run  the  risk  of 
leaving  so  interesting  a  manuscript,  or  that  he  could 
have  entnisted  it,  without  possessing  a  implicate,  in 
the  hands  of  any  one.  And,  at  all  events,  it  will  be 
thought  morally  certain,  that  more  than  one  of  those 
to  whom  it  was  entrusted  had  curiosity  enough  to 
copy  it ;  and  very  improbable  that  any  one  had  ho- 
nesty enough  to  confess  it. 

Besides  these  reasons  for  the  publication  of  the 
real  Memoirs,  supposing  a  copy  to  exist,  there  is  one 
of  such  paramount  importance,  that  we  are  sure  it 
must  have  struck  every  body  who  has  thought  at  all 
upon  the  subject.  We  mean  the  retrospective  injury 
done  to  the  character  of  the  deceased,  by  the  conjoo- 


zri 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE 


tare*  which  are  abroad,  as  to  the  nature  of  the  Me- 
moirs he  left  behind.  We  do  not  pretend  to  bo  in 
the  secret  of  their  contents,  but  we  are  quite  sure  they 
can  be  in  no  way  so  reprehensible,  as  the  public  ima- 
gination, and  the  enemies  of  Lord  Byron,  have 
figured  them  to  be ;  and  there  is  one  notion  concern- 
ing  them,  of  a  nature  too  delicate  to  touch  upon,  and 
for  the  removal  of  which  no  sacrifice  of  individual  or 
family  vanity  would  be  a  price  too  high.  We  have,  J 
moreover,  good  authority  for  believing  that  the  Me- ; 
mom  might  and  ought  to  have  been  published,  with  ' 
perfect  safety  to  public  morals,  and  with  a  very  con- 
siderable gratification  to  public  anxiety.  Curiosity, 
which  is  so  contemptible  in  individuals,  assumes  a 
»ery  diffeient  aspect  when  it  is  shared  by  society  at 
large ;  and  a  satisfaction  which  may  be,  in  most  in- 
stances, withheld  from  the  one,  ought  very  rarely  to 
be  refused  to  the  other.  Nothing  has  ever  had  such 
power  of  excitement  upon  the  mass  of  mankind  as 
private  details  of  illustrious  individuals ;  and,  most  of 
all,  what  may  be  called  their  confessions :  and  if  those 
individuals  choose  to  make  their  opinions  as  much 
the  property  of  the  world  after  their  death,  as  their 
conduct  and  works  had  been  before,  we  repeat,  that 
it  is  nothing  short  of  a  fraud  upon  the  public  to  snatch 
away  the  treasure  of  which  they  were  die  just  in- 
heritors. Nor  must  it  be  said  that  the  property  in 
question  is  of  no  intrinsic  value.  Every  thing  which 
ministers  to  the  public  indulgence  is  of  wealth  pro- 
portioned to  its  rarity — and  in  this  point  of  view  Lord 
Byron's  Memoirs  were  beyond  price.  If  they  con- 
tain gross  scandal,  or  indecent  disclosure,  let  such 
parts  be  suppressed ;  and  enough  will  remain  amply 
to  satisfy  all  readers.  But  we  say  this  merely  for  the 
sake  of  supposition,  and  for  the  purpose  of  refuting 
an  argument  founded  in  an  extreme  case ;  we  have 
great  pleasure  in  believing  that  the  only  pretence  for 
such  an  imputation  on  the  manuscript,  was  the  selfish 
or  squeamish  act  of  its  suppression. 

We  trust  that  Mr.  Moore  will  yet  consider  well  the 
part  he  has  to  perform ;  that  he  is  not  insensible  to 
the  narrow  scrutiny  which  the  public  displays  in  this 
affair,  and  which  posterity  will  confirm ;  and  that  he 
will,  on  this  occasion,  uphold  the  character  for  in- 
ttgrity  and  frankness  which  is  *o  pre-eminently  his. 
We  speak  with  certitude  of  his  disinterested  and  up- 
right feelings  throughout;  we  only  hope  his  delicacy 
towards  others  may  not  lead  him  too  far  towards  the 
risk  of  his  own  popularity,  or  the  sacrifice  of  what  we 
designate  once  more  the  public  property. 

If  credit  may  be  given  to  Captain  Medwin,  Lord 
Byron  was  most  desirous  for  the  posthumous  print- 
ing of  his  Memoirs  ;  and  he  seems,  indeed,  to  have 
intrusted  them  to  Mr.  Moore,  as  a  safeguard  against 
that  very  accident  into  which  the  high-wrought  no- 
tions of  delicacy  of  the  trustee,  and  his  deference  to 
the  relations  and  friends  of  the  illustrious  deceased, 
actually  betrayed  them.  Lord  Byron  seems  to  have 
been  aware  of  the  prudery  of  his  own  immediate  con- 
nexions ;  and  in  the  way  in  which  he  bestowed  the 
manuscript,  to  have  consulted  at  once  his  generous 
disposition  towards  a  friend,  and  his  desire  of  security 
i  gainst  mutilation  or  suppression.  On  this  subject 
Captain  Modwin's  Journal  makes  him  speak  as  fol- 
low* ;  "  I  am  sorry  not  to  have  a  copv  of  my  Memoirs 


to  show  you.    I  gave  them  to  Moore,  or  rather  to 
Moore's  little  boy."* 

"I  remember  saying,  'Here  are  two  thousand 
pounds  for  you,  my  young  friend.'  I  made  one  re- 
servation in  the  gift — that  they  were  not  to  be  publish- 
ed till  after  my  death." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  objection  to  their  being  cir- 
culated ;  in  tiict  they  have  been  read  by  some  of  mine, 
and  several  of  Moore's  friends  and  acquaintances 
among  others  they  were  lent  to  Lady  Burghersh.  On 
returning  the  manuscript,  her  ladyship  told  Moore 
that  she  had  transcribed  the  whole  work.  This 
was  un  pen  fort,  and  he  suggested  the  propriety  of 
her  destroying  the  copy.  She  did  so,  by  putting  it 
into  the  fire  in  his  presence.  Ever  since  this  hap- 
pened, Douglas  Kinnatrd  has  been  recommending 
me  to  resume  possession  of  the  manuscript,  thinking 
to  frighten  me  by  saying,  that  a  spurious  or  a  real 
copy,  surreptitiously  obtained,  may  go  forth  to  the 
world.  I  am  quite  indifferent  about  the  world  know- 
ing all  that  they  contain.  There  are  very  few  licen- 
tious adventures  of  my  own,  or  scandalous  anecdolea 
that  will  affect  others,  in  the  book.  It  is  taken  up 
from  my  earliest  recollections,  almost  from  child- 
hood— very  incoherent,  written  in  a  very  loose  and 
familiar  style.  The  second  part  will  prove  a  good 
lesson  to  young  men ;  for  it  treats  of  the  irregular 
life  I  led  at  one  period,  and  the  fatal  consequences 
of  dissipation.  There  are  few  parts  that  may  not, 
and  none  that  will  not,  be  read  by  women." 

In  this  particular  Lord  Byron's  fate  has  been  sin- 
gular; and  a  superstitious  person  might  be  startled  at 
the  coincidence  of  so  many  causes,  all  tending  to 
hide  his  character  from  the  public.  That  scandal 
and  envy  should  have  been  at  work  with  such  a  man 
is  not  very  extraordinary  ;  but  the  burning  of  his  Me- 
moirs, and  the  subsequent  injunction  on  the  publica- 
tion of  his  Letters  to  his  Mother,  seem  as  if  some- 
thing more  than  mere  chance  had  operated  to  preserve 
unconfuted  the  calumnies  of  the  day,  for  the  benefit 
of  future  biographers.  Of  these  Letters  a  friend  of 
ours  was  fortunate  enough  to  obtain  a  glimpse,  and 
never,  he  told  us,  was  more  innocent,  and  at  the 
same  time  more  valuable  matter,  so  withheld  from 
the  world.  It  were,  he  observed,  but  an  act  of  cold 
justice  to  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron  to  state,  pub- 
licly, that  they  appear  the  reflections  of  as  generous 
a  mind  as  ever  committed  its  expression  to  paper : 
for  though,  indeed,  the  traces  of  his  temperament,  and 
of  his  false  position  in  society,  are  there,  still  the  sen- 
timents are  lofty  and  enthusiastic ;  and  every  line  be- 
trays the  warmest  sympathy  with  human  suffering, 
and  a  scornful  indignation  against  mean  and  disgrace- 
ful vice. 

The  extempore  song,  addressed  by  Lord  Byron  to 
Mr.  Moore,  on  the  latter's  last  visit  to  Italy,  proves 
the  familiar  intercourse  and  friendship  that  subsisted 
between  him  and  the  subject  of  this  memoir.  The 
following  stanzas  are  very  expressive  : — 


*  There  is  snme  trifling  inaccuracy  in  this,  as  Moore* 
son  was  not  with  him  in  Italy.  It  is  nevertheless  true,  as 
we  are  assured,  that  thin  was  the  turn  which  Lord  Byron 
gnve  to  his  prewnt,  in  order  to  make  it  more  acceptable  to 
his  friend. 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


Were  't  the  la»t  drop  in  the  well, 
As  I  gasp'd  t  pon  the  brink, 

Ere  my  tainting  spiril  li-ll, 

'T  is  to  tk'K  that  I  would  drink. 


In  that  water,  as  this  wine, 
The  libation  1  would  pour 

Should  be — Peace  to  thine  and  mine, 
And  a  health  to  t/tee,  Turn  Moorel 


King  George  the  Fourth  did  not  forget  to  pay  off  the 
Prince  of  Wales's  "  old  score"  with  our  poet : — In 
the  king's  presence,  a  critic,  speaking  of  the  "Life 
of  Sheridan,"  declared  that  Moore  had  murdered  his 
friend.  "  You  are  too  severe,"  said  his  Majesty,  "  I 
cannot  admit  that  Mr.  Moore  has  murdered  Sheridan, 
but  he  lias  certainly  attempted  his  lift'.''' 

It  was  not  till  after  the  Prince  of  Wales's  invest- 
When  Lord  Byron  had  published  his  celebrated  |  rnent  with  regal  power,  that  Mr.  Moore  levelled  the 
satire  of  "  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers,"  in  keen  shafts  of  his  "grey  goose  quill"  against  that 
which  our  poet,  in  common  with  most  of  his  distin-  illustrious  personage.  He  had  previously  dedicated 
guished  contemporaries  was  visited  rather  "too  j  the  translation  of  A nacreon  to  His  Royal  Highness, 
roughly"  by  the  noble  modern  Juvenal,  his  lordship  j  by  whom,  it  is  said,  his  poetry  was  much  admired, 
expected  to  be  "  called  out,"  as  the  fashionable  phrase  |  We  question,  though,  if  his  verse  was  as  palatable  to 
is ;  >wt  no  one  had  courage  to  try  his  prowess  in  the  i  the  Prince  Regent,  as  it  had  been  to  the  Prince  of 


field,  save  Mr.  Moore,  who  did  not  relish  the  joke 
about  "  Little's  leadless  pistols,"  and  sent  a  letter  to 
his  lordship  in  the  nature  of  a  challenge,  but  which 
he,  by  his  leaving  the  country,  did  not  receive.  On 
Byron's  return,  Mr.  Moore  made  inquiry  if  he  had 


Wales.  Mr.  Moore,  perhaps,  thought  as  one  of  his 
predecessors  had  done  on  this  subject,  of  whom  the 
following  anecdote  is  recorded.  Pope,  dining  one 
day  with  Frederic,  Prince  of  Wales,  paid  the  prince 
many  compliments.  "I  wonder,"  said  his  Royal 


received  the  epistle,  and  stated  that,  on  account  of  Highness,  "that  you,  who  are  so  severe  on  kings, 
certain  changes  in  his  circumstances,  he  wished  to  |  should  be  so  complaisant  to  me."  "  It  is,"  replied 
recal  it,  and  become  the  friend  of  Byron,  through !  the  witty  bard,  "  because  I  like  the  lion  before  lu's 


Rogers,  the  author  of  "The  Pleasures  of  3Iemory," 
and  who  was  intimate  with  both  the  distinguished 
bards.  The  letter,  addressed  to  the  care  of  Mr. 
Hanson,  had  been  mislaid ;  search  was  made  for  it, 
and  Byron,  who  at  first  did  not  like  this  ofler,  of  one 
hand  with  a  pistol,  and  the  other  to  shake  in  fellow- 
ship, felt  very  awkward.  On  the  letter  being  re- 
covered, however,  he  delivered  it  unopened  to  Mr. 
Moore,  and  they  afterwards  continued,  to  the  last, 
most  particular  friends. 

It  is  but  justice  to  the  unquestionable  courage  and 
spirited  conduct  of  the  Bard  of  Erin,  to  observe  here, 
that,  though  Byron  had  stated  the  truth  about  the  said 
"  leadless  pistols,"  he  had  not  stated  the  whole  truth. 
The  facts  were  these :  Mr.  Jeffrey,  the  celebrated 
critic,  and  editor  of  the  Edinburgh  Review,  had,  in 
''good  set  phrase."  abused  the  Poems  cf  Thomas 
Little,  Esq.,  nl'mx  Thomas  Moore,  Esq. ;  and  the  lat- 
ter, not  choosing  to  put  up  with  the  H.igeilution  of 
the  then  modern  Aristarchus,  challenged  him.  When 
they  arrived  at  Chalk  Farm,  the  place  fixed  on  for  the 
duel,  the  police  were  ready,  and  deprived  them  of 
their  fire-arms.  On  drawing  their  contents,  the  com- 
pound of  "villanous  saltpetre"  was  found,  but  the 
cold  lead, 

The  pious  metal  most  in  requisition 
On  such  occasions, 

had  somehow  disappeared.  The  cause  was  this : 
One  of  the  balls  had  fallen  out  in  the  carriage,  and 
the  seconds,  with  a  laudable  anxiety  to  preserve  the 
public  peace,  to  save  the  shedding  of  such  valuable 
blood,  and  'o  make  both  equal,  drew  the  other  ball. 

In  his  youth  Mr.  Moore  was  in  the  high  road  to 
court  favour,  and  had  his  spirit  been  less  independent, 
we  might  even  have  had  a  Sir  Thomas  More  in  our 
days.  It  is  said  that  when  the  juvenile  Anacreon  was 
introduced  to  the  then  Prince  of  Wales,  His  Royal 
Highness  inquired  of  him  whether  he  was  a  son  of 
Dr.  Moore,  the  celebrated  author  of  Zeluco  ;  and  that 
the  bard  promptly  replied,  "  No,  Sir ;  I  am  the  son  of 
*  grocer  at  Dublin  !" 

The  following  anecdote  shows  that  His  Majesty 
C 


claws  are  grown." 

The  name  of  Anacreon  Moore,  by  which  our  au 
thor  is  distinguished,  is  not  so  much  his  due  from  the 
mere  circumstance  of  his  having  translated  the  odes 
of  the  Teian  bard,  as  from  the  social  qualities  which 
he  is  known  to  possess,  and  the  convivial  spirit  of  his 
muse.  Mr.  Moore  seems  to  be  of  opinion,  that 
If  with  water  you  fill  up  your  glasses, 

You'll  never  write  any  tliinj;  wise; 
For  wine  is  the  horse  of  Parnassus, 
Which  hurries  a  bard  to  the  skies. 

He  is  not,  however,  ungrateful  for  whatever  share 
conviviality  may  have  had  in  inspiring  his  muse,  but 
has  amply  acknowledged  it  in  the  elegant  and  glow- 
ing terms  in  which  he  has  celebrated  its  praises.  No 
individual  presides  with  more  grace  at  the  convivial 
board,  nor  is  there  one  whose  absence  is  more 
to  be  regretted  by  his  friends. 

Being  on  one  occasion  prevented  from  attending  a 
banquet  where  he  was  an  expected  guest,  and  where, 
in  consequence,  every  thing  seemed  (to  use  a  familiar 
phrase)  out  of  sorts,  a  gentleman,  in  the  fervour  of 
his  disappointment,  exclaimed,  "Give  us  but  one 
Anacreon  more,  ye  gods,  whatever  else  ye  do  deny 
us." 

Presiding  once  at  a  tavern  dinner,  where  some  of 
the  company  were  complaining  that  there  was  no 
game  at  the  table,  a  gentleman  present,  alluding  to 
the  fascinating  manners  of  Mr.  Moore,  who  "  kept  the 
table  in  a  roar,"  said,  "Why,  gentlemen,  what  better 
game  would  you  wish  than  7«oorgame,  of  which  1  am 
sure  you  have  abundance  ?" 

At  another  time,  after  the  pleasures  of  the  evening 
had  been  extended  to  a  pretty  late  hour,  Mr.  D.  pro- 
posed, as  a  concluding  bumper,  the  health  of  Mr. 
Moore  ;  a  toast  which,  having  been  twice  drank  in  the 
course  of  th'e  evening,  was  objected  to  as  unneces- 
sary. Mr.  D.,  however,  persisted  in  giving  the '.oast; 
and  quoted  in  support  of  it  the  following  passage  fVora 
Mr.  Moore's  translation  of  the  eighth  ode  of  Ana 
creon.  "  Let  us  drink  it  now,"  said  he, 

For  death  may  como  with  brow  unpleasant, 
Nay  corae  when  least  we  wish  him  protcnt, 


IVili 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


And  beckon  to  the  cable  shore, 
And  gtimiy  bid  u» — drink  no  Mare! 

We  here  terminate  the  Biographical  part  of  our 
•ketch ;  and,  after  a  few  introductory  and  general  re 
marks,  shall  proceed  to  talte  a  critical  review-  of  ou 
author's  principal  works,  including  some  interesting 
•ketches  and  anecdotes  of  ancient  minstrelsy,  illus- 
trative of  the  "  Irish  .Melodies." 

.Moore  is  not,  like  Wordsworth  or  Coleridge,  the 
poet's  poet ;  nor  is  it  necessary,  in  order  to  enjoy  his 
writings,  that  we  should  create  a  taste  for  them  other 
than  what  we  received  from  nature  and  education. 
\Vt  his  style  is  condemned  as  tinsel  and  artificial, 
whereas  the  great  praise  bestowed  on  those  preferred 
to  it  is,  that  they  are  the  only  true  natural. — Now  if 
it  requires  study  and  progressive  taste  to  arrive  at  a 
tense  of  the  natural,  and  but  common  feeling  to  enjoy 
the  beauties  of  the  artificial,  then  certainly  these  names 
have  changed  places  since  we  met  them  in  the  dic- 
tionary. 

Formerly,  people  were  content  with  estimating 
books — persons  are  the  present  objects  universally. 
It  is  not  the  pleasure  or  utility  a  volume  affords,  which 
w  taken  into  consideration,  but  the  genius  which  it 
indicates.  Each  person  is  anxious  to  form  his  scale 
of  excellence,  and  to  range  great  names,  living  or 
dead,  at  certain  intervals  and  in  different  grades,  self 
being  the  hidden  centre  whither  all  the  comparisons 
Tcrge.  In  former  times  works  of  authors  were  com- 
posed with  ideal  or  ancient  models, — the  humble 
crowd  of  readers  were  content  to  peruse  and  admire. 
At  present  it  is  otherwise,— every  one  is  conscious  of 
having  either  written,  or  at  least  having  been  able  to 
write  a  book,  and  consequently  all  literary  decisions 
affect  them  personally : — 

Scribendi  oibil  a  me  alienum  puto, 

is  the  language  of  the  age;  and  the  most  insignificant 
calculate  on  the  wonders  they  might  have  effected, 
had  chance  thrown  a  pen  in  their  way. — The  literary 
character  has,  in  fact,  extended  itself  over  the  whole 
fcce  of  society,  with  all  the  evils  that  D' Israeli  has 
enumerated,  and  ten  times  more — it  has  spread  its 
fibres  through  all  ranks,  sexes,  and  ages.  There  no 
longer  exists  what  writers  used  to  call  a  public — that 
disinterested  tribunal  has  long  since  merged  in  the 
body  h  used  to  try.  Put  your  finger  on  any  head  in 
•  crowd — it  belongs  to  an  author,  or  the  friend  of  one, 
and  your  great  authors  are  supposed  to  possess  a 
quantity  of  communicable  celebrity  :  an  intimacy  with 
one  of  them  is  a  sort  of  principality,  and  a  stray  anec- 
dote picked  up,  rather  a  valuable  sort  of  possession. 
These  people  are  always  crying  out  against  person- 
ality, and  personality  is  the  whole  business  of  their 
lives.  They  can  consider  nothing  as  it  is  by  itself; 
the  cry  is,  "  who  wrote  it  ?"— "  what  manner  of  man 
-"where  did  he  borrow  it?"  They  make 
puppets  of  literary  men  by  their  impatient  curiosity  ; 
•nd  when  one  of  themselves  is  dragged  from  his  ma- 
lign obscurity  in  banter  or  whimsical  revenge,  he  calls 
upon  all  the  gods  to  bear  witness  to  the  malignity  he 
i*  made  to  suffer. 

It  is  this  spirit  which  ha*  perverted  criticism,  and 
reduced  it  to  a  play  of  words.  To  favour  this  vain 
p«prn»r*»  of  comparison,  all  powers  and  faculties  are 
Mrolvcd  at  once  into  grntu*— that  vague  quality,  tlie 


supposition  of  which  is  at  every  one's  command  ;  and 
characters,  sublime  in  one  respect,  as  they  are  con 
temptible  in  another,  are  viewed  under  this  one 
aspect.  The  man,  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  are 
blended,  and  the  attributes  of  each  applied  to  all 
without  distinction.  One  person  inquires  the  name 
of  a  poet,  because  he  is  a  reasoner ;  another,  because 
he  is  mad ;  another,  because  he  is  conceited.  John- 
son's assertion  is  taken  for  granted — that  genius  is 
but  great  natural  power  directed  towards  a  particular 
object:  thus  all  are  reduced  to  the  same  scale,  and 
measured  by  the  same  standard.  This  fury  of  com- 
parison knows  no  bounds ;  its  abettors,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  reserve  to  themselves  the  full  advan- 
tage of  dormant  merit,  make  no  such  allowance  to 
established  authors.  They  judge  them  rigidly  by  their 
pages,  assume  that  their  love  of  fame  and  emolument 
would  not  allow  them  to  let  any  talent  be  idle,  and 
will  not  hear  any  arguments  advanced  for  their  unex- 
pected capabilities. 

The  simplest  and  easiest  effort  of  the  mind  is 
egotism, — it  is  but  baring  one's  own  breast,  disclosing 
its  curious  mechanism,  and  giving  exaggerated  ex 
pressions  to  every-day  feeling.  Yet  no  production! 
have  met  with  such  success ; — what  authors  can  com- 
pete, as  to  popularity,  with  Montaigne,  Byron,  Rous- 
seau ?  Yet  we  cannot  but  believe  that  there  have 
been  thousands  of  men  in  the  world  who  could  have 
walked  the  same  path,  and  perhaps  met  with  the  same 
success,  if  they  had  had  the  same  confidence.  Pas- 
sionate and  reflecting  minds  are  not  so  rare  as  we 
suppose,  but  the  boldness  that  sets  at  nought  society 
is.  Nor  could  want  of  courage  be  the  only  obstacle, 
there  are,  and  have  been,  we  trust,  many  who  would 
not  exchange  the  privacy  of  their  mental  sanctuary, 
for  the  indulgence  of  spleen,  or  the  feverish  dream  of 
popular  celebrity.  And  if  we  can  give  credit  for  this 
power  to  the  many  who  have  lived  unknown  and 
shunned  publicity,  how  much  more  must  we  not  be 
inclined  to  allow  to  him  of  acknowledged  genius,  and 
who  has  manifested  it  in  works  of  equal  beauty,  and 
of  greater  merit,  inasmuch  as  they  are  removed  from 
self?  It  has  been  said  by  a  great  living  author  and 
poet,*  that  "  the  choice  of  a  subject,  removed  from 
self,  is  the  test  of  genius." 

These  considerations  ought,  at  least,  to  prevent  us 
from  altogether  merging  a  writer's  genius  in  his 
works,  and  from  using  the  name  of  the  poem  and  that 
of  the  poet  indifferently.  For  our  part,  we  think  that 
f  Thomas  Moore  had  the  misfortune  to  be  meta- 
physical, he  might  have  written  such  a  poem  as  the 
Excursion, — that  had  he  condescended  to  borrow,  and 
at  the  same  time  disguise  the  feelings  ofthe  great  Ixike 
Poets,  he  might  perhaps  have  written  the  best  parts 
of  Childe  Harold — and  had  he  the  disposition  or  the 
whim  to  be  egotistical,  he  might  lay  bare  a  mind  of 
his  own  as  proudly  and  as  passionately  orpar.ized  as 
the  great  lord  did,  whom  some  one  describes  "  to  have 
jutted  himself  body  and  soul,  for  all  the  world  to 
walk  in  and  see  the  show." 

So  much  for  the  preliminary  cavils  which  are 
thrown  in  the  teeth  of  Moore's  admirers.  They  have 
been  picked  up  by  the  small  fry  of  critics,  who  com- 
menced their  career  with  a  furious  attack  on  him, 


*  Coleridg* 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


I'ope,  and  Campbell,  bnt  have  since  thought  it  becom- 
ing to  grow  out  of  their  early  likings.  And  at  present 
they  profess  to  prefer  the  great  works  which  they 
have  never  read,  and  which  they  will  never  be  able  to 
read,  to  those  classic  poems,  of  which  they  have  been 
the  most  destructive  enemies,  by  bethumbing  and 
quoting  their  beauties  into  triteness  and  common- 
place. 

The  merits  of  Pope  and  Moore  have  suffered  de- 
preciation from  the  same  cause — the  facility  of  being 
imitated  to  a  certain  degree.  And  as  vulgar  admira- 
tion seldom  penetrates  beyond  this  degree,  the  con- 
clusion is,  that  nothing  can  be  easier  than  to  write 
like,  and  even  equal  to,  either  of  these  poets.  In  the 
universal  self-comparison,  which  is  above  mentioned, 
is  the  foundation  of  modern  criticism,  feeling  is  as- 
sumed to  be  genius — the  passive  is  considered  to 
imply  the  active  power.  No  opinion  is  more  com- 
mon or  more  fallacious — it  is  the  "  flattering  unction" 
which  has  inundated  the  world  with  versifiers,  and 
which  seems  to  under-rate  the  merit  of  compositions, 
in  which  there  is  more  ingenuity  and  elegance  than 
passion.  Genius  is  considered  to  be  little  more  than 
a  capability  of  excitement — the  greater  the  passion 
the  greater  the  merit ;  and  the  school-boy  key  on 
which  Mr.  Moore's  love  and  heroism  are  usually  set, 
is  not  considered  by  any  reader  beyond  his  reach. 
This  is  certainly  Moore's  great  defect ;  but  it  is  more 
that  of  his  taste  than  ->t  any  superior  faculty. 

We  shall  now  proceed  to  notice  the  most  laboured 
and  most  splendid  of  Mr.  Moore's  productions — 
"LallaRookh:"— 

Then  if,  while  scenes  BO  grand, 

So  beautiful,  shine  before  thee, 
Pride,  for  thine  own  dear  land, 

Should  Imply  be  stealing  o'er  thee; 
Oh  !  let  grief  come  first, 

O'er  pride  itself  victorious, 
To  think  how  man  hath  curst, 

What  Heaven  hath  made  so  glorious. 

Several  of  our  modern  poets  had  already  chosen 
the  luxuriant  climate  of  the  East  for  their  imagina- 
tions to  revel  in,  and  body  forth  their  shapes  of  light; 
but  it  is  no  less  observable  that  they  had  generally 
failed,  and  the  cause  we  believe  to  be  this — that  the 
partial  conception  and  confined  knowledge  which 
they  naturally  possessed  of  a  country,  so  opposed  in 
the  character  of  its  inhabitants  and  the  aspect  of  its 
scenery  to  their  own,  occasion  them,  after  the  man- 
ner of  all  imperfect  apprehenders,  to  seize  upon  its 
Drornuient  features  and  obvious  characteristics,  with- 
out entering  more  deeply  into  its  spirit,  or  catching 
its  retired  and  less  palpable  beauties.  The  sudden 
transplantation  of  an  European  mind  into  Asiatic 
scenes  can  seldom  be  favourable  to  its  well-being  and 
progress ;  at  least  none  but  those  of  the  first  order 
would  be  enabled  to  keep  their  imaginations  from  de- 
generating into  inconsistency  and  bombast,  amid  the 
swarms  of  novelties  which  start  up  at  every  step. 
Thus  it  is  that,  in  nearly  all  the  oriental  poems  added 
to  our  literature,  we  had  the  same  monotonous  as- 
semblage of  insipid  images,  drawn  from  the  peculiar 
phenomena  and  natural  appearances  of  the  country. 

We  have  always  considered  Asia  as  naturally  the 
home  of  poetry,  and  the  creator  of  poets.  What 
makes  Greece  so  poetical  a  country  is,  that  at  every 


step  we  stumble  over  recollections  of  departed  gran- 
deur,  and  behold  the  scenes  where  the  human  mind 
has  glorified  itself  for  ever,  and  played  a  part,  the  re 
cords  of  which  can  never  die.  But  in  Asia,  to  the 
same  charm  of  viewing  the  places  of  former  power — 
of  comparing  the  present  with  the  past — there  is 
added  a  luxuriance  of  climate,  and  an  unrivalled 
beauty  of  external  nature,  which,  ever  according  with 
the  poet's  soul, 

Temper,  and  do  befit  him  to  obey 
High  inspiration. 

It  was  reserved  for  Mr.  Moore  to  redeem  the 
character  of  oriental  poetry,  in  a  w»rk  which  stands 
distinct,  alone,  and  proudly  pre-eminent  above  all 
that  had  preceded  it  on  the  same  subject. 

Never,  indeed,  has  the  land  of  the  sun  shone  out  so 
brightly  on  the  children  of  the  north — nor  the  sweets 
of  Asia  been  poured  forth — nor  her  gorgeousness 
displayed  so  profusely  to  the  delighted  senses  of  Eu- 
rope, as  in  the  fine  oriental  romance  ot*  Lalla  Rookh. 
The  beauteous  forms,  the  dazzling  splendours,  the 
breathing  odours  of  the  East,  found,  at  last,  a  kindred 
poet  in  that  Green  Isle  of  the  West,  whose  genius  haa 
long  been  suspected  to  be  derived  from  a  wanner 
clime,  and  here  wantons  and  luxuriates  in  these  vo- 
luptuous regions,  as  if  it  felt  that  it  had  at  length  re- 
cognized its  native  element.  It  is  amazing,  indeed, 
how  much  at  home  Mr.  Moore  seems  to  be  in  India, 
Persia,  and  Arabia;  and  how  purely  and  strictly 
Asiatic  all  the  colouring  and  imagery  of  his  poem  ap- 
pears. He  is  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  character 
of  the  scenes  to  which  he  transports  us;  and  yet  the 
extent  of  his  knowledge  is  less  wonderful  than  the 
dexterity  and-  apparent  facility  with  which  he  has 
turned  it  to  account,  in  the  elucidation  and  embellish- 
ment of  his  poetry.  There  is  not  a  simile,  a  descrip- 
tion, a  name,  a  trait  of  history,  or  allusion  of  romance, 
which  belongs  to  European  experience,  that  does  not 
indicate  entire  familiarity  with  the  life,  nature,  and 
learning  of  the  East. 

Nor  are  the  barbaric  ornaments  thinly  scattered  to 
make  up  a  show.  They  are  showered  lavishly  over 
the  whole  work ;  and  form,  perhaps  too  much,  the 
staple  of  the  poetry,  and  the  riches  of  that  which  is 
chiefly  distinguished  for  its  richness.  We  would  con- 
fine this  remark,  however,  to  the  descriptions  of  ex- 
ternal objects,  and  the  allusions  to  literature  and 
history — to  what  may  be  termed  the  materiel  of  the 
poetry  we  are  speaking  of  The  characters  and  sen- 
timents are  of  a  different  order.  They  cannot,  in- 
deed, be  said  to  be  copies  of  an  European  nature ; 
but  still  less  like  that  of  any  other  region.  They  are, 
in  truth,  poetical  imaginations  ; — but  it  is  to  the  poe- 
try of  rational,  honourable,  considerate,  and  humane 
Europe  that  they  belong — and  not  to  the  childishness, 
cruelty,  and  profligacy  of  Asia. 

There  is  something  very  extraordinary,  we  think, 
in  this  work — and  something  which  indicates  in  the 
author,  net  only  a  great  exuberance  of  talent,  but  a 
very  singular  constitution  of  genius.  While  it  is  moie 
splendid  in  imagery — and  for  the  most  part  in  very 
good  taste — more  rich  in  sparkling  thoughts  ana 
original  conceptions,  and  more  full  indeed  of  exqui- 
site pictures,  both  of  all  sorts  of  beauties,  and  all  soru 
I  of  virtues,  and  all  sorts  of  sufferings  and  crimes,  than 
|  any  other  poem  which  we  know  cf ;  we  rather  think 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


we  speak  the  wen*  of  all  classes  of  readers,  when  we 
add,  that  the  effect  of  the  whole  is  to  mingle  a  certain 
fliiing  of  disappointment  with  that  of  admiration — 
to  excite  admiration  rather  than  any  wanner  senti- 
ment of  delight — to  dazzle  more  than  to  enchant — 
and,  in  the  end,  more  frequently  to  startle  the  fancy 
and  fatigue  the  attention,  with  the  constant  succession 
of  glittering  images  and  high-strained  emotions,  than 
to  maintain  a  rising  interest,  or  win  a  growing  sympa- 
thy, by  a  less  profuse  or  more  systematic  display  of 
attractions. 

The  style  is,  on  the  whole,  rather  diffuse,  and  too 
unvaried  in  its  character.  But  its  greatest  fault  is  the 
uniformity  of  its  brilliancy — the  want  of  plainness, 
limplkity,  and  repose.  We  have  heard  it  observed 
by  some  very  zealous  admirers  of  Mr.  Moore's  genius, 
that  you  cannot  open  this  book  without  finding  a 
cluster  of  beauties  in  every  page.  Now,  this  is  only 
another  way  of  expressing  what  we  think  its  greatest 
defect.  No  work,  consisting  of  many  pages,  should 
have  detached  and  distinguishable  beauties  in  every 
one  of  them.  No  great  work,  indeed,  should  have 
many  beauties :  if  it  were  perfect  it  would  have  but 
one,  and  that  but  faintly  perceptible,  except  on  a  view 
of  the  w  hole.  Look,  for  example,  at  what  is  the  most 
finished  and  exquisite  production  of  human  an — the 
design  and  elevation  of  a  Grecian  temple,  in  its  old 
severe  simplicity.  What  penury  of  ornament — what 
neglect  of  beauties  of  detail — what  masses  of  plain 
surface — wnat  rigid  economical  limitation  to  the 
useful  and  the  necessary !  The  cottage  of  a  peasant 
is  scarcely  more  simple  in  its  structure,  and  has  not 
fewer  parts  that  are  superfluous.  Yet  what  grandeur 
— what  elegance — what  grace  and  completeness  in 
the  effect!  The  whole  is  beautiful — because  the 
beauty  is  in  the  whole ;  but  there  is  little  merit  in  any 
of  the  parts  except  that  of  fitness  and  careful  finishing. 
Contrast  this  with  a  Dutch,  or  a  Chinese  pleasure- 
house,  where  every  part  is  meant  to  be  beautiful,  and 
the  result  is  deformity — where  there  is  not  an  inch  of 
the  surface  that  is  not  brilliant  with  colour,  and  rough 
with  curves  and  angles,— and  where  the  effect  of  the 
whole  is  displeasing  to  the  eye  and  the  taste.  We 
are  as  far  as  possible  from  meaning  to  insinuate  that 
Mr.  Moore's  poetry  is  of  this  description ;  on  the  con- 
trary, we  think  his  ornaments  are,  for  the  most  part, 
truly  and  exquisitely  beautiful ;  and  the  general  design 
of  his  pieces  extremely  elegant  and  ingenious :  all 
that  we  mean  to  say  in,  that  there  is  too  much  orna- 
mem — too  many  insulated  and  independent  beauties 
— and  that  the  notice  and  the  very  admiration  they 
excite,  hurt  the  interest  of  the  general  design,  and 
withdraw  our  attention  too  importunately  from  it. 

Mr.  Moore,  it  appears  to  us,  is  too  lavish  of  his 
gems  and  sweets,  and  it  may  truly  be  said  of  him,  in 
his  poetical  capacity,  that  he  would  be  richer  with 
half  his  wealth.  His  works  are  not  only  of  rich  ma- 
lerials  and  graceful  design,  but  thry  are  every  where 
|ttstening  with  small  beauties  and  transitory  inspira- 
tions—«udden  flashes  of  fancy  that  blaze  out  and 
perish ;  like  earth-born  meteors  that  crackle  in  the 
lower  sky,  and  unseasonably  divert  our  eyes  from  the 
great  and  lofty  bodies  which  pursue  their  harmonious 
courses  in  a  serener  region. 

We  have  spoken  of  these  as  faults  of  style— but 
•»m  coula  sc&rcely  have  existed  without  going 


deeper;  and  though  they  first  strike  us  as  qualities  of 
the  composition  only,  we  find,  upon  a  little  reflection, 
that  the  same  general  character  belongs  to  the  fable, 
the  characters,  and  the  sentiments — that  they  all  are 
alike  in  the  excess  of  their  means  of  attraction — and 
fail  to  interest,  chiefly  by  being  too  interesting. 

We  have  felt  it  our  duty  to  point  out  the  faults  of 
our  author's  poetry,  particularly  in  respect  to  Lalla 
Rookh;  but  it  would  be  quite  unjust  to  characterize 
that  splendid  poem  by  its  faults,  which  are  intin.teiy 
less  conspicuous  than  its  manifold  beauties.  There 
is  not  only  a  richness  and  brilliancy  of  diction  and 
imagery  spread  over  the  whole  work,  that  indicate 
the  greatest  activity  and  elegance  of  fancy  in  the  au- 
thor; but  it  is  every  where  pervaded,  still  more 
strikingly,  by  a  strain  of  tender  and  noble  feeling, 
poured  out  with  such  warmth  and  abundance,  as  to 
steal  insensibly  on  the  heart  of  the  reader,  and  gra- 
dually to  overflow  it  with  a  tide  of  sympathetic  emo- 
tion. There  are  passages,  indeed,  and  these  neither 
few  nor  brief,  over  which  the  very  genius  of  poetry 
seems  to  have  breathed  his  richest  enchantment — 
where  the  melody  of  the  verse  and  the  beauty  of  the 
images  conspire  so  harmoniously  with  the  force  and 
tenderness  of  the  emotion,  that  the  whole  is  blended 
into  one  deep  and  bright  stream  of  sweoti, 
feeling,  along  which  the  spirit  of  the  reader  is  borne 
passively  through  long  readies  of  delight.  Mr 
Moore's  poetry,  indeed,  where  his  happiest  vein  is 
opened,  realizes  more  exactly  than  that  of  any  other 
writer,  the  splendid  account  which  is  given  by  Co 
mus*  of  the  song  of 

His  mother  Circe,  and  the  sirens  three, 

Amid  tin-  flowery-kinled  Naiades, 

Who,  as  they  suns,  «ou.d  take  die  prison'd  soul, 

And  lap  it  in  Klysiuin. 

And  though  it  is  certainly  to  be  regretted  that  h» 
should  occasionally  have  broken  the  measure  w.th 
more  frivolous  strains,  or  filled  up  its  intervals  with  a 
sort  of  brilliant  fahettti,  it  should  never  be  forgotten, 
that  his  excellences  are  as  peculiar  to  himself  as  his 
faults,  and,  on  the  whole,  we  may  assert,  more 
characteristic  of  his  genius. 

The  legend  of  Lalla  Rookh  is  very  sweetly  and 
gaily  told  ;  and  is  adorned  with  many  tender  as  well 
as  lively  passages — without  reckoning  among  the  lat- 
ter the  occasional  criticisms  of  the  omniscient  Fadla- 
deen,  the  magnificent  and  most  infallible  grand  cham- 
berlain of  the  huram — whose  sayings  and  remarks, 
by  the  by,  do  not  agree  very  well  with  the  character 
which  is  assigned  him — being  for  llie  most  part  very 
smart,  snappish,  and  acute,  and  by  no  means  solfmn, 
stupid,  and  pompous,  as  one  would  have  expected. 
Mr.  Moore's  genius  perhaps,  is  too  inveterately  lively, 
to  make  it  possible  for  him  even  to  counterfeit  dul- 
ness.  We  must  now  take  a  slight  glance  at  the 
poetry. 

The  first  piece,  entitled  "The  Veiled  Prophet  of 
Khorassan,"  is  the  longest,  and,  we  think,  certainly  not 


*  Milton,  who  wan  much  patronized  by  the  illustrious 
lioute  of  Kgerton,  wrute  the  .Mask  of  Camus  upon  John 
Kgi.-rton,  then  E.vrl  ol  Briil^ewater,  when  'hat  nublcmar., 
'ttl,  was  appointed  Ix>rd  Pn^ident  of  the  principality 
of  Wales.  It  was  performed  by  three  of  his  Lordship  s 
children,  before  the  Earl,  at  Ludlow  Castle. — Ste  tke  fforkt 
•f  tke  present  Earl  of  Bridgevater 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


ihe  best  of  the  series.     The  story,  which  is  not  in  all '  the  ultimate  result,  even  though  they  should  appro- 
its  parts  extremely  intelligible,  's  founded  on  a  vision,  ciate  their  own  productions  as  highly  as  Milton  his 


in  d'Herbelot,  of  a  daring  impostor  of  the  early  ages 
of  IslamLsm,  who  Dretended  to  have  received  a  later 
and  more  authoritative  mission  than  that  of  the  Pro- 
phet, and  to  be  destined  to  overturn  all  tyrannies  and 
superstitions  on  the  earth,  and  to  rescue  all  souls  that 
believed  in  him.  To  shade  the  celestial  radiance  of 


Paradise  Lost ;  while  they  who  succeed  in  obtaining 
a  large  share  of  present  applause,  cannot  but  expe- 
rience frequent  misgivings  as  to  its  probable  duration  : 
prevailing  tastes  have  so  entirely  changed,  and  works, 
the  wonder  and  delight  of  one  generation,  have  been 
so  completely  forgotten  in  the  next,  that  extent  of 


his  brow,  he  always  wore  a  veil  of  silver  gauze,  and  !  reputation  ought  rather  to  alarm  than  assure  an  author 
was  at  last  attacked  by  the  Caliph,  and  exterminated   in  respect  to  his  future  fame. 


with  all  his  adherents.  On  this  story  Mr.  Moore  has 
engrafted  a  romantic  and  not  very  probable  tale  :  yet, 
even  with  all  its  faults,  it  possesses  a  charm  almost 
irresistible,  in  the  volume  of  sweet  sounds  and  beau- 
tiful images,  which  are  heaped  together  with  luxurious 
profusion  in  the  general  texture  of  the  style,  and 
invest  even  the  faults  of  the  story  with  the  graceful 
amplitude  of  their  rich  and  figured  veil. 

"  Paradise  and  the  Peri"  has  none  of  the  faults  just 
alluded  to.  It  is  full  of  spirit,  elegance,  and  beauty ; 
and,  though  slight  in  its  structure,  breathes  throughout 
a  most  pure  and  engaging  morality. 

'The  Fire-worshippers"  appears  to  us  to  be  indis- 


putably the  finest  and  most  powerful  poem  of  them   which  the  infant  is  soothed  in  his  nursery,  with  which 


all.  With  all  the  richness  and  beauty  of  diction  that 
belong  to  the  best  parts  of  Mokanna,  it  has  a  far  more 
interesting  story  ;  and  is  not  liable  to  the  objections 
that  arise  against  the  contrivance  and  structure  of  the 
leading  poem.  The  general  tone  of  "The  Fire-wor- 
shippers" is  certainly  too  much  strained,  but,  in  spite 
of  that,  it  is  a  work  of  great  genius  and  beauty  ;  and 
not  only  delights  the  fancy  by  its  general  brilliancy 
and  spirit,  but  moves  all  the  tender  and  noble  feel- 
uigs  with  a  deep  and  powerful  agitation. 

The  last  piece,  entitled  "  The  Light  of  the  Haram," 
is  the  gayest  of  the  whole ;  and  is  of  a  very  slender 
fabric  as  to  fable  or  invention.  In  truth,  it  has 
scarcly  any  story  at  all ;  but  is  made  up  almost  en- 
tirely of  beautiful  songs  and  fascinating  descriptions. 

On  the  whole,  it  may  be  said  of  "  Lalla  Rookh," 
th«it  its  great  fault  consists  in  its  profuse  finery ;  but 
it  should  be  observed,  that  this  finery  is  not  the  vulgar 
ostentation  which  so  often  disguises  poverty  or  mean- 
ness— but,  as  we  have  before  hinted,  the  extravagance 
of  excessive  wealth.  Its  great  charm  is  in  the  inex- 
haustible copiousness  of  its  imagery — the  sweetness 
and  ease  of  its  diction — and  the  beauty  of  the  objects 
ami  sentiments  with  which  it  is  conceived. 

Whatever  popularity  Mr.  Moore  may  have  acquired 
as  the  author  of  Lalla  Rookh,  etc.,  it  is  as  the  author 
of  the  "  Irish  Melodies"  that  he  will  go  down  to  pos- 
terity unrivalled  and  alone  in  that  delightful  species 
of  composition.  Lord  Byron  has  very  justly  and  pro- 
phetically observed,  that  "  Moore  is  one  of  the  few 
writers  who  will  survive  the  a<re  in  which  he  so  de- 
servedly flourishes.  He  will  live  in  his  '  Irish  Melo- 
dies ;'  they  will  go  down  to  posterity  with  the  music  ; 
both  will  last  as  long  as'  Ireland,  or  as  music  and 
poetry." 

If,  indeed,  the  anticipation  of  lasting  celebrity  be 
the  chief  pleasure  for  the  attainment  of  which  poets 
bestow  their  labour,  certainly  no  one  can  have  en- 
guged  so  much  of  it  as  Thomas  Moore.  It  is  evident 
that  writers  who  fail  to  command  immediate  attention, 
and  who  look  only  to  posterity  for  a  just  estimate  of 
rhcir  merits,  must  feel  more  or  less  uncertainty  as  to 


But  Mr.  Moore,  independently  of  poetical  powers 
of  the  highest  order — independently  of  the  place  he 
at  present  maintains  in  the  public  estimation — has  se- 
cured to  himself  a  strong  hold  of  celebrity,  as  durable 
as  the  English  tongue. 

Almost  every  European  nation  has  a  kind  of  pri- 
mitive music,  peculiar  to  itself,  consisting  of  short 
and  simple  tunes  or  melodies,  which,  at  the  same 
time  that  they  please  cultivated  and  scientific  ears, 
are  the  object  of  passionate  and  almost  exclusive  at- 
tainment by  the  great  body  of  the  people,  constituting, 
in  fact,  pretty  nearly  the  sum  of  their  musical  know- 
ledge and  enjoyment.  Being  the  first  sounds  with 


he  is  lulled  to  repose  at  night,  and  excited  to  anima- 
tion in  the  day,  they  make  an  impression  on  the  ima- 
gination that  can  never  afterwards  be  effaced,  and 
are  consequently  handed  down  from  parent  to  child, 
from  generation  to  generation,  with  as  much  uni- 
formity as  the  family  features  and  dispositions.  It  is 
evident,  therefore,  that  he  who  first  successfully  in- 
vests them  with  language,  becomes  thereby  himself  a 
component  part  of  these  airy  existences,  and  commits 
his  bark  to  a  favouring  wind,  before  which  it  shall  pass 
on  to  the  end  of  the  stream  of  time. 

Without  such  a  connexion  as  this  with  the  national 
music  of  Scotland,  it  seems  to  us,  that  Allan  Ram- 
say's literary  existence  must  have  terminated  its 
earthly  career  long  since ;  but,  in  the  divine  melody 
of  "  The  YelloiD-hair'd  Laddie,"  he  has  secured  a 
passport  to  future  ages,  which  mightier  poets  might 
envy,  and  which  will  be  heard  and  acknowledged  as 
long  as  the  world  has  ears  to  hear. 

This  is  not  a  mere  fancy  of  the  uninitiated,  or  the 
barbarous  exaggeration  of  a  musical  savage  who  nas 
lost  his  senses  at  hearing  Orpheus's  hurdy-gurdy,  De- 
cause  he  never  heard  any  thing  better.  One  01  the 
greatest  composers  that  ever  charmed  the  world — the 
immortal  Haydn — on  being  requested  to  add  sympno- 
nies  and  accompaniments  to  the  Scotcli  airs,  was  so 
convinced  of  their  durability,  that  he  replied — "  Mi 
vanto  di  questo  lavoro,  e  per  cio  mi  lusingo  di  nrere 
in  Scozia  molti  anni  dopo  la  mia  morte." 

It  is  not  without  reason,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Moore 
indulges  in  this  kind  of  second-sight,  and  exclaims  (on 
hearing  one  of  his  own  melodies  re-echoed  from  a 
bugle  In  the  mountains  of  Killarney,) 

Oh,  forgive,  if,  while  listening  to  music,  whose  breath 
Sevm'd  to  circle  his  name  with  a  charm  against  death, 
He  should  feel  a  proud  spirit  within  him  proclaim, 
Even  so  shall  thou  live  in  the  echoes  of  fame ; 
Even  so.  though  thy  mem'ry  should  now  die  away, 
'Twill  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day, 
And  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  prolong, 
Through  the  answerinj  future,  thy  name  and  thy  song' 

In  truth,  the  subtile  essences  of  these  tunes  presenf 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


no  object  upon  which  time  or  violence  can  act.  Py- 
ramids may  moulder  away,  and  bronzes  be  decom- 
posed ;  but  the  breeze  of  heaven  which  fanned  them 
in  their  splendour  shall  sigh  around  them  in  decay, 
and  by  its  mournful  sound  awaken  all  the  recollections 
of  their  former  glory.  Thus,  when  generations  shall 
have  sunk  into  the  grave,  and  printed  volumes  been 
consigned  to  oblivion,  traditionary  strains  shall  pro- 
long our  poet's  existence,  and  his  future  fame  shall 
not  be  less  certain  than  his  prevent  celebrity. 

Like  the  gale  that  «igli«  along 

Bed*  of  oriental  flower*, 
b  the  grateful  breath  of  long, 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours. 
Fili'ci  with  balm  ihe  gale  cighs  on, 

Though  the  flowers  haveiunk  in  death; 
So  when  the  Bard  of  Lore  U  gone, 

Hi*  meru'ry  lives  in  Music'*  breath! 

Almost  every  European  nation,  as  we  before  ob- 
served, has  its  own  peculiar  set  of  popular  melodies, 
differing  as  much  from  each  other  in  character  as  the 
nations  themselves  ;  but  there  are  none  more  marked 
or  more  extensively  known  than  those  of  the  Scotch 
and  Irish.  Some  of  these  may  be  traced  to  a  very 
remote  era  ;  while  of  others  the  origin  is  scarcely 
known  ;  and  this  is  the  case,  especially,  with  the  airs 
of  Ireland.  With  the  exception  of  those  which  were 
produced  by  Carolan,  who  died  in  173S,  there  are 
few  of  which  we  can  discover  the  dates  or  composers. 

That  man}1  of  these  airs  possess  great  beauty  and 
pathos,  no  one  can  doubt  who  is  acquainted  with  the 
selections  that  have  been  made  by  Mr.  Moore  ;  but  as 
•  genus  or  a  style,  they  also  exhibit  the  most  unequi- 
vocal proofs  of  a  rude  and  barbarous  origin  ;  and 
there  is  scarcely  a  more  striking  instance  of  the  prone- 
ness  of  mankind  to  exalt  the  supposed  wisdom  of 
their  ancestors,  and  to  lend  a  ready  ear  to  the  mar- 
vellous, than  the  exaggerated  praise  which  the  authors 
of  this  music  have  obtained. 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  in  music,  as  in  all 
other  arts,  oie  progress  of  savage  man  was  gradual  ; 
that  there  is  no  more  reason  for  supposing  he  should 
have  discovered  at  once  the  seven  notes  of  the  scale, 
than  that  he  should  have  been  able  at  once  to  find 
appropriate  language  for  all  the  nice  distinctions  of 
morals  or  metaphysics.  We  shall  now  pass  to  some 
interesting  accounts  of  the  Bards  of  the  "  olden  time," 
which  come  within  the  scope  of  our  subject  when 
•peaking  of  the  present  Bard  of  Erin,  and  his  "  Irish 


Dr.  Burney  observes,  that  "the  first  Greek  mu- 
sicians were  gods;  the  second,  heroes;  the  third, 
bards  ,  the  fourth,  beggars  !"  During  the  infancy  of 
music  in  every  country,  the  wonder  and  affections  of 
the  people  were  gained  by  surprise;  but  when  mu- 
sicians became  numerous,  and  ihe  art  was  regarded 
of  easier  acquirement,  they  lost  their  favour;  and, 
from  being  seated  at  the  tables  of  kings,  and  he'lped 
lo  the  first  cut,  they  were  reduced  to  the  most  abject 
Mate,  and  ranked  amongst  rogues  and  vagabonds. 
That  this  was  the  cause  of  the  supposed  retrograda- 
lion  of  Irish  music,  we  shall  now  proceed  to  show, 
by  some  curious  extracts  frorr  contemporary  writers. 

The  professed  Bards,  of  the  earliest  of  whom  we 
Have  not  any  account,  having  united  to  their  capacity 
of  musicians  the  functions  of  priests,  could  not  fail  to 


obtain  for  themselves,  in  an  age  of  ignorance  and 
credulity,  all  the  influence  and  respect  which  thai 
useful  and  deserving  class  of  men  have  never  failed 
to  retain,  even  among  nations  who  esteem  themselves 
the  most  enlightened.  But  the  remotest  period  in 
which  their  character  of  musician  was  disengaged 
from  that  of  priest,  is  also  the  period  assigned  to  the 
highest  triumph  of  their  secular  musical  skill  and 
respectability.  "  It  is  certain,"  says  Mr.  Bunting  (in 
his  Historical  and  Critical  Dissertation  on  the  Harp,; 
"  that  the  further  we  explore,  while  yet  any  light  re- 
mains, the  more  highly  is  Irish  border  minstrelsy  ex- 
lotted." 

"  The  oldest  Irish  tunes  (says  the  same  writer)  are 
said  to  be  the  most  perfect,"  and  history  accords  with 
this  opinion.  Vin.  Galilei,  Bacon,  Stanishurst,  Spen- 
ser, and  Camden,  in  the  16th  century,  speak  warmly 
of  Irish  version,  but  not  so  highly  as  Polydore  Virgil 
and  Major,  in  the  15th,  Clynn,  in  the  middle  of  the 
14th,  or  Fordun,  in  the  13th.  As  we  recede  yet  fur- 
ther, we  2nd  Giraldus  Cambrensis,  G.  Brompton,  and 
John  of  Salisbury,  in  the  12th  century,  bestowing  still 
more  lofty  encomiums^  and  these,  again,  falling  short 
of  the  science  among  us  in  the  llth  and  10th  centu- 
ries. In  conformity  with  this,  Fuller,  in  his  account 
of  the  Crusade  conducted  by  Godfrey  of  Bologne, 
says,  "  Yea,  we  might  well  think  that  all  the  concern 
of  Christendom  in  this  war  would  have  made  no 
music,  if  the  frisk  Harp  had  been  wanting." 

In  those  early  times  the  Irish  bards  were  invested 
with  wealth,  honours,  and  influence.  They  wore  a 
robe  of  the  same  colour  as  that  used  by  kings ;  were 
exempted  from  taxes  and  plunder,  and  were  billeted 
on  the  country  from  Allhallow-tide  to  May,  while 
every  chief  bard  had  thirty  of  inferior  note  under  his 
orders,  and  every  second-rate  bard  fifteen. 

John  of  Salisbury,  in  the  12th  century,  says,  that 
the  great  aristocrats  of  his  day  imitated  !S"ero  in  their 
extravagant  love  of  fiddling  and  singing ;  that  "  they 
prostituted  their  favour  by  bestowing  it  on  minstrels 
and  buffoons ;  and  that,  by  a  certain  foolish  and  shame- 
ful munificence,  they  expended  immense  sums  of  mo- 
ney on  their  frivolous  exhibitions."  "  The  courts  of 
princes,"  says  another  contemporary  writer,  "are 
filled  with  crowds  of  minstrels,  who  extort  from  them 
gold,  silver,  horses,  and  vestments,  by  their  flattering 
songs.  I  have  known  some  princes  who  have  be- 
stowed on  these  minstrels  of  the  Devil,  at  the  verj 
first  word,  the  most  curious  garments,  beautifully  em- 
broidered with  flowers  and  pictures,  which  had  cost 
them  twenty  or  thirty  marks  of  silver,  and  which  they 
had  not  worn  above  seven  days  !" 

From  the  foregoing  account,  by  Salisbury  John, 
the  twelfth  century  must,  verily,  have  been  the  true 
golden  age  for  the  sons  of  the  lyre ;  who  were  then,  it 
seems,  clothed  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  and  fared 
sumptuously  every  day.  It  is  true,  they  were  flatter- 
ers and  parasites,  and  did  "dirty  work"  for  it  in  those 
days ;  but,  at  any  rate,  princes  were  then  more 
generous  to  their  poet-laureates,  and  the  sackbut  and 
the  song  were  better  paid  for  than  ima  simple  butt 
of  sack. 

According  to  Stowe,  the  minstrel  had  still  a  ready 
admission  into  the  presence  of  kings  in  the  4th  cen- 
tury. Speaking  of  the  celebration  of  the  feast  of 
Pentecost  at  Westminster,  he  savs  "  In  the  great 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE 


hall,  when  sitting  royally  at  the  table,  with  his  peers 
about  him,  there  entered  a  woman  adorned  like  a 
minstrel,  sitting  on  a  great  horse,  trapped  as  minstrels 
then  used,  who  rode  about  the  table  showing  pastime ; 
and  at  length  came  up  to  the  king's  table,  and  laid 
.before  him  a  letter,  and,  forthwith  turning  her  horse, 
Minted  every  one  and  departed :  when  the  letter  was 
read,  it  was  found  to  contain  animadversions  on  the 
king.  The  door-keeper,  being  threatened  for  admit- 
ting her,  replied,  that  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the 
king's  palace  to  deny  admission  to  minstrels,  espe- 
pecially  on  such  high  solemnities  and  feast-days." 

In  Froissart,  too,  we  may  plainly  see  what  neces- 
sary appendages  to  greatness  the  minstrels  were  es- 
teemed, and  upon  what  familiar  terms  they  lived  with 
their  masters.  When  the  four  Irish  kings,  who  had 
submitted  themselves  to  Richard  II.  of  England,  were 
Bat  at  table,  "  on  the  first  dish  being  served  they  made 
their  minstrels  and  principal  servants  sit  beside  them, 
and  eat  from  their  plates,  and  drink  from  their  cups." 
The  kniglit  appointed  by  Richard  to  attend  them 
having  objected  to  this  custom,  on  another  day,  "  or- 
dered the  tables  to  be  laid  out  and  covered,  so  that 
the  kings  sal  at  an  upper  table,  the  minstrels  at  a  mid- 
dle one,  and  the  servants  lower  still.  The  royal 
guests  looked  at  each  other,  and  refused  to  eat,  say- 
ing, that  he  deprived  them  of  their  good  old  custom 
in  which  they  had  been  brought  up." 

However,  in  the  reign  of  Edward  II.,  a  public  edict 
was  issued,  putting  a  check  upon  this  license,  and 
limiting  the  number  of  minstrels  to  four  per  diem  ad- 
missible to  the  tables  of  the  great.  It  seems,  too,  that 
about  this  period  the  minstrels  had  sunk  into  a  kind 
of  upper  servants  of  the  aristocracy :  they  wore  their 
lord's  livery,  and  sometimes  shaved  the  crown  of  their 
heads  like  monks. 

When  war  and  hunting  formed  almost  the  exclu- 
sive occupation  of  the  great ;  when  their  surplus  re- 
venues could  only  be  employed  in  supporting  idle 
retainers,  and  no  better  means  could  be  devised  for 
passing  the  long  winter  evenings  than  drunkenness 
and  gambling,  it  may  readily  be  conceived  how  wel- 
come these  itinerant  musicians  must  have  been  in 
baronial  halls,  and  how  it  must  have  flattered  the  pride 
of  our  noble  ancestors  to  listen  to  the  eulogy  of  their 
own  achievements,  and  the  length  of  their  own  pedi- 
grees. 

Sir  William  Temple  says,  "the  great  men  of  the 
Irish  septs,  among  the  many  officers  of  their  family, 
which  continued  always  in  the  same  races,  had  not 
only  a  physician,  a  huntsman,  a  smith,  and  such  like, 
out  a  poet  and  a  tale-teller.  The  first  recorded  and 
sung  the  actions  of 'their  ancestors,  and  entertained 
the  company  at  feasts ;  the  latter  amused  them  with 
tales  when  they  were  melancholy  and  could  not 
sleep ;  and  a  very  gallant  gentleman  of  the  north  of 
Ireland  lias  told  me,  of  his  own  experience,  that  in 
Vis  wolf-huntings  there,  when  he  used  to  be  abroad  in 
the  mountains  three  or  four  days  together,  and  lay 
very  ill  a-nights,  so  as  he  could  not  well  sleep,  they 
would  bring  him  one  of  these  tale-tellers,  that  when 
he  iay  down  would  begin  a  story  of  a  king,  a  giant,  a 
dwarf,  or  a  damsel,  and  such  rambling  stuff,  and  con- 
tinue it  all  night  long  in  such  an  even  tone,  that  you 
heard  it  going  on  whenever  you  awaked,  and  believed 
nothing  ony  physicians  give  could  have  so  good  and 


so  innocent  an  effect  to  make  men  sleep,  in  any  paiua 
or  distempers  of  body  or  mind." 

In  the  reign  of  Elizabeth,  however,  civilization  had 
so  far  advanced,  that  the  music  which  had  led  away 
the  great  lords  of  antiquity  no  longer  availed  to  de- 
lude the  human  understanding,  or  to  prevent  it  from 
animadverting  on  the  pernicious  effects  produced  by 
those  who  cultivated  the  tuneful  art.  Spenser,  in  his 
view  of  the  state  of  Ireland,  says,  "  There  is  among 
the  Irish  a  certain  kind  of  people  called  Bardes,  which 
are  to  them  instead  of  poets,  whose  profession  is  to 
set  forth  the  praises  or  dispraises  of  men  in  their 
poems  or  rithmes ;  the  which  are  had  in  so  high  re- 
gard and  estimation  among  them,  that  none  dare  din- 
please  them,  for  fear  to  run  into  reproach  through 
their  offence,  and  to  be  made  infamous  in  the  moulhs 
of  all  men.  For  their  verses  are  taken  up  with  a  <_"!- 
neral  applause,  and  usually  sung  at  all  feasts  and 
meetings  by  certain  other  persons  whose  proper 
function  that  is,  who  also  receive  for  the  same  great 
rewards  and  reputation  among  them.  These  Irish 
Bardes  are,  for  the  most  part,  so  far  from  instructing 
young  men  in  moral  discipline,  that  themselves  do 
more  deserve  to  be  sharply  disciplined ;  for  they  sel- 
dom use  to  choose  unto  themselves  the  doings  of 
good  men  for  the  arguments  of  their  poems ;  but 
whomsoever  .they  find  to  be  most  licentious  of  life, 
most  bold  arid  law  less  in  his  doings,  most  dangerous 
and  desperate  in  all  parts  of  disobedience  and  rebel- 
lious disposition :  him  they  set  up  and  glorifie  in  their 
ritlimes ;  him  they  praise  to  the  people,  and  to  young 
men  make  an  example  to  follow  "  The  moralizing 
poet  then  continues  to  show  the  "effect  of  evil  things 
being  decked  with  the  attire  of  goodly  words,"*  ou 
the  affections  of  a  young  mind,  which,  as  he  observes, 
"cannot  rest;"  for,  "if  he  be  not  busied  in  some 
goodness,  he  will  find  himself  such  business  as  shall 
soon  busy  all  about  him.  In  which,  if  he  shall  find 
any  to  praise  him,  and  to  give  him  encouragement,  as 
those  Bardes  do  for  little  reward,  or  a  share  of  a  stolen 
cow,  then  waxeth  he  most  insolent,  and  half  mad  with 
the  love  of  himself  and  his  own  lewd  deeds.  And  as 
for  words  to  set  forth  such  lewdness,  it  is  not  hanl  for 
diem  to  give  a  goodly  and  painted  show  thereunto, 
borrowed  even  from  the  praises  'which  are  proper  to 
virtue  itself;  as  of  a  most  notorious  thief  and  wicked 
outlaw,  which  had  lived  all  his  life-time  of  spoils  and 
robberies,  one  of  their  Bardes  in  his  praise  will  say, 
that  he  was  none  of  the  idle  milksops  that  was  brought 
up  to  the  fire-side ;  but  that  most  of  his  days  he  spent 
in  arms  and  valiant  enterprises — that  he  did  never  eat 
his  meat  before  he  had  won  it  with  his  sword ;  that 
he  lay  not  all  night  in  slugging  in  a  cabin  under  his 
mantle,  but  used  commonly  to  keep  others  waking  t« 
defend  their  lives ;  and  did  light  his  candle  at  In* 
flames  of  their  houses  to  lead  him  in  the  darkness ; 
that  the  day  was  his  night,  and  the  night  his  day  ;  that 
he  loved  not  to  be  long  wooing  of  wenches  to  yield 
to  him,  but,  where  he  came,  he  took  by  force  the  spoil 
of  other  men's  love,  and  left  but  lamentation  to  their 
lovers ;  that  his  music  was  not  the  harp,  nor  the  lays 
of  love,  but  the  cries  of  people  and  the  clashing  of 
armour ;  and,  finally,  that  he  died,  not  bewailed  of 
many,  but  made  many  wail  when  he  died,  that  dearljr 
bought  his  death." 

It  little  occurred  to  Spenser  that,  in  thus  reprobating 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


these  poor  bards,  he  was  giving  an  admirable  analysis 
•f  the  machinery  and  effects  of  almost  all  that  poets 
bare  ever  done ! 

In  1563  severe  enactments  were  issued  against  these 


Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  to  8tone. 

The  ingenuity  with  which  the  above  simile  is  ap- 
plied, is  not  more  remarkable  than  the  success  \vitn 


gentlemen,  to  which  was  annexed  the  following — (which  1  he  homely  image  of  putting  out  the  bed-candle 


"  Item,  for  that  those  rhymers  do,  by  their  ditties  and 
rhymes,  made  to  dyvers  lordes  and  gentlemen  in  Ire- 
land, in  the  commendacwn  and  highe  praise  of  extor- 
tion, rebellion,  rape,  raven,  and  outhere  injustice,  en- 
courage those  lordes  and  gentlemen  rather  to  follow 
those  vice*  than  to  leve  them,  and  for  making  of  such 
rhyme*,  rewards  are  given  by  the  sdid  lordes  and  gen- 
tlemen; that  for  abolishinge  of  soo  heynouse  an 
abuse,"  etc.,  etc. 

The  feudal  system,  which  encouraged  the  poetical 
•late  of  manners,  and  afforded  the  minstrels  worthy 
•ubjects  for  their  strains,  received  a  severe  blow  from 
the  policy  pursued  by  Elizabeth.  This  was  followed 
up  by  Cromwell,  and  consummated  by  King  William, 
of  Orange  memory. 

More  recently  a  Scotch  writer  observes,  "  In  Ire- 
land the  harpers,  the  original  composers,  and  the 
chief  depositories  of  that  music,  have,  till  lately,  been 
uniformly  cherished  and  supported  by  the  nobility  and 
gentry.  They  endeavoured  to  outdo  one  another  in 
playing  the  airs  that  were  most  esteemed,  with  cor- 
rectness, and  with  their  proper  expression.  The 
taste  for  that  style  of  performance  seems  now,  how- 
ever, to  be  declining.  The  native  harpers  are  not 
much  encouraged.  A  number  of  their  airs  have  come 
into  the  hands  of  foreign  musicians,  who  have  at- 
tempted to  fashion  them  according  to  the  model  of 
the  modern  music ;  and  these  acts  are  considered  in 
the  country  as  capital  improvements." 

We  have  gone  into  the  above  details,  not  only  be- 
cause they  are  in  themselves  interesting  and  illustra- 


before  we  sleep,  is  divested  of  every  particle  of  vul- 
garity. 

In  the  same  way,  and  with  equal  facility,  the  sud- 
den revival  of  forgotten  feelings,  at  meeting  with 
friends  from  whom  we  have  been  long  separated,  is 
compared  to  the  discovering,  by  the  application  of 
heat,  letters  written  invisibly  with  sympathetic  ink : — 

What  softcn'd  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart 

In  gazing  on  those  we've  been  lost  to  so  long! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they  were  part 

Still  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday,  throng. 
As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced, 

When  held  to  the  Hume  will  steal  out  to  the  sight; 
So  many  a  feeling  thai  long  seem'd  effaced, 

The  warmth  of  a  meetin?  like  this  brings  to  light. 

"  Rich  and  Rare,"  taking  music,  words  and  all,  is 
worth  an  epic  poem  to  the  Irish  nation, — simple,  ten- 
der, elegant,  sublime,  it  is  the  very  essence  of  poetry 
and  music ; — there  is  not  one  simile  or  conceit,  noi 
one  idle  crotchet  to  be  met  with  throughout. 

The  musical  as  well  as  the  poetical  taste  of  th« 
author  is  evident  in  every  line,  nor  is  one  allowed  to 
shine  at  the  expense  of  the  other.  Moore  has  com 
posed  some  beautiful  airs,  but  seems  shy  of  exercising 
this  faculty,  dreading,  perhaps,  that  success  in  that 
pursuit  would  detract  from  his  poetical  fame.  The 
union  of  these  talents  is  rare,  and  some  have  affirmed 
that  they  even  exclude  one  another.  When  Gretry 
visited  Voltaire  at  Ferney,  the  philosopher  pnid  hua 
a  compliment  at  the  expense  of  his  profession: 
"  Vous  etes  musicien,"  said  Voltaire,  "  et  vous  avez 


live  of  the  "  Irish  Melodies,"  but  because  we  fully  I  de  1'esprit:  cela  est  trop  rare  pour  que  je  ne  prenne 
coincide  with  the  bard  of  "Childe  Harold,"  that  the  <  pas  a  vous  le  plus  vif  interet."     Nature  certainly  may 


lasting  celebrity  of  Moore  will  be  found  in  his  lyrical 
compositions,  with  which  his  name  and  fame  will  be 
inseparably  and  immortally  connected. 


be  supposed  not  over-inclined  to  be  prodigal  in  be- 
stowing on  the  same  object  the  several  gifts  that  are 
peculiarly  hers ;  but,  as  far  as  the  assertion  rests  on 


Mr.  Moore  possesses  a  singular  facility  of  seizing  experience,  it  is  powerfully  contradicted  by  the  names 
and  expressing  the   prevailing  association  which  a '  of  Moore  and  Rousseau. 

given  air  is  calculated  to  inspire  in  the  minds  of  the  The  late  Mr.  Charles  Wolfe,  having  both  a  literary 
g-»eatest<number  of  hearers,  and  has  a  very  felicitous  j  and  a  musical  turn,  occasion-illy  employed  himself  in 
talent  in  making  this  discovery,  even  through  the  en-  I  adapting  words  to  national  melodies,  and  in  writing 


velopcs  of  prejudice  or  vulgarity.  The  alchemy  by 
which  he  is  thus  accustomed  to  turn  dross  into  gold 
is  reallj  surprising.  The  air  which  now  seems  framed 
for  the  sole  purpose  of  giving  the  highest  effect  to  the 
refined  and  elegant  ideas  contained  in  the  stanzas 
"Sing,  sing— music  was  given,"  has  for  years  been 
known  only  as  attached  to  the  words  of"  Oh !  whack  ! 
Judy  O'I'l.iiia;;;n,  etc.,"  and  the  words  usually  sung 


characteristic  introductions  to  popular  songs.  Being 
fond  of  "The  Last  Rose  of  Summer"  (Imsn  Mi:i.. 
No.  V.)  he  composed  the  following  tale  for  its  illus- 
tration : 

"  This  is  the  grave  of  Dermid  : — He  was  the  DCS* 
minstrel  among  us  all, — a  youth  of  romantic  genius, 
and  of  the  most  tremulous,  and  yet  the  most  impetu- 
ous  feeling.  He  knew  all  our  old  national  airs,  of 


to  the  tune  of  Cttmilum  are  of  the  same  low  and  lu-  j  every  character   and   description  :   according  as  his 
dicroui  description.     He *  possesses,  riso,  in  a  high  song  was  in  a  lofty  or  a  mournful  strain,  the  village 


degree,  that  remarkable  gift  of  a  poetical  imagination, 
which  consists  in  elevating  and  dignifying  the  mean- 
5«t  subject  on  which  it  chooses  to  expatiate  : 

A*  (her,  who  to  their  couch  at  ni«ht 
Would  welcome  deep,  fir«  quench  the  light — 
80  mint  the  hope*  that  keep  this  breast 
A»-uk«,  lie  fim-nch'd,  e'er  it  can  rect 
<        .  cold  in y  heart  mint  grow, 
Unchaojedby  either  joy  01  woe, 


represented  a  camp  or  funeral;  but  if  Dormid  \MTO 
in  his  merry  mood,  the  lads  and  lasses  hurried  into  a 
dance,  with  a  giddy  and  irresistible  gaiety.  One  d;iy 
our  chieftain  committed  a  cruel  and  wanton  outrage 
against  one  of  our  peaceful  villagers.  Dermid's  harp 
was  in  his  hand  when  he  heard  it: — with  all  the 
thoughtlessness  and  independent  sensibility  of  a  poet's 
indignation,  he  struck  the  chords  that  never  s-'poke 
without  response,  and  the  detestation  became  univtr 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


"sal.  He  was  driven  from  amongst  us  by  our  enraged 
chief;  and  all  his  relations,  and  the  maid  he  loved, 
attended  the  minstrel  into  the  wide  world.  For 
three  years  there  were  no  tidings  of  Dermid  ;  and  the 
song  and  the  dance  were  silent ;  when  one  of  our  lit- 
tle boys  came  running  in,  and  told  us  that  he  saw  our 
minstrel  approaching  at  a  distance.  Instantly  the 
whole  village  was  in  commotion ;  the  youths  and 
maidens  assembled  on  the  green,  and  agreed  to  cele- 
brate tlie  arrival  of  their  poet  with  a  dance;  they 
fixed  upon  the  air  he  was  to  play  for  them ;  it  was 
the  merriest  of  his  collection ;  the  ring  was  formed  ; 
all  looked  eagerly  to  the  quarter  from  which  he  was 
to  arrive,  determined  to  greet  their  favourite  bard  with 
a  cheer.  But  they  were  checked  the  instant  he  ap- 
peared; he  came  slowly,  and  languidly,  and  loiteringly 
along ;  his  countenance  had  a  cold,  dim,  and  careles: 
aspect,  very  diflerent  from  that  expressive  cheerfulness 
which  marked  his  features,  even  in  his  more  melancho- 
ly moments ;  his  harp  was  swinging  heavily  upon  his 
arm;  it  seemed  a  burthen  to  him;  it  was  much  shattered, 
and  some  of  the  strings  were  broken.  He  looked  at  us 
for  a  few  moments,  then,  relapsing  into  vacancy,  ad- 
vanced without  quickening  his  pace,  to  his  accustomed 
stone,  and  sate  down  in  silence.  After  a  pause,  we 
ventured  to  ask  him  for  his  friends  ; — he  first  looked 
up  sharp  in  our  faces,  next  down  upon  his  harp  ;  then 
struck  a  few  notes  of  a  wild  and  desponding  melody, 
which  we  had  never  heard  before  ;  but  his  hand  drop- 
ped, and  he  did  not  finish  it. — Again  we  paused : — 
then  knowing  well  that,  if  we  could  give  the  smallest 
mirthful  impulse  to  his  feelings,  his  whole  soul  would 
soon  follow,  we  asked  him  for  the  merry  air  we  had 
chosen.  We  were  surprised  at  the  readiness  with 
which  he  seemed  to  comply  ;  but  it  was  the  same  wild 
and  heart-breaking  strain  he  had  commenced.  In 
fact,  we  found  that  the  soul  of  the  minstrel  had  be- 
come an  entire  void,  except  one  solitary  ray  that  vi- 
brated sluggishly  through  its  very  darkest  path  ;  it  was 
like  the  sea  in  a  dark  calm,  which  you  only  know  to 
be  in  motion  by  the  panting  which  you  hear.  He 
had  totally  forgotten  every  trace  of  his  former  strains, 
not  only  those  that  were  more  gay  and  airy,  but  even 
those  of  a  more  pensive  cast ;  and  he  had  gotten  in 
their  stead  that  one  dreary  simple  melody ;  it  was 
about  a  Lonely  Rose,  that  had  outlived  all  its  com- 
panions ;  this  he  continued  singing  and  playing  from 
day  to  day,  until  he  spread  an  unusual  gloom  over  the 
whole  village :  he  seemed  to  perceive  it,  for  he  re- 
tired to  the  church-yard,  and  continued  repairing 
thither  to  sing  it  to  the  day  of  his  death.  The  afflicted 
constantly  resorted  there  to  hear  it,  and  he  died  sing- 
ing it  to  a  maid  who  had  lost  her  lover.  The  orphans 
have  learnt  it,  and  stili  chaunt  it  over  Dermid's  grave." 

"  The  Fudge  Family  in  Paris"  is  a  most  humorous 
Work,  written  partly  in  the  style  of  "The  Twopenny- 
Post  Bag."  These  poetical  epistles  remind  many 
persons  of  the  "  Bath  Guide,"  but  a  comparison  can 
hardly  be  supported;  the  plan  of  Mr.  Moore's  work 
being  less  extensive,  and  the  subject  more  ephemeral. 
We  pity  the  man,  however,  who  has  not  felt  pleased 
with  this  book ;  even  those  who  disapprove  the  au- 
thor's politics,  and  his  treating  Royalty  with  so  little 
reverence,  must  be  bigoted  and  loyal  to  an  excess  if 
they  deny  his  wit  and  humour. 

Mr.  Moere,  in  his  preface  to  the  "  Loves  of  the 
D 


Angels,"  states,  that  he  had  somewhat  hastened  his 
publication,  to  avoid  the  disadvantage  of  having  his 
work  appear  after  his  friend  Lord  Byron's  "Heaven 
and  Earth ;"  or,  as  he  ingeniously  expresses  ii,  "  by 
an  earlier  appearance  in  the  literary  horizon,  to  give 
myself  the  chance  of  what  astronomers  call  a  ln-!iur<il 
rising,  before  the  luminary,  in  whose  light  I  was  to 
be  lost,  should  appear."  This  was  an  amiable,  but  by 
no  means  a  reasonable  modesty.  The  light  that  ]>l;iys 
round  Mr.  Moore's  verses,  tender,  exquisite,  and  bril- 
liant, was  in  no  danger  of  being  extinguished  even  in 
the  sullen  glare  of  Lord  Byron's  genius.  One  might 
as  well  expect  an  aurora  borealis  to  be  put  out  by  an 
eruption  of  Mount  Vesuvius*  Though  both  bright 
stars  in  the  firmament  of  modern  poetry,  they  were  as 
distant  and  unljke  as  Saturn  and  Mercury ;  and 
though  their  rising  might  be  at  the  same  time,  they 
never  moved  in  the  same  orb,  nor  met  or  jostled  in 
the  wide  trackless  way  of  fancy  and  invention. 

Though  these  two  celebrated  writers  in  some 
measure  divided  the  poetical  public  between  them, 
yet  it  was  not  the  same  public  whose  favour  they  se- 
verally enjoyed  in  the  highest  degree.  Though  both 
read  and  admired  in  the  same  extended  circle  of  taste 
and  fashion,  each  was  the  favourite  of  a  totally  differ- 
ent set  of  readers.  Thus  a  lover  may  pay  the  same 
attention  to  two  diflerent  women ;  but  he  only  means 
to  flirt  with  the  one,  while  the  other  is  the  mistress 
of  his  heart.  The  gay,  the  fair,  the  witty,  the  happy, 
idolize  Mr.  Moore's  delightful  muse,  on  her  pedestal 
of  airy  smiles  or  transient  tears.  Lord  Byron's  se- 
verer verse  is  enshrined  in  the  breasts  of  those  whoso 
gaiety  has  been  turned  to  gall,  whose  fair  exterior  haa 
a  canker  within — whose  mirth  has  received  a  rebuke 
as  if  it  were  folly,  from  whom  happiness  has  fled  like 
a  dream !  By  comparing  the  odds  upon  the  known 
chances  of  human  life,  it  is  no  wonder  that  the  ad- 
mirers of  his  lordship's  works  should  be  more  numer- 
ous than  those  of  h's  more  agreeable  rival.  We  are 
not  going  to  speak  of  any  preference  we  ii»ay  have, 
but  we  beg  leatre  to  make  a  distinction.  The  poetry 
of  Moore  is  essentially  that  of  fancy,  the  poetry  of 
Byron  that  of  jxission.  If  there  is  passion  in  the  effu- 
sions of  the  one,  the  fancy  by  which  it  is  expressed 
predominates  over  it ;  if  fancy  is  called  to  the  aid  of 
the  other,  it  is  still  subservient  to  the  passion.  Lord 
Byron's  jests  are  downright  earnest;  Mr.  Moore, 
when  he  is  most  serious,  seems  half  in  jest.  The 
latter  dallies  and  trifles  with  his  subject,  caresses  and 
grows  enamoured  of  it ;  the  former  grasped  it  eagerly 
to  his  bosom,  breathed  death  upon  it,  and  turned  from 
it  with  loathing  or  dismay.  The  fine  aroma  that  ia 
exhaled  from  the  flowers  of  poesy,  every  where  lends 
its  perfume  to  the  verse  of  the  bard  of  Erin.  The  noble 
bard  (less  fortunate  in  his  muse)  tried  to  extract  poison 
from  them.  If  Lord  Byron  cast  his  own  views  or  feel- 
ings upon  outward  objects  (jaundicing  the  sun,;  Mr. 
Moore  seems  to  exist  in  the  delights,  the  virgin  fancies 
of  nature.  He  is  free  of  the  Rosicrucian  society;  and 
in  ethereal  existence  among  troops  of  sylphs  and 
spirits, — in  a  perpetual  vision  of  wings,  flowers,  rain- 
bows, smiles,  blushes,  tears,  and  kisses.  Every  page 
of  his  work  is  a  vignette,  every  line  that  he  writes 
jlows  or  sparkles,  and  it  would  seem  (to  quote  again 
the  expressive  words  of  Sheridan)  "as  if  his  airy 
pirit,  drawn  from  the  sun,  continually  fluttered  with 


A  SKETCH  OF  THOMAS  MOORE. 


fond  aspirations,  to  regain  that  native  source  of  light!  and  wearisome.  It  is  the  fault  of  Mr  Wordsworth's 
and  heat."  The  worst  is,  our  author's  mind  is  too 
vivid,  too  active,  to  suffer  a  moment's  repose. 
are  cloyed  with  sweetness,  and  dazzled  with  splen- 
dour. Every  image  must  blush  celestial  rosy  red, 
love's  proper  hue; — every  syllable  must  breathe  a 
sigh.  A  sentiment  is  lost  in  a  simile — the  simile  is 
.1.  led  with  an  epithet.  It  is  "  like  morn  risen  on 
mid-noon."  No  eventful  story,  no  powerful  contrast 
no  moral,  none  of  the  sordid  details  of  human  life  (all 
is  ethereal ;)  none  of  its  sharp  calamities,  or,  if  they 
inevitably  occur,  his  muse  throws  a  soft,  glittering 
veil  over  them, 

Like  moonlight  on  a  troubled  sea, 
Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 

We  do  not  believe  that  Mr.  Moore  ever  writes  a 
line  that  in  itself  would  not  pass  for  poetry,  that  is  not 
it  least  a  vivid  or  harmonious  common-place.  Lord 
Byron  wrote  whole  pages  of  sullen,  crabbed  prose, 
that,  like  a  long  dreary  road,  however,  leads  to  dole- 
ful shades  or  palaces  of  the  blest.  In  short  Mr. 
Moore's  Parnassus  is  a  blooming  Eden,  and  Lord 
Byron's  a  rugged  wilderness  of  shame  and  sorrow. 
On  the  tree  of  knowledge  of  the  first  you  can  see 
nothing  but  perpetual  flowers  and  verdure ;  in  the  last 
you  see  the  naked  stem  and  rough  bark ;  but  it  heaves 
at  intervals  with  inarticulate  throes,  and  you  hear  the 
shrieks  of  a  human  voice  within. 

Critically  speaking,  Mr.  Moore's  poetry  is  chargea- 
ble with  two  peculiarities :  first,  the  pleasure  or  interest 
he  conveys  to  us  is  almost  always  derived  from  the 
first  impressions  or  physical  properties  of  objects,  not 
from  their  connexion  with  passion  or  circumstances. 
His  lights  dazzle  the  eye,  his  perfumes  soothe  the 
cmcll,  his  sounds  ravish  the  ear ;  but  then  they  do  so 
for  and  from  themselves,  and  at  all  times  and  places 
equally — for  the  heart  has  little  to  do  with  it.  Hence 
we  observe  a  kind  of  fastidious  extravagance  in  Mr. 
Moore's  serious  poetry.  Each  thing  must  be  fine, 
•oft,  exquisite  in  itself,  for  it  is  never  set  off  by  reflec- 
tion or  contrast.  It  glitters  to  the  sense  through  the 
atmosphere  of  indifference.  Our  indolent  luxurious 
bard  does  not  whet  the  appetite  by  setting  us  to  hunt 
after  the  game  of  human  passion,  and  is  therefore 
obliged  to  hamper  us  with  dainties,  seasoned  with 
rich  fancy  and  the  sauce  piquante  of  poetic  diction. 
Poetry,  in  his  hands,  becomes  a  kind  of  cosmetic  art — 
it  is  th«  poetry  of  the  toilet  His  muse  must  be  as 
fine  a*  the  Lady  of  Loretto.  Now,  this  principle  of 
composition  leads  not  only  to  a  defect  of  dramatic 
intercut,  but  also  of  imagination.  For  every  thing  in 
tins  world,  the  meanest  incident  or  object,  may  re- 
ceive a  light  and  an  importance  from  its  association 
with  other  objects,  and  with  the  heart  of  man ;  and 
the  variety  thus  created  is  endless  as  it  is  striking  and 
I.  But  if  we  begin  and  end  in  those  objects 
lh.it  an-  beautiful  or  dazzling  in  themselves  and  at  the 
first  blush,  we  shall  soon  be  confined  to  a  human  re- 
ward of  self-pleasing  topics,  and  be  both  superficial 


poetry  that  he  has  perversely  relied  too  much  (or 
wholly)  on  this  reaction  of  the  imagination  on  sub- 
jects that  are  petty  and  repulsive  in  themselves ;  and 
of  Mr.  Moore's,  that  he  appeals  too  exclusively  to 
the  flattering  support  of  sense  and  fancy.  Secondly, 
we  have  remarked  that  Mr.  Moore  hardly  ever  de 
scribes  entire  objects,  but  abstract  qualities  of  objects 
It  is  not  a  picture  that  he  gives  us,  but  an  inventing 
of  beauty.  He  takes  a  blush,  or  a  smile,  and  runs  on 
whole  stanzas  in  ecstatic  praise  of  it,  and  then  diverges 
to  the  sound  of  a  voice,  and  "  discourses  eloquent 
music"  on  the  subject ;  but  it  might  as  well  be  the 
light  of  heaven  that  he  is  describing,  or  the  voice  of 
echo — we  have  no  human  figure  before  us,  no  pal- 
pable reality  answering  to  any  substantive  form  or 
nature.  Hence  we  think  it  may  be  explained  why  it 
is  that  our  author  has  so  little  picturesque  effect — with 
such  vividness  of  conception,  such  insatiable  ambition 
after  ornament,  and  such  an  inexhaustible  and  de- 
lightful play  of  fancy.  Mr.  Moore  is  a  colourist  in 
poetry,  a  musician  also,  and  has  a  heart  full  of  ten- 
derness and  susceptibility  for  all  that  is  delightful  and 
amiable  in  itself,  and  that  does  not  require  the  ordeal 
of  suffering,  of  crime,  or'of  deep  thought,  to  stamp  it 
with  a  bold  character.  In  this  we  conceive  consists 
the  charm  of  his  poetry,  which  all  the  world  feels, 
but  which  it  is  difficult  to  explain  scientifically,  and 
in  conformity  to  transcendanl  rules.  It  has  the  charm 
of  the  softest  and  most  brilliant  execution  ;  there  is  no 
wrinkle,  no  deformity  on  its  smooth  and  shining  sur- 
face. It  has  the  charm  which  arises  from  the  con- 
tinual desire  to  please,  and  from  the  spontaneous 
sense  of  pleasure  in  the  author's  mind.  Without 
being  gross  in  the  smallest  degree,  it  is  voluptuous  in 
the  highest.  It  is  a  sort  of  sylph-like  spiritualized 
sensuality.  So  far  from  being  licentious  in  his  Lalla 
Rookh,  Mr.  Moore  has  become  moral  and  sentimental 
(indeed  he  was  always  the  last,)  and  tantalizes  his 
young  and  fair  readers  with  the  glittering  shadows 
and  mystic  adumbrations  of  evanescent  delights 
He,  in  fine,  in  his  courtship  of  the  Muses,  resembles 
those  lovers  who  always  say  the  softest  things  on  all 
occasions ;  who  smile  with  irresistible  good  humour 
at  their  own  success ;  who  banish  pain  and  truth  from 
their  thoughts,  and  who  impart  the  delight  they  feel 
in  themselves  unconsciously  to  others  !  Mr.  Moore's 
poetry  is  the  thornless  rose — its  touch  is  velvet,  its 
hue  vermilion,  and  its  graceful  form  is  cast  in  beauty's 
mould.  Lord  Byron's,- on  the  contrary,  is  a  prickly 
bramble,  or  sometimes  a  deadly  upas,  of  form  uncouth 
and  uninviting,  that  has  its  root  in  the  clefts?  of  the 
rock,  and  its  head  mocking  the  skies,  that  wars  with 
the  thunder-cloud  and  tempest,  and  round  which  the 
loud  cataracts  roar. 
We  here  conclude  our  Sketch  of 

Anacreon  Miion-, 

To  whom  the  Lyre  and  Laurels  have  l>--,-n  given 
With  all  the  trophies  of  triumphant  song— 
lie  won  Uiim  icell,  and  may  he  icear  Uum  l^ngl 


TIIE 


BSCSGAS 


L  ROOKH; 

AN  ORIENTAL  ROMANCE. 


TO  SAMUEL  ROGERS,  ESQ. 
77//S  POEJtf  IS  DEDICATED, 

BY    HIS    VERT    GRATEFUL    AND    AFFECTIONATE    FRIEND, 
May  19,  1817.  THOMAS  MOORE. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


IN  th*  eleventh  year  of  the  reign  of  Aurungzebe, 
A  Walla,  King  of  the  Lesser  Bucharia,  a  lineal  de- 
scendant from  the  Great  Zingis,  having  abdicated  the 
throne  in  favour  of  his  son,  set  out  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  the  Shrine  of  the  Prophet;  and,  passing  into  India 
through  the  delightful  valley  of  Cashmere,  rested  for 
a  short  time  at  Delhi  on  his  way.  He  was  entertained 
by  Aurting/ebe  in  a  style  of  magnificent  hospitality, 
worthy  alike  of  the  visitor  and  the  host,  and  was 
afterwards  escorted  with  the  same  splendour  to  Surat, 
where  he  embarked  for  Arabia.  During  the  stay  of 
the  Royal  Pilgrim  at  Delhi,  a  marriage  was  agreed 
upon  between  the  Prince,  his  son,  and  the  youngest 
daughter  of  the  Emperor,  LALLA  UooKii1 ; — a  Prin- 
cess described  by  poets  of  her  time,  as  more  beauti- 
ful than  Lelia,  Shrine,  Dewilde,  or  any  of  those  hero- 
ines whose  named  and  loves  embellish  the  songs  of 
Persia  and  Hindostan.  It  was  intended  that  the  nup- 
tials should  be  celebrated  at  Cashmere ;  where  the 


as  fragrant  as  if  a  caravan  of  musk  from  Khoten  had 
passed  through  it.  The  Princess,  having  taken  leave 
of  her  kind  father,  who  at  parting  hung  a  cornelian 
of  Yemen  round  her  neck,  on  which  was  inscribed  a 
verse  from  the  Koran, — and  having  sent  a  considerable 
present  to  the  Fakirs,  who  kept  jp  the  Perpetual  Lamp 
in  her  sister's  tomb,  meekly  ascended  the  palankeen 
prepared  for  her;  and,  while  Aurungzebe  stood  to 
take  the  last  look  from  his  balcony,  the  procession 
moved  slowly  on  the  road  to  Lahore. 

Seldom  had  the  Eastern  world  seen  a  cavalcade  so 
superb.  From  the  gardens  in  the  suburbs  to  the  Im- 
perial palace,  it  was  one  unbroken  line  of  splendour. 
The  gallant  appearance  of  the  Rajas  and  Mogul  lords, 
distinguished  by  those  insignia  of  the  Emperor's  fa- 
vour, the  feathers  of  the  egret  of  Cashmere  in  their 
turbans,  and  the  small  silver-rimmed  kettle-drums  at 
the  bows  of  their  saddles ; — the  costly  armour  of 
their  cavaliers,  who  vied  on  this  occasion,  with  the 
guards  of  the  great  Keder  Khan,  in  the  brightness  of 
their  silver  battle-axes  and  the  massiness  of  their  maces 
of  gold  ;-^-the  glittering  of  the  gilt  pine  apples  on  the 


young  King,  as  soon  as  the  cares  of  empire  would  j  tops  of  the  palankeens; — the  embroidered  tuppings 


permit,  was  to  meet,  for  the  first  time,  his  lovely  bride, 
and  after  a  few  months'  repose  in  that  enchanting 
valley,  conduct  her  over  the  snowy  hills  into  Bucharia. 
The  day  of  LALLA  ROOKH'S  departure  from  Delhi 
was  as  splendid  as  sunshine  and  pageantry  could 
make  it.  The  bazaars  and  baths  were  all  covered 
with  the  richest  tapestry;  hundreds  of  gilded  barges 
upon  the  Jumna  floated  with  their  banners  shining  in 
the  water;  while  through  the  streets  groups  of  beau- 
tiful children  went  strewing  the  most  delicious  flow- 
en  around,  as  in  that  Persian  festival  called  the  Scat- 
wing  of  the  Roses2 ;  till  every  part  of  the  city  was 


1  Tulip  Cheek. 


2  Gul  Roazee. 


of  the  elephants,  hearing  on  their  backs  small  turrets, 
in  the  shape  of  little  antique  temples,  within  which 
the  Ladies  of  LALLA  ROOKH  lay,  as  it  were,  enshrined, 
the  rose-coloured  veils  of  the  Princess's  own  sump 
Uious  litter,  at  the  front  of  which  a  fair  young  fonalu 
slave  sat  fanning  her  through  the  curtains,  with  fea- 
thers of  the  Argus  pheasant's  wing ;  and  the  lovely 
troop  of  Tartarian  and  Cashmcnan  maids  of  honour, 
whom  the  young  King  had  sent  to  accompany  his 
bride,  and  who  rode  on  each  side  of  the  litter,  upon 
small  Arabian  horses; — all  was  brilliant,  tasteful,  and 
magnificent,  and  pleased  even  the  critical  and  fasti 
dious  FADLADKK.N,  Great  Na/.ir  or  Chamberlain  of 
the  Haram,  who  was  borne  in  his  palankeen  inline 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


diati-ly  after  the  Princess,  and  considered  himself  not 
the  teMt  important  personage  of  the  pageant. 

FAI.I.ADKF.N  was  a  judge  of  every  tlnng,  from  the 
pencilling  of  a  Circassian's  eye-lids  to  the  deepest 
questions  of  science  and  literature;  from  the  mixture 
of  a  conserve  of  rose-leaves  to  the  composition  of  an 
epic  poem ;  and  such  influence  had  his  opinion  upon 
the  various  tastes  of  the  day,  that  all  the  cooks  and 
poets  of  Delhi  stood  in  awe  of  him.  His  political 
conduct  and  opinions  were  founded  upon  that  line  of 
Sadi,  "  Should  the  Prince  at  noon-day  say,  it  is  night, 
declare  that  you  behold  the  moon  and  stars."  And 
his  zeal  for  religion,  of  which  Aurungzebe  was  a  mu- 
nificent protector,  was  about  as  disinterested  as  that 
of  the  goldsmith  who  fell  in  love  with  the  diamond 
eyes  of  the  idol  of  Jaghernaut. 

During  the  first  days  of  their  journey,  LALLA 
ROOK  n,  who  had  passed  all  her  life  within  the 
shadow  of  the  Royal  Gardens  of  Delhi,  found  enough 
in  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  through  which  they 
passed  to  interest  her  mind  and  delight  her  imagina- 
tion ;  and,  when  at  evening,  or  in  the  heat  of  the 
day,  they  turned  off  from  the  high  road  to  those  re- 
tired and  romantic  places  which  had  been  selected 
for  her  encampments,  sometimes  on  the  banks  of  a 
small  rivulet,  as  clear  as  the  waters  of  the  Lake  of 
Pearl ;  sometimes  under  the  sacred  shade  of  a  Ban- 
yan tree,  from  which  the  view  opened  upon  a  glade 
covered  with  antelopes ;  and  often  in  those  hidden, 
embowered  spots,  described  by  one  from  the  Isles 
of  the  West,  as  "  places  of  melancholy,  delight,  and 
safety,  where  all  the  company  around  was  wild  pea- 
cocks and  turtle  doves ;" — she  felt  a  charm  in  these 
scenes,  so  lovely  and  so  new  to  her,  which,  for  a 
time,  made  her  indifferent  to  every  other  amusement. 
But  LAI. LA  ROOKII  was  young,  and  the  young  love 
variety  ;  nor  could  the  conversation  of  her  ladies  and 
ihe  Great  Chamberlain,\f  ADLADEEN,  (the  only  per- 
sons, of  course,  admitted  to  her  pavilion,)  sufficiently 
enliven  those  many  vacant  hours,  which  were  devoted 
neither  to  the  pillow  nor  the  palankeen.  There  was 
a  little  Persian  slave  who  sung  sweetly  to  the  Vina, 
and  who  now  and  then  lulled  the  Princess  to  sleep 
with  the  ancient  ditties  of  her  country,  about  the  loves 
of  Wamak  and  Ezra,  the  fair  haired  Zal  and  his  mis- 
tress Rodahver ;  not  forgetting  the  combat  of  Rustam 
with  the  terrible  White  Demon.  At  other  times  she 
was  amused  by  those  graceful  dancing  girls  of  Delhi, 
who  had  been  permitted  by  the  Bramins  of  the  Great 
Pagoda  to  attend  her,  much  to  the  horror  of  the  good 
Mussulman  FADLADEEN,  who  could  see  nothing 
graceful  or  agreeable  in  idolaters,  and  to  whom  the 
rery  tinkling  of  their  golden  anklets  was  an  abomi- 
nation. 

But  these  and  many  other  diversions  were  repeated 
till  they  lost  all  their  charm,  and  the  nights  and  noon- 
days were  beginning  to  move  heavily,  when  at  length, 
it  was  recollected  that,  among  the  attendants  sent  by 
:<>2room  was  a  young  poet  of  Cashmere,  much 
•••d  throughout  the  Valley  for  his  manner  of 
reciting  the  Stories  of  the  East,  on  whom  his  Royal 
had  conferred  the  privilege  of  being  admitted 
to  the  pavilion  of  the  Princess.,  that  he  might  help  to 
.!i(tu>-ness  of  th,.  journey  by  some  of.  his 
•  oihic  rrcitals.  A-  the  mention  of  a  poet 
i  A UI.AIII- C.N  tle.-iu.d  his  c.  'tiu\l  eve-brows,  and,  hav- 


ing refreshed  his  faculties  witli  a  dose  of  that  deh 
cious  opium,  which  is  distilled  from  the  black  poppy 
of  the  Thebais,  gave  orders  for  the  minstrel  to  be 
forthwith  introduced  into  the  presence. 

The  Princess,  who  had  once  in  her  life  seen  a  poet 
from  behind  the  screens  of  gauze  in  her  father's  hull, 
and  had  conceived  from  that  specimen  no  very  fa- 
vourable ideas  of  the  Cast,  expected  but  little  in  this 
new  exhibition  to  interest  her ; — she  felt  inclined  how- 
ever to  alter  her  opinion  on  the  very  first  appearance 
of  FERAMORZ.  He  was  a  youth  about  LAI. LA 
ROOKII'S  own  age,  and  graceful  as  that  idol  of  wo- 
men, Crishna,' — such  as  he  appears  to  their  young 
imaginations,  heroic,  beautiful,  breathing  music  from 
his  very  eyes,  and  exalting  the  religion  of  his  wor- 
shippers into  love.  His  dress  was  simple,  yet  not 
without  some  marks  of  costliness ;  and  the  Ladies  of 
the  Princess  were  not  long  in  discovering  that  the 
cloth,  which  encircled  his  high  Tartarian  cap,  was 
of  the  most  delicate  kind  that  the  shawl-goats  of 
Tibet  supply.  Here  and  there,  too,  over  his  vest, 
which  was  confined  by  a  flowered  girdle  of  Kashan, 
hung  strings  of  fine  pearl,  disposed  with  an  air  of 
•studied  negligence ; — nor  did  the  exquisite  embroi- 
dery of  his  sandals  escape  the  observation  of  these 
fair  critics ;  who,  however  they  might  give  way  to 
FADLADEEN  upon  the  unimportant  topics  of  religion 
and  government,  had  the  spirits  of  martyrs  in  every 
thing  relating  to  such  momentous  matters  as  jewels 
and  embroidery. 

For  the  purpose  of  relieving  the  pauses  of  recita- 
tion by  music,  the  young  Cashmerian  held  in  his  hand 
a  kitar; — such  as,  in  old  times,  the  Arab  maids  of  the 
West  used  to  listen  to  by  moonlight  in  the  gardens 
of  the  Alhambra — and  having  premised,  with  much 
humility,  that  the  story  he  was  about  to  relate  was 
founded  on  the  adventures  of  that  Veiled  Prophet  of 
Khorassan,  who,  in  the  year  of  the  Hegira  163, 
created  such  alarm  throughout  the  Eastern  Empire, 
made  an  obeisance  to  the  Princess,  and  thus  btgan  : — 

THE  VEILED  PROPHET  OF 
KHORASSAN.1 


IN  that  delightful  Province  of  the  Sun, 
The  first  of  Persian  lands  he  shines  upon, 
Where,  all  the  loveliest  children  of  his  beam, 
Flowrcts  and  fruits  blush  over  every  stream, 
And,  fairest  of  all  streams,  the  MURGA  roves, 
Among  MEROu's3  bright  palaces  and  groves  ; — 
There,  on  that  throne,  to  which  the  blind  belief 
Of  millions  rais'd  him,  sat  the  Prophet-Chief, 
The  Great  MOKAN.VA.    O'er  his  features  hung 
The  Veil,  the  Silver  Veil,  which  he  had  flung 
In  mercy  there,  to  hide  from  mortal  sight 
His  d:\z7.\\ng  brow,  till  man  could  bear  its  light. 
For,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  said 
Were  ev'n  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  MoUMAV  cheek,  when  down  the  mount  he  trod. 
All  glowing  from  the  presence  of  his  God  ! 

On  either  side,  with  ready  hearts  and  hands, 
His  chosen  guard  of  bold  Believers  stands ; 


1  Tlic  Indian  Apollo. 

2  Khor -if.--.ii  ..i^'iiiii-s,  in  the  oM  Porsinn  language,  Pro 
inrn,  or  renicm  of  the  sun.     Sir  W.  Junta. 

3  One  of  the  Royal  cities  of  Khorassan.  4  Alosns 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Young  tire-eyed  disputants,  who  deem  their  swords, 
On  points  of  faith,  more  eloquent  than  words; 
And  such  their  zeal,  there's  not  a  youth  with  brand 
Uplifted  there,  but,  at  the  Chiefs  command, 
Would  make  his  own  devoted  heart  its  sheath, 
And  bless  the  lips  that  doom'd  so  dear  a  death ! 
In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night,1 
Their  vesture,  helms  and  all,  is  snowy  white; 
Their  weapons  various ; — some,  equipp'd  for  speed, 
With  javelins  of  the  light  Kathaian  reed ; 
Or  bows  of  Buffalo  horn,  and  shining  quivers 
Fill'd  with  the  stems2  that  bloom  on  IRAN'S  rivers; 
While  some,  for  war's  more  terrible  attacks, 
Wield  the  huge  mace  and  ponderous  battle-axe ; 
And,  as  they  wave  aloft  in  morning's  beam 
The  milk-white  plumage  of  their  helms,  they  seem 
Like  a  chenar-tree  grove,  when  Winter  throws 
O'er  all  its  tufted  heads  his  feathering  snows. 

Between  the  porphyry  pillars,  that  uphold 
The  rich  moresque-work  of  the  roof  of  gold, 
Aloft  the  Ilaram's  curtain'd  galleries  rise, 
Where,  through  the  silken  net-work,  glancing  eyes, 
From  time  to  time,  like  sudden  gleams  that  glow 
Through  autumn  clouds,  shine  o'er  the  pomp  below. — 
What  impious  tongue,  ye  blushing  saints,  would  dare 
To  hint  that  aught  but  Heav'n  hath  plac'd  you  there  ? 
Or  that  the  loves  of  this  light  world  could  bind 
In  their  gross  chain,  your  Prophet's  soaring  mind  ? 
No — wrongful  thought ! — cornmission'd  from  above 
To  people  Eden's  bowers  with  shapes  of  love, 
(Creatures  so  bright,  that  the  same  lips  and  eyes 
They  wear  on  earth  will  serve  in  Paradise) 
There  to  recline  among  Heav'n's  native  maids, 
And  crown  th*  Elect  with  bliss  that  never  fades ! — 
Well  hath  the  Prophet-Chief  his  bidding  done; 
And  every  beauteous  race  beneath  the  sun, 
From  those  who  kneel  at  BRAHMA'S  burning  founts/ 
To  the  fresh  nymphs  bounding  o'er  YEMEN'S  mounts ; 
From  PERSIA'S  eyes  of  full  and  fawn-like  ray, 
To  the  small,  half-shut  glances  of  KATHAY  ;* 
And  GEORGIA'S  bloom  and  AZAB'S  darker  smiles, 
And  the  gold  ringlets  of  the  Western  Isles, 
All,  all  are  there; — each  land  its  flower  hath  given, 
To  form  that  fair  young  Nursery  for  Heaven ! 

But  why  this  pageant  now  ?  this  arm'd  array  ? 
What  triumph  crowds  the  rich  Divan  to-day 
With  turbaii'd  heads,  of  every  hue  and  race, 
Bowing  before  that  veil'd  and  awful  face, 
Like  tulip-beds,  of  different  shape  and  dyes, 
Bending  beneath  th'  invisible  West-wind's  sighs! 
What  new-made  mystery  now,  for  Faith  to  sign, 
And  blood  to  seal,  as  genuine  and  divine, — 
What  dazzling  mimicry  of  God's  own  power 
Hath  the  bold  Prophet  plann'd  to  grace  this  hour? 
Not  such  the  pageant  now,  though  not  less  proud, — 
Yon  warrior  youth,  advancing  from  the  crowd, 
With  silver  bow,  with  belt  of  broider'd  crape, 
And  fur-bound  bonnet  of  Buchanan  shape, 
So  fiercely  beautiful  in  form  and  eye, 
Like  war's  wild  planet  in  a  summer's  sky ; — 


1  Blark  was  the  colour   adopted   by  tlie  Caliphs  of  the 
House  of  Abbas,  in  their  garments,  tin  bans,  and  standards. 

2  I'ichula,  nsod  anciently  for  arrows  by  the  IVr-inns. 

3  The   burning  fountains  of  Brahma  near  Chmogong, 
•Jteeincd  as  ho'y.     Turner. 

4  CUiaa 


That  youth  to-day, — a  proselyte,  worth  hordes 
Of  cooler  spirits  and  less  practis'd  swords,— 
Is  come  to  join,  all  bravery  and  belief, 
The  creed  and  standard  of  the  heav'n-sent  Chief. 

Though  few  his  years,  the  West  already  knows 
Young  AZIM'S  fame; — beyond  th'  Olympian  snows, 
Ere  manhood  darken'd  o'er  his  downy  cheek, 
O'erwhelrn'd  in  fight  and  captive  to  the  Greek,1 
lie  linger'd  there,  till  peace  dissolv'd  his  chains ; 
Oh  !  who  could,  ev'n  in  bondage,  tread  the  plains 
Of  glorious  GREECE,  nor  feel  his  spirit  rise 
Kindling  within  h^m  ?  who,  with  heart  and  eyei. 
Could  walk  where  liberty  had  been,  nor  see 
The  shining  foot-prints  of  her  Deity, 
Nor  feel  those  god-like  breathings  in  the  air 
Which  mutely  told  her  spirit  had  been  there  i 
Not  he,  that  youthful  warrior, — no,  too  well 
For  his  soul's  quiet  ^vork'd  th'  awakening  spell ; 
And  now,  returning  to  his  own  dear  land, 
Full  of  those  dreams  of  good,  that,  vainly  grand, 
Haunt  the  young  heart  ; — proud  views  of  human-', mil 
Of  men  to  Gods  exalted  and  refin'd ; — 
False  views,  like  that  horizon's  fair  deceit, 
Where  earth  and  heav'n  but  seem,  alas,  to  meet ! — 
Soon  as  he  heard  an  Arm  Divine  was  rais'd 
To  right  the  nations,  and  beheld,  emblaz'd 
On  the  white  flag  MOKANNA'S  host  unfurl'd, 
Those  words  of  sunshine, "  Freedom  to  the  Woild,1 
At  once  his  faith,  his  sword,  his  soul  obey'd 
Th'  inspiring  summons ;  every  chosen  blade, 
That  fought  beneath  that  banner's  sacred  text, 
Seem'd  doubly  edg'd,  for  this  world  and  the  next ; 
And  ne'er  did  Faith  with  her  smooth  bandage  bind 
Eyes  more  devoutly  willing  to  be  blind, 
In  virtue's  cause  ; — never  was  soul  inspir'd 
With  livelier  trust  in  what  it  most  desir'd, 
Than  his,  th'  enthusiast  there,  wio,  kneeling,  pale 
With  pious  awe,  before  that  Silver  Veil, 
Believes  the  form,  to  which  he  bends  his  knee, 
Some  pure,  redeeming  angel,  sent  to  free 
This  fetter'd  world  from  every  bond  and  stain, 
And  bring  its  primal  glories  back  again  ! 

Low  as  young  AZJM  knelt,  that  motley  crowd 
Of  all  earth's  nations  sunk  the  knee  and  bow'd, 
With  shouts  of  "  AI.I.A  !"  echoing  long  and  loud  ; 
While  high  in  air,  above  the  Prophet's  head, 
Hundreds  of  banners,  to  the  sunbeam  spread, 
Wav'd,  like  the  wings  of  the  white  birds  that  fan 
The  flying  throne  of  star-taught  SOLIMAN! 
Then  thus  he  spoke: — "Stranger,  though  new  th« 

frame 

Thy  soul  inhabits  now,  I've  track'd  its  flame 
For  many  an  age,2  in  every  chance  and  change 
Of  that  existence,  through  whose  varied  n.ngi\ — 
As  through  a  torch-race,  where,  from  hand  to  hand 
The  flying  youths  transmit  their  shining  brand, — 

•cm  frame  to  frame  the  unextinguish'd  soul 
vapidly  passes,  till  it  reach  the  goal ! 

"  Nor  think  'tis  only  the  gross  Spirits,  warm'd 
IVith  duskier  lire  and  for  earth's  medium  fonu'd, 

1  In  this  war  of  the  Caliph  Moliadi  ngainst  the  Kmpreia 
renu  :  for  an  ncrnunt  of  ulnch,  see  Gibbon,  vol.  x. 

2  'I'lit:  trnnsniigration  of  souls  wiu  one  of  his  doctrino* 
ee  W  Herbelut. 


30 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  run  this  course ;— Beings,  the  most  divine, 

Thua  deign  through  dark  mortality  to  shine. 

Such  was  the  Essence  that  in  ADAM  dwelt, 

To  which  all  Heav'n,  except  the  Proud  One,  knelt ;' 

Such  the  re6n'd  Intelligence  that  glow'd 

In  MOUSSA'S  frame;— and, thence  descending, flow'd 

Through  many  a  prophet's  breast ;— in  ISSA"  shone, 

And  in  MOHAMMKD  burn'd  ;  till,  hastening  on, 

(As  a  bright  river  that,  from  fall  to  fall 

In  many  a  maze  descending,  bright  through  all, 

Finds  some  fair  region  where,  each  labyrinth  past, 

In  one  full  lake  of  light  it  rests  at  last !) 

That  Holy  Spirit,  settling  calm  and  free 

From  lapse  or  shadow,  centres  all  in  me !" 

Again,  throughout  th'  assembly  at  these  words, 
Thousands  of  voices  rung ;  the  warrior's  swords 
Were  pointed  up  to  heav'n ;  a  sudden  wind 
In  th'  open  banners  play'd,  and  from  behind 
Those  Persian  hangings,  that  but  ill  could  screen 
The  Haram's  loveliness,  white  hands  were  seen 
Waving  embroider'd  scarves,  whose  motion  gave 
A  perfume  forth  ;— like  those  the  Houris  wave 
When  beckoning  to  their  bowers  the'  Immortal  Brave. 

14  But  these,"  pursued  the  Chief, "  are  truths  sublime, 
That  claim  a  holier  mood  and  calmer  time 
Than  earth  allows  us  now  ; — this  sword  must  first 
The  darkling  prison-house  of  mankind  burst, 
Ere  Peace  can  visit  them,  or  Truth  let  in 
Her  wakening  day-light  on  a  world  of  sin ! 
But  then,  celestial  warriors,  then,  when  all 
Earth's  shrines  and  thrones  before  our  banner  fall ; 
When  the  glad  slave  shall  at  these  feet  lay  down 
His  broken  chain,  the  tyrant  Lord  his  crown, 
The  priest  his  book,  the  conqueror  his  wreath, 
And  from  the  lips  of  Truth  one  mighty  breath 
Shall,  like  a  whirlwind,  scatter  in  its  breeze 
That  whole  dark  pile  of  human  mockeries ; — 
Then  shall  the  reign  of  Mind  commence  on  earth, 
And  starting  fresh,  as  from  a  second  birth, 
Man,  in  the  sunshine  of  the  world's  new  spring, 
Sh;ill  wa'.k  transparent,  like  some  holy  thing! 
The^,  too,  your  Prophet  from  his  angel  brow 
Shall  cast  the  Veil  that  hides  its  splendours  now, 
And  gladden'd  Earth  shall,  through  her  wide  expanse, 
Bask  in  the  glories  of  this  countenance  ! 
1  For  thee,  young  warrior,  welcome ! — thou  hast  yet 
Some  task  to  learn,  some  frailties  to  forget, 
Ere  the  white  war-plume  o'er  thy  brow  can  wave ; — 
But,  once  my  own,  mine  all  till  in  the  grave  !" 
The  pomp  is  at  an  end, — the  crowds  are  gone — 
Each  ear  and  heart  still  haunted  by  the  tone 
Of  that  deep  voice,  which  thrill'd  like  ALLA'S  own ! 
The  young  all  dazzled  by  the  plumes  and  lances, 
The  glittering  throne,and  Hamm's  half-caught  glances; 
The  old  deep  pondering  on  the  promised  reign 
Of  peace  and  truth;  and  all  the  female  train 
Ready  to  risk  their  eyes,  could  they  but  gaze 
A  moment  on  that  brow's  miraculous  bh/.e  ! 

But  there  was  one  among  the  chosen  maids 
Who  blush'd  behind  the  gallery's  silken  shades, — 


1  "  \nd  wln-n  we  naiil  unlo  the  Angels,  Worship  Adam, 
Ifwjr  «ll  worshipped  him  except  Ebus,  (1  ucit'er,)  who  re- 
fined." The  Koran,  chap.  ii. 

«J«MU. 


One,  to  whose  soul  the  pageant  of  to-day 

Has  been  like  death ; — you  saw  her  pale 

Ye  wondering  sisterhood,  and  heard  the  burst 

Of  exclamation  from  her  lips,  when  first 

She  saw  that  youth,  too  well,  too  dearly  knowm 

Silently  kneeling  at  the  Prophet's  throne. 

Ah  ZKI.IC  A  !  there  was  a  time,  whrn  bliss 
Shone  o'er  thy  heart  from  every  look  of  his; 
When  but  to  see  him,  hear  him,  breathe  the  air 
In  which  he  dwelt,  was  thy  soul's  fondest  prayer  ' 
When  round  him  hung  such  a  perpetual  spell, 
Whate'er  he  did,  none  ever  did  so  well. 
Too  happy  days  !  when,  if  he  touch'd  a  flower 
Or  gem  of  thine,  'twas  sacred  from  that  hour; 
When  thou  didst  study  him,  till  every  tone 
And  gesture  and  dear  look  became  thy  own, — 
Thy  voice  like  his,  the  changes  of  his  face 
In  thine  reflected  with  still  lovelier  grace, 
Like  echo,  sending  back  sweet  music,  fraught 
With  twice  th'  aerial  sweetness  it  had  brought  i 
Yet  now  he  comes — brighter  than  even  he 
E'er  beam'd  before, — but  ah !  not  bright  for  thee  • 
No — dread,  unlook'd  for,  like  a  visitant 
From  th'  other  world,  he  comes  as  if  to  haunt 
Thy  guilty  soul  with  dreams  of  lost  delight, 
Long  lost  to  all  but  memory's  aching  sight : — 
Sad  dreams  !  as  when  the  Spirit  of  our  Youth    ' 
Returns  in  sleep,  sparkling  with  all  the  truth 
And  innocence  once  ours,  and  leads  us  buck, 
In  mournful  mockery,  o'er  the  shining  track 
Of  our  young  life,  and  points  out  every  ray 
Of  hope  and  peace  we've  lost  upon  the  way  ! 

Once  happy  pair ! — in  proud  BOKHARA'S  groves. 
Who  had  not  heard  of  their  first  youthful  loves? 
Born  by  that  ancient  flood,1  which  from  its  spring 
In  the  Dark  Mountains  swiftly  wandering, 
Enrich'd  by  every  pilgrim  brook  that  shines 
With  relics  from  BUCHARIA'S  ruby  mines, 
And,  lending  to  the  CASPIAN  half  its  strength, 
In  the  cold  Lake  of  Eagles  sinks  at  length  ; — 
There,  on  the  banks  of  that  bright  river  born, 
The  flowers,  that  hung  above  its  wave  at  morn, 
Bless'd  not  the  waters,  as  they  murmur'd  by, 
With  holier  scent  and  lustre,  than  the  sigh 
And  virgin  glance  of  first  affection  cast 
Upon  their  youth's  smooth  current,  as  it  pass'd ! 
But  war  disturb'd  this  vision — far  away 
From  her  fond  eyes,  summon'd  to  join  th'  array 
Of  PERSIA'S  warriors  on  the  hills  of  THRACE, 
The  youth  exchang'd  his  sylvan  dwelling-place 
For  the  rude  tent  and  war-field's  deathful  clash ;— • 
His  ZEMCA'S  sweet  glances  for  the  flash 
Of  Grecian  wild-fire, — and  love's  gentle  chains 
For  bleeding  bondage  on  BYZANTIUM'S  plains. 

Month  after  month,  in  widowhood  of  soul 
Drooping,  the  maiden  saw  two  summers  roll 
Their  suns  away — but,  ah  !  how  cold  and  dim 
E'en  summer  suns,  when  not  beheld  with  him ! 
From  time  to  time  ill-omen'd  rumours  came, 
(Like  spirit  tongues,  muttering  the  sick  man's  name 


1  The  Arnoo,  which  rises  in  the  Belur  Tug,  or  Dark 
Mountains,  and  running  nearly  from  east  to  west,  uplits  into 
two  brunches,  one  of  which  falls  into  the  Caspian  sea,  ana 
the  other  into  Ami  JValir,  or  the  Lake  of  Eagles. 


LALLA  ROOKIL 


31 


Just  ere  he  dies,) — at  length  those  sounds  of  dread 
Fell  withering  on  her  soul,  "  AZIM  is  dead  !" 
Oh  gnef,  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  which  it  lov'd  to  live  or  fear'd  to  die; — 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master-chord  was  broken ! 

Fond  maid,  the  sorrow  of  her  soul  was  such 
Ev'n  reason  blighted  sunk  beneath  its  touch  ; 
And  though,  ere  long,  her  sanguine  spirit  rose 
Above  the.  first  dead  pressure  of  its  woes. 
Though  health  and  bloom  return'd,  the  delicate  chain 
Of  thought,  once  tangled,  never  clear'd  again. 
Warm,  lively,  soft  as  in  youth's  happiest  day, 
The  mind  was  still  all  there,  but  turn'd  astray ; — 
A  wandering  bark,  upon  whose  pathway  shone 
All  stars  of  heav'n,  except  the  guiding  one  ! 
Again  she  smil'd,  nay,  much  and  brightly  smil'd, 
But  'twas  a  lustre,  strange,  unreal,  wild ; 
And  when  she  sung  to  her  hue's  touching  strain, 
'Twas  like  the  notes,  half  extacy,  half  pain, 
The  bulbul1  utters,  e'er  her  soul  depart, 
When,  vanquish'd  by  some  minstrel's  powerful  art, 
She  dies  upon  the  lute  whose  sweetness  broke  her 

heart ! 

Such  was  the  mood  in  which  that  mission  found 
Young  ZELJCA, — that  mission,  which  around 
The  Eastern  world,  in  every  region  blest 
With  woman's  smile,  sought  out  its  loveliest, 
To  grace  that  galaxy  of  lips  arid  eyes, 
Which  the  Vpil'd  Prophet  destin'd  for  the  skies  !— 
And  such  quick  welcome  as  a  spark  receives 
Uropp'd  on  a  bed  of  autumn's  wither' d  leaves, 
Did  every  taie  of  tnese  enthusiasts  find 
In  the  wild  maiden's  sorrow-blighted  mind. 
All  fire  at  once  the  madd'ning  zeal  she  caught; — 
Elect  of  Paradise  !  blest,  rapturous  thought ; 
1'redc-itin'd  bride,  in  heaven's  eternal  dome, 
Of  some  brave  youth — ha  !  durst  they  say  "  of  some  ?" 
No — of  the  one,  one  only  object  trac'd 
In  her  !reart's  core  too  deep  to  be  efTac'd  ; 
The  one  whose  memory,  fresh  as  life,  is  twin'd 
With  ev'ry  broken  link  of  her  lost  mind; 
Whose  iin:iw  lives,  though  Reason's  self  be  wreck'd, 
Safe  'mid  the  ruins  of  her  intellect ! 

Alas,  poor  ZKMCA  !  it  needed  all 
The  fantasy,  which  held  thy  mind  in  thrall, 
To  see  in  that  gay  Haratn's  glowing  maids 
A  sainted  colony  for  Eden's  shades  ; 
Or  dream  that  he, — of  whose  unholy  flame 
Thou  wert  too  soon  the  victim, — shining  came 
From  Paradise,  to  people  its  pure  sphere 
With  souls  like  thine,  which  he  hath  ruin'd  here! 
No — had  not  Reason's  light  totally  set, 
And  left  Hire  dack,  thou  had'st  an  amulet 
In  tin-  lov'd  image,  graven  on  thy  heart, 
Which  would  have  sav'd  thee  from  the  tempter's  art, 
Arid  kept  alive,  in  all  its  bloom  of  breath, 
Thai  purity,  whose  fading  is  love's  death  ! — 
But  lost,  intlam'd,  —a  restless  zeal  took  place 
Of  the  miid  virgin' H  still  and  feminine  grace; — 
First  of  the  Prophet's  favourites,  proudly  first 
IB  «cdl  and  chartrs, — too  well  th*  Impostor  nurs'd 


1  The  Nightingale. 


Her  soul's  delirium,  in  whose  active  frame, 

Thus  lighting  up  a  young,  luxuriant  flame, 

He  saw  more  potent  sorceries  to  bind 

To  his  dark  yoke  u:«  spirits  of  mankind, 

More  subtle  chains  than  hell  itself  e'er  twin'd. 

No  art  was  spar'd,  no  witchery ; — oil  the  skill 

His  demons  taught  him  was  employ'd  to  fill 

Her  mind  with  gloom  and  extacy  by  turns — 

That  gloom,  through  which  Frenzy  but  fiercer  burns; 

That  extacy,  which  from  the  depth  of  sadness 

Glares  like  the  maniac's  moon,whose  light  is  madness 

'Twas  from  a  brilliant  banquet,  where  the  sound 
Of  poesy  and  music  breath'd  around, 
Together  picturing  to  her  mind  and  ear 
The  glories  of  that  heav'n,  her  destin'd  sphere, 
Where  all  was  pure,  where  every  stain  that  lay 
Upon  the  spirit's  light  should  pass  away, 
And,  realizing  more  than  youthful  love 
E'er  wish'd  or  dream'd,  she  should  for  ever  rove 
Through  fields  of  fragrance  by  her  AZIM'S  side, 
His  own  bless'd,  purified,  eternal  bride  ! — 
'Twas  from  a  scene,  a  witching  trance  like  this, 
He  hurried  her  away,  yet  breathing  bliss, 
To  the  dim  charnel-house ; — through  all  its  steams 
Of  damp  and  death,  led  only  by  those  gleams 
Which  foul  Corruption  lights,  as  with  design 
To  show  the  gay  and  proud  she  too  can  shine ! — 
And,  passing  on  through  upright  ranks  of  dead, 
Which  to  the  maiden,  doubly  craz'd  by  dread, 
Seem'd,through  the  bluish  death-light  round  them  ctist, 
To  move  their  lips  in  mutterings  as  she  pass'd — 
There,  in  that  awful  place,  when  each  had  quaff" u 
iVnd  pledg'd  in  silence  such  a  fearful  draught, 
Such — oil !  the  look  and  taste  of  that  red  bowl 
Will  haunt  her  till  she  dies — he  bound  her  soul 
By  a  dark  oath,  in  hell's  own  language  fram'd, 
Never,  while  earth  his  mystic  presence  claim'd, 
While  the  blue  arch  of  day  hung  o'er  them  both, 
Never,  by  that  all-imprecating  oath, 
In  joy  or  sorrow  from  his  side  to  sever. — 
She  swore,  and  the  wide  charnel  echoed,  "  Never 
never '" 

From  that  dread  hour,  entirely,  wildly  given* 
To  him  and — she  believ'd,  lost  maid  ! — to  Heaven  \ 
Her  brain,  her  heart,  her  passions  all  inflam'd, 
How  proud  she  stood,  when  in  full  Haram  nani'd 
The  Priestess  of  the  Faith  ! — how  flash'd  her  eyes 
With  light,  alas  !  that  was  not  of  the  skies, 
When  round,  in  trances  only  less  than  hers, 
She  saw  the  Haram  kneel,  her  prostrate  worshippers 
Well  might  MOKANNA  think  that  form  alone 
Had  spells  enough  to  make  the  world  his  own : — 
Light,  lovely  limbs,  to  which  the  spirit's  play 
Gave  motion,  airy  as  the  dancing  spray, 
When  from  its  stem  the  small  bird  wings  away ! 
Lips  in  whose  rosy  labyrinth,  when  she  smil'd, 
The  soul  was  lost ;  and  blushes,  swift  and  wild 
As  are  the  momentary  meteors  sent 
Across  th*  uncahn,  but  beauteous  firmament. 
And  then  her  look — oh!  where's  the  heart  so  wise, 
Could  unbcwilder'd  meet  those  matchless  eyes? 
^Juick,  restless,  strange,  but  exqjuisite  withal, 
Like  those  of  angels,  just  before  their  fall ; 
Now  shadow'd  with  the  shames  of  earth — now  cro* 
By  glimpses  of  thp  heaven  her  heart  had  lost ; 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  every  glance  there  broke  without  control, 
The  flashes  of  a  bright  but  troubled  soul, 
Whets  sensibility  still  wildly  playV, 
Like  lightning,  round  the  ruins  i.  nad  made ! 

And  »uch  was  rjw  young  ZELICA— «o  chang'd 
From  her  wh •*,  some  years  since,  delighted  rang'd 
The  almond  groves,  that  shaJe  BOKHARA'S  tide, 
All  life  and  bliss,  with  Azm  by  her  side ! 
So  alter'd  was  she  now,  this  festal  day, 
When,  'mid  the  proud  Divan's  dazzling  array, 
The  vision  of  that  Youth,  whom  she  had  lov'd, 
And  wept  as  dead,  before  her  breath'd  and  mov'd;— 
Wlirn— bright,  she  thought,  as  if  from  Eden's  track 
But  half-way  trodden,  he  had  wander'd  back 
Again  to  earth,  glistening  with  Eden's  light — 
Her  beauteous  Azm  shone  before  her  sight. 

Oh  Reason !  who  shall  say  what  spells  renew, 
When  least  we  look  for  it,  thy  broken  clew  ! 
Through  what  small  vistas  o'er  the  darken'd  brain 
Thy  intellectual  day-beam  bursts  again ; 
And  how,  like  forts,  to  which  beleaguerers  win 
Unhop'd-for  entrance  through  some  friend  within, 
One  clear  idea,  waken'd  in  the  breast 
By  .Memory's  magic,  lets  in  all  the  rest ! 
Would  it  were  thus,  unhappy  girl,  with  thee ! 
But,  though  light  came,  it  came  but  partially ; 
Enough  to  show  the  maze,  in  which  thy  sense 
Wander'd  about, — but  not  to  guide  it  thence ; 
Enough  to  glimmer  o'er  the  yawning  wave, 
But  not  to  point  the  harbour  which  might  save. 
Hours  of  delight  and  peace,  Ion;;  left  behind, 
With  that  dear  form  came  rushing  o'er  her  mind ; 
But  oh !  to  think  how  deep  her  soul  had  gone 
In  shame  and  falsehood  since  those  moments  shone ; 
And,  then,  her  oath — there  madness  lay  again, 
And,  shuddering,  back  she  sunk  into  her  chain 
Of  mental  darkness,  as  if  blest  to  flee 
From  light,  whose  every  glimpse  was  agony ! 
Yet,  one  relief  this  glance  of  former  years 
Brought,  mingled  with  its  pain — tears,  floods  of  tears, 
long  frozen  at  her  heart,  but  now  like  rills 
I-et  Jpose  in  spring-time  from  the  snowy  hills, 
And  gushing  warm,  after  a  sleep  of  frost, 
Through  valleys  where  their  flow  had  long  been  lost ! 

Sad  and  subdued,  for  the  first  time  her  frame 
Trembled  with  horror,  when  the  summons  came 
(A  summons  proud  and  rare,  which  all  but  she, 
And  she,  till  now,  had  heard  with  extacy,) 
To  meet  MOKANNA  at  his  place  of  prayer, 
A  garden  oratory,  cool  and  fair, 
By  the  stream's  side,  where  still  at  close  of  day 
The  Prophet  of  the  Veil  retir'd  to  pray  ; 
Sometimes  alone — but,  oftcner  far,  with  one, 
One  chosen  nymph  to  share  his  orison. 

Of  late  none  found  rich  favour  in  his  sight 
As  the  young  Priestess ;  and  though,  since  that  night 
When  the  death-caverns  echo'd  every  tone 
Of  the  dire  oath  that  made  her  all  his  own, 
Th*  Impostor,  sure  of  his  infatuate  prize. 
Had,  more  than  once,  thrown  off  his  soul's  disguise, 
And  utter'd  such  unheav'nly,  monstrous  things, 
As  ev'n  across  the  desperate  wanderings 
Of  a  weak  intellect,  whose  lamp  was  out, 
rhrew  startling  shadows  of  dismay  and  doubt ; 


Yet  zeal,  ambition,  her  tremendous  vow, 
The  thought,  still  haunting  her,  of  that  bright  brow 
Whose  blaze,  as  yet  from  mortal  eye  conceal  'd 
Would  soon,  proud  triumph  !  be  to  her  reveal  d, 
To  her  alone ; — and  then  the  hope  most  dear, 
Most  wild  of  all,  that  her  transgression  here 
Was  but  a  passage  through  earth's  grosser  tire, 
From  which  the  spirit  would  at  last  aspire, 
Ev'n  purer  than  before, — as  perfumes  rise 
Through   flame   and   smoke,  most  welcome  to  tin 

skies — 

And  that  when  AZIM'S  fond,  divine  embrace 
Should  circle  her  in  heav'n,  no  darkening  trace 
Would  on  that  bosom  he  once  lov'd  remain, 
But  all  be  bright,  be  pure,  be  his  again  ! — 
These  were  the  wildering  dreams,  whose  curst  deceit 
Had  chain'd  her  soul  beneath  the  tempter's  feet, 
And  made  her  think  ev'n  damning  falsehood  sweet. 
But  now  that  Shape  which  had  appall'd  her  view, 
That  Semblance — oh  how  terrible,  if  true  ! — 
Which  came  across  her  frenzy's  full  career 
With  shock  of  consciousness,  cold,  deep,  severe, 
As  when  in  northern  seas,  at  midnight  dark, 
An  isle  of  ice  encounters  some  swift  barft, 
And,  startling  a!!  its  wretches  from  their  sleep, 
By  one  cold  impulse  hurls  them  to  the  deep ; — 
So  came  that  shock  not  frenzy's  self  could  bear, 
And  waking  up  each  long-lull'd  image  there, 
But  check'd  her  headlong  soul,  to  sink  it  in  despair! 

Wan  and  dejected,  through  the  evening  dusk, 
She  now  went  slowly  to  that  small  kiosk, 
Where,  pondering  alone  his  impious  schemes, 
MOKANNA  waited  her — too  wrapt  in  dreams 

f  the  fair-ripening  future's  rich  success, 
To  heed  the  sorrow,  pale  and  spiritless, 
That  sat  upon  his  victim's  downcast  brow, 
Or  mark  how  slow  her  step,  how  alter'd  now 
From  the  quick,  ardent  Priestess,  whose  light  bonne" 
Came  like  a  spirit's  o'er  th'  unechoing  ground, — 
From  that  wild  ZELICA,  whose  every  glance 
Was  thrilling  fire,  whose  every  thought  a  trance ! 

Upon  his  couch  the  Veiled  MOKANNA  lay, 
While  lamps  around — not  such  as  lend  their  ray 
Glimmering  and  cold,  to  those  who  nightly  pray 
In  holy  ROOM,'  or  MECCA'S  dim  arcades, — 
But  brilliant,  soft,  such  light  as  lovely  maids 
Look  loveliest  in,  shed  their  luxurious  glow 
Upon  his  mystic  Veil's  white  glittering  flow. 
Beside  him,  'stead  of  beads  and  books  of  prayer, 
Which  the  world  fondly  thought  he  mused  on  there 
Stood  vases,  fill'd  with  KISHMEE'S*  golden  wine, 
And  the  red  weepings  of  the  SIIIRAZ  vine; 
Of  which  his  curtain'd  lips  full  many  a  draught 
Took  zealously,  as  if  each  drop  they  quafTd, 
Like  Z  EM  7.  EM'S  Spring  of  Holiness,-1  had  power 
To  freshen  the  soul's  virtues  into  flower! 
And  still  he  drank  and  ponder'd — nor  could  see 
Th'  approaching  maid,  so  deep  his  reverie ; 


1  The  cities  of  Com  [or  Room]  and  C'ashan  arc  full  o( 
i<«'|iiif,  maiisul.-uins,  and  sepulchres  of  tiie  descendant* 

of  Ali,  the  Saint*  01'  Persia.     CJinrdin. 

2  An  Island  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  celebrated  for  it*  white 
wine. 

3  The  miraculous  well  at  Mecca ;  to  caller!,  say*  Sale, 
from  the  murmuring  of  its  waters. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


33 


At  length,  with  fiendish  laugh,  like  that  which  broke  I  So  let  him — EBI.IS  !  grant  this  crowning  curse, 


From  EHLIS  at  the  Fall  of  Man,  he  spoke: — 
"  Yes,  ye  vile  race,  for  hell's  amusement  given, 
Too  mean  for  earth,  yet  claiming  kin  with  heaven ; 
Go.l's  images,  forsooth  ! — such  gods  as  he 
Whom  I.\I»IA  serves,  the  monkey  deity;1 — 
Ye  creatures  of  a  breath,  proud  things  of  clay, 
To  whom,  if  LUCIFER,  as  grandams  say, 
Refus'd,  though  at  the  forfeit  of  Heaven's  light, 
To  bend  in  worship,  LUCIFER  was  right ! — 
Soon  shall  I  plant  this  foot  upon  the  neck 
Of  your  foul  race,  and  without  fear  or  check, 
Luxuriating  in  hate,  avenge  my  shame, 
My  deep-1'elt,  long-riurst  loathing  of  man's  name! 
Soon,  at  the  head  of  myriads,  blind  an!  fierce 
As  hooded  falcons,  through  the  universe 
I'll  sweep  my  darkening,  desolating  way, 
Weak  miii  my  instrument,  curst  man  my  prey ! 

"  Ye  \\  ise,  ye  learn'd,  who  grope  your  dull  way  on 
By  the  dim  twinkling  gleams  of  ages  gone, 
Like  superstitious  thieves,  who  think  the  light 
From  dead  men's  marrow  guides  them  best  at  night2 — 
Ye  shall  liaVe  honours — wealth, — yes,  sages,  yes — 
I  know,  grave  fools,  your  wisdom's  nothingness  ; 
Undazzled  it  can  track  yon  starry  sphere, 
But  a  gilt  stick,  a  bauble  blinds  it  here, 
flow  1  shall  laugh  when  trumpeted  along, 
In  lying  speech,  and  still  more  lying  song, 
By  these  lea-u'd  slaves,  the  meanest  of  the  throng; 
Their  wits  bought  up,  their  wisdom  shrunk  so  small, 
A  sceptre's  puny  point  can  wield  it  all ! 

"  Ye  too,  believers  of  incredible  creeds, 
Whose  faith  enshrines  the  monsters  which  it  breeds  ; 
Who,  bolder  ev'n  than  NEMROD,  think  to  rise 
By  nonsense  heap'd  on  nonsense  to  the  skies ; 
Ye  shall  have  miracles,  aye,  sound  ones  too, 
Seen,  heard,  attested,  every  thing — but  true. 
Your  preaching  zealots,  too  inspired  to  seek 
One  grace  of  meaning  for  the  things  they  speak ; 
Your  martyrs,  ready  to  shed  out  their  blood 
For  truths  too  heavenly  to  be  understood ; 
And  your  state  priests,  sole  venders  of  the  lore 
That  works  salvation ; — as  on  AvAVshore, 
Where  none  but  priests  are  privileg'd  to  trade 
In  that  best  marble  of  which  gods  are  made ;' — 
They  shall  have  mysteries — aye,  precious  stuff 
For  knaves  to  thrive  by — mysteries  enough ; 
Dark,  tangled  doctrines,  dark  as  fraud  can  weave, 
Which  simple  votaries  shall  on  trust  receive, 
While  craftier  feign  belief,  till  they  believe. 
A  Ileav'n  too  ye  must  have,  ye  lords  of  dust, — 
A  splendid  Paradise — pure  souls,  ye  must : 
That  Prophet  ill  sustains  his  holy  call, 
Who  finds  not  heav'ns  to  suit  the  tastes  of  all ; 
Houns  for  boys,  omniscience  for  sages, 
And  wings  and  glories  for  all  ranks  and  ages. 
Vain  things  ! — as  lust  or  vanity  inspires, 
The  heav'n  of  each  is  bat  what  each  desires, 
And,  soul  or  sense,  whate'er  the  object  be, 
Man  would  be  man  to  all  eternity  ! 


1  Tne  god  Hannaman. 

2  A  kind  of  lantern  formerly  used  by  robbers,  called  the 
Hnnil  of  Glory,  the  candle  for  wliich  was  made  of  the  fat 
of  a  duud  malefactor.    This,  however,  was  rather  a  western 
than  an  eastern  superstition. 

?  Kymet's  Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 

£ 


But  keep  him  what  he  is,  no  hell  were  worse." — 

"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  exclaim'd  the  shuddering  maid, 
Whose  ears  had  drunk  like  poison  all  he  said, — 
MOKANNA  started — not  abash'd,  afraid, — 
He  knew  no  more  of  fear  than  one  who  dwells 
Beneath  the  tropics  knows  of  icicles  ! 
But,  in  those  dismal  words  that  reach' d  his  ear, 
"  Oh  my  lost  soul !"  there  was  a  sound  so  drear, 
So  like  that  voice,  among  the  sinful  dead, 
In  which  the  legend  o'er  Hell's  gate  is  read, 
That,  new  as  'twas  from  her,  whom  nought  could  dim 
Or  sink  till  now,  it  startled  even  him. 

"  Ha,  my  fair  Priestess  !" — thus,  with  ready  wile, 
Th'  impostor  turn'd  to  greet  her — "  thou,  whose  sinilo 
Hath  inspiration  in  its  rosy  beam 
Beyond  th*  enthusiast's  hope  or  prophet's  dream  ! 
Light  of  the  Faith  !  who  twin'st  religion's  zeal 
So  close  with  love's,  men  know  not  which  they  feel, 
Nor  which  to  sigh  for  in  their  trance  of  heart, 
The  Heav'n  thou  preachest,  or  the  Heav'n  thou  art! 
What  should  I  be  without  thee  1  without  thee 
How  dull  -were  power,  how  joyless  victory  ! 
Though  borne  by  angejs,  if  that  smile  of  thine 
Bless'd  not  my  banner,  'twere  but  half  divine. 
But — why  so  mournful,  child  1  those  eyes,  that  shone 
All  life,  last  night — what ! — is  their  glory  gone  1 
Come,  come — this  morn's  fatigue  hath  made  them  pale, 
They  want  rekindling — suns  themselves  would  fail, 
Did  not  their  comets  bring,  as  I  to  thee, 
From  Light's  own  fount,  supplies  of  brilliancy ! 
Thou  seest  this  cup— no  juice  of  earth  is  here, 
But  the  pure  waters  of  that  upper  sphere, 
Whose  rills  o'er  ruby  beds  and  topaz  flow, 
Catching  the  gem's  bright  colour,  as  they  go. 
Nightly  my  Genii  come  and  fill  these  urns — 
Nay,  drink — in  every  drop  life's  essence  burns : 
'Twill  make  that  soul  all  fire,  those  eyes  all  light — 
Come,  come,  I  want  thy  loveliest  smiles  to-night : 
There  is  a  youth — why  start  1 — thou  saw'st  him  then  j 
Look'd  he  not  nobly  1  such  the  god-like  men 
Thou'lt  have  to  woo  thee  in  the  bowers  above  ;-*- 
Though  Ae,  I  fear,  hath  thoughts  too  stern  for  love, 
Too  rul'd  by  that  cold  enemy  of  bliss 
The  world  calls  Virtue — we  must  conquer  this  — 
Nay,  shrink  not,  pretty  sage ;  'tis  not  for  thee 
To  scan  the  mazes  of  Heav'n's  mystery. 
The  steel  must  pass  through  lire,  ere  it  can  yield 
Fit  instruments  for  mighty  hands  to  wield. 
This  very  night  1  mean  to  try  the  art 
Of  powerful  beauty  on  that  warrior's  heart. 
All  that  my  Haram  boasts  of  bloom  and  wit, 
Of  skill  and  charms,  most  rare  and  exquisite, 
Shall  tempt  the  boy ; — young  MIRZALA'S  blue  eye* 
Whose  sleepy  lid  like  snow  on  violecs  lies  ; 
AROUYA'S  cheeks,  warm  as  a  spring-day  sun, 
And  lips,  that,  like  the  seal  of  SOLOMON, 
Have  magic  in  their  pressure ;  ZEBA'S  lute, 
And  LILLA'S  dancing  feet,  that  gleam  and  shoot 
Rapid  and  white  as  sea-birds  o'er  the  deep  ! — 
All  shall  combine  their  witching  powers  to  steep 
My  convert's  spirit  in  that  softening  trance, 
From  which  to  Heav'n  is  but  the  next  advance  f 
That  glowing,  yielding  fusion  of  the  breast, 
On  which  Religion  stamps  her  image  best. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


34 

Buthemrme,  Prices.  !-tho«gn  each  nymph  of  these 
Hath  aorae  peculiar  practised  power  to  please, 
Some  glance  or  step,  which,  at  the  inirrorj tned, 
Fir*  charm,  beraelf,  then  all  the  world  bes.de; 
There  rtill  wmnt.  one  to  make  the  victory  sure, 
One,  who  in  every  look  joins  every  lure ; 
Through  whom  mil  beauty's  beams  concenter  d  pass, 
Dazzlmg  *nd  warm,  as  through  love's  burning-glass ; 
Whose  gentle  lips  persuade  without  a  word, 
Whose  words,  ev'n  when  unmeaning,  are  ador  d, 
Like  inarticulate  breathings  from  a  shrine, 
Which  our  faith  takes  for  granted  are  dmne . 
Such  is  the  nymph  we  want,  all  warmth  and  light, 
To  crown  the  nch  temptations  of  to-night ; 
Such  the  refined  enchantress  that  must  be 
This  Hero's  vanquisher, — and  thou  art  she . 

With  her  hands  clasp'd,  her  lips  apart  and  pale, 
The  maid  had  stood,  gazing  upon  the  Veil 
From  whence  these  words,  like  south-winds  through 

a  fence 

Of  Kererah  flow'rs,  came  filled  with  pestilence :' 
So  boldly  utter'd  too !  as  if  all  dread 
Of  frowns  from  her,  of  virtuous  frowns,  were  fled, 
And  the  wretch  felt  assur'd,  that  once  plung'd  in, 
Her  woman's  soul  would  know  no  pause  in  sin ! 
At  first,  though  mute  she  listen'd,  like  a  dream 
Seem'd  all  he  «aid ;  nor  could  her  mind,  whose  beam 
As  yet  was  weak,  penetrate  half  his  schente. 
But  when,  at  length,  he  utter'd  "  Thou  art  she !" 
AH  flash'd  at  once,  and,  shrieking  piteously, 
"Oh  not  for  worlds!"  she  cried— "Great  God!  to 

whom 

I  once  knelt  innocent,  is  this  my  doom  ? 
Are  all  my  dreams,  my  hopes  of  heavenly  bliss, 
My  purity,  my  pride,  then  come  to  this, — 
To  live,  the  wanton  of  a  fiend  !.  to  be 
The  pander  of  his  guilt — oh,  infamy ! 
And  sunk,  myself,  as  low  as  hell  can  steep 
In  its  hot  flood,  drag  others  down  as  deep ! 
Others  ? — ha !  yes — that  youth  who  came  to-day — 
N<A  him  I  lov'd — not  him — oh !  do  but  say, 
But  swear  to  me  this  moment  'tis  not  he, 
And  J  will  serve,  dark  fiend !  Will  worship,  even  thee!' 

"  Beware,  young  raving  thing ! — in  time  beware, 
Nor  utter  what  I  cannot,  must  not  bear 
Ev'n  from  thy  lips.    Go— try  thy  lute,  thy  voice  ; 
The  boy  must  feel  their  magic — I  rejoice 
To  tee  those  fires,  no  matter  whence  they  rise, 
Once  more  illuming  my  fair  Priestess'  eyes ; 
And  should  the  youth,  whom  soon  those  eyes  shall 

warm, 

Indeed  resemble  thy  dead  lover's  form, 
So  much  the  happier  wilt  thou  find  thy  doom, 
As  one  warm  lovor,  full  of  life  and  bloom, 
Excels  ten  thousand  cold  ones  in  the  tomb. — 

y,  no  frowning,  sweet !  those  eyes  were  made 
For  love,  not  anger — I  must  be  obey'd." 

1  Obey'd !— 'tk  well— yes,  I  deserve  it  all — 
On  me,  on  me  Heav'n's  vengeance  cannot  fall 
Too  heavily — but  AZIM,  brave  and  true, 
And  beautiful — must  he  be  ruin'd  too  ? 


— . p 

Must  he  too,  glorious  as  he  is,  be  driven 

A  renegade  like  me  from  Love  and  Heaven  ? 

Like  me  ?— weak  wretch,  1  wrong  him— not^likc  me ; 

No— he's  all  truth,  and  strength,  and  purity  ' 

Fill  up  your  madd'uing  hell-cup  to  the  br;m, 

Its  witchery,  fiends,  will  have  po  charm  for  him 

Let  loose  your  glowing  wantons  from  their  bow  era 

He  loves,  he  loves,  and  can  defy  their  powers ! 

Wretch  as  I  am,  in  his  heart  still  I  reign 

Pure  as  when  lirst  we  met,  without  a  stain ! 

Though,  ruin'd— lost— my  memory,  like  a  charm 

Left  by  the  dead,  still  keeps  his  soul  from  harm. 

Oh !  never  let  him  know  how  deep  the  brow 

He  kiss'd  at  parting  is  dishonour'd  now — 

Ne'er  tell  him  how  debas'd,  how  sunk  is  she, 

Whom  once  he  lov'd— once !— still  loves  dotingly . 

Thou  laugh'st,  tormentor,— what !— thoul't  brand  raj 

name? 

Do,  do — in  vain— he'll  not  believe  my  shame- 
He  thinks  me  true,  that  nought  beneath  God's  sky 
Could  tempt  or  change  me,  and— so  once  thought  I, 
But  this  is  past — though  worse  than  death  my  lot, 
Than  hell— 'tis  nothing,  while  he  knows  it  not. 
Far  off  to  some  benighted  land  I'll  fly, 
Where  sunbeam  ne'er  shall  enter  till  1  die ; 
Where  none  will  ask  the  lost  one  whence  she  came 
But  I  may  fade  and  fall  without  a  name ! 
And  thou — curst  man  or  fiend,  whate'er  thou  art, 
Who  found'st  this  burning  plague-spot  in  my  heart, 
And  spread's!  it— oh,  so  quick !— thro'  soul  and  frame 
With  more  than  demon's  art,  till  I  became 
A  loathsome  thing,  all  pestilence,  all  flame ! 

If  when  I'm  gone " 

tt  Hold,  fearless  maniac,  hold, 
Nor  tempt  my  rage— by  Heav'n,  not  half  so  bold 
The  puny  bird  that  dares  with  teazing  hum 
Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come.1— 
And  so  thou'lt  fly,  forsooth  ?— what,  give  up  all 
Thy  chaste  dominions  in  the  Haram  hall, 
Where  now  to  Love,  and  now  to  AI.I.A  given, 
Half  mistress  and  half  saint,  thou  hang'st  as  even 
As  doth  MEDINA'S  tomb,  'twist  hell  and  heaven ' 
Thou'lt  fly  ?— as  easily  may  reptiles  run, 
The  gaunt  snake  once  hath  fh'd  his  eyes  upon ; 
As  easily,  when  caught,  the  prey  may  be 
Pluck'd  from  his  loving  folds,  as  thou  from  me. 
*fo,  no,  'tis  fiVd — let  good  or  ill  betide, 
fhou'rt  mine  till  death,  till  death  MOKANNA'S  bride ! 
Hast  thou  forgot  thy  oath  ?" — 

At  this  dread  word 

The  maid,  whose  spirit  his  rude  taunts  had  stirr'd 
Through  all  its  depths,  and  rous'd  an  anger  there, 
That  burst  and  lighten'd  ev'n  through  her  despair!— 
Shrunk  back,  as  if  a  blight  were  in  the  breath 
That  spoke  that  word,  and  stagger' d,  pale  as  death. 

Yes,  my  sworn  bride,  let  others  seek  in  bowers 
The  bridal  place — the  charnel  vault  was  ours ! 
Instead  of  scents  and  batons,  for  tlice  and  me 
Rose  the  nch  steams  of  sweet  mortality ; — 
Gay  flickering  death-lights  shone  while  we  were  wed, 
And,  for  our  guests,  a  row  of  goodly  dead, 


1  "  It  in  commonly  taid  in  Pen ia,  lhat  if  a  man  breathe 
HI  the  hot  K>uth-winii,  which  in  June  or  July  panes  over 
mat  flownr,  I  the  Kenerab,]  it  will  kill  him."  Tkevrnft. 


1  The  ancient  story  concerning  the  Trochilus,  or  hum 
mine  bird,  entering  with  impunity  into  the  mouth  of  the 
crocodile,  a  firmly  believed  at  Java.  Xarroic's  Cw.*w- 
CAino. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


8.1 


(Immortal  spirits  in  their  time,  no  doubt,) 
From  reeking  shrouds,  upon  the  rite  Jook'd  out ! 
That  oath  thou  heardst  more  lips  than  thine  repeat- 
That  cup — thou  shudderest,  lady — was  it  sweet  ? 
That  cup  we  pledg'd,  the  charnel's  choicest  wine, 
I  f ath  bound  thee — aye — body  and  soul  all  mine ; 
Bound  thee  by  chains,  that,  whether  blest  or  curst 
"No  matter  now,  not  hell  itself  shall  burst ! — 
Hence,  woman,  to  the  Ilaram,  and  look  gay, 
Look  wild,  look — any  thing  but  sad  ; — yet  stay — 
One  moment  more — from  what  this  night  hath  pass'd 
I  sec  that  thou  know'st  me,  know'st  me  well  at  last, 
lla  !  ha  !  and  so,  fond  thing,  thou  thought' st  all  true 
And  that  I  love  mankind  ! — 1  do,  I  do — 
As  victims,  love  them ;  as  the  sea-dog  doats 
Upon  the  small  sweet  fry  that  round  him  doats; 
Or  as  the  Nile-hird  loves  the  slime  that  gives 
That  rank  and  venomous  food  on  which  she  lives !' 
And,  now  thou  see'st  my  soul's  angelic  hue, 
'Tis  time  those  features  were  uncurtain'd  too; — 
This  brow,  whose  light — oh,  rare  celestial  light ! 
Hath  been  reserv'd  to  bless  thy  favour'd  sight ! 
These  'laAling  eyes,  before  whose  shrouded  might 
Thou  bt  seen  immortal  man  kneel  down  and  quake- 
Would  that  they  were  Heaven's  lightnings  for  his  sake! 
But  turn  and  look — then  wonder,  if  thou  wilt, 
That  I  should  hate,  should  take  revenge,  by  guilt, 
I'pon  the  hand,  whose  mischief  or  whose  mirth 
Sent  me  thus  maim'd  and  monstrous  upon  earth ; 
AIM!  on  that  race  who,  though  more  vile  they  be 
Than  mowing  apes,  are  denn-gods  to  me  ! 
Here,  judge,  if  Hell  with  all  its  power  to  damn, 
Can  add  one  curse  to  the  foul  thing  I  am !" — 

He  rais'd  his  veil — the  Maid  turn'd  slowly  round, 
Look'd  at  him — shriek'd — and  sunk  upon  the  ground. 


O\  their  arrival,  next  night,  at  the  place  of  encamp- 
ment, they  were  surprised  and  delighted  to  find  the 
groves  all  round  illuminated ;  some  artists  of  Yam- 
k'hrou  having  been  sent  on  previously  for  the  pur- 
pose On  each  side  of  the  green  alley,  which  led  to 
lh«s  Royal  Pavilion,  artificial  sceneries  of  bamboo- 
work  were  erected,  representing  arches,  minarets, 
and  ti  wers,  from  which  hung  thousands  of  silken 
lanterns,  painted  by  the  most  delicate  pencils  of  Can- 
ton. Nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  the  leaves 
of  the  mango-trees  and  acacias,  shining  in  the  light 
of  the  bamboo  scenery,  which  shed  a  lustre  round  as 
soft  as  that  of  the  nights  of  Peristan. 

L.U.I. A  ROOKH,  however,  who  was  too  much  occu- 
pied by  the  sad  story  of  ZELICA  and  her  lover,  to 
give  a  though'  to  any  thing  else,  except,  perhaps,  him 
who  related  it,  hurried  on  through  this  scene  of  splen- 
dour to  her  pavilion, — greatly  to  the  mortification  of 
the  poor  artists  of  Yamtclieou, — and  was  followed 
with  equal  rapidity  by  the  great  Chamberlain^ cursing, 
as  he  wont,  that  ancient  Mandarin,  whose  parental 
anxiety  in  lighting  up  the  shores  of  the  lake,  where 
his  beloved  daughter  had  wandered  and  been  lost, 
was  the  origin  of  these  fantastic  Chinese  illuminations. 
Without  a  moment's  delay  young  FERAMORZ  was 


1  C'ircnm  easdem  ripag  [Xili,  viz.]  ales  est  Ibis.  Ea  scr- 
pemium  popultitur  ova,  jfralissimamque  ex  his  nidis  escam 
HUU  refwt. — Sulinus. 


introduced,  and  FADLADEEN,  who  could  never  make 
up  his  mind  as  to  the  merits  of  a  poet,  till  he  knew 
the  religious  sect  to  which  he  belonged,  was  about 
to  ask  him  whether  he  was  a  Shia  or  a  Sooni,  when 
LALLA  ROOKH  impatiently  clapped  her  hands  for 
silence,  and  the  youth,  being  seated  upon  the  musntid 
near  her,  proceeded : — 

PREPARE  thy  soul,  young  AZIM  !  thou  hast  brav'd 
The  bands  of  GREECE,  still  mighty,  though  enslav'vl, 
Hast  fac'd  her  phalanx,  arm'd  with  all  its  fame, 
Her  Macedonian  pikes  and  globes  of  flame  ; 
All  this  hast  fronted,  with  firm  heart  and  brtiw, 
But  a  more  perilous  trial  waits  thee  now, — 
Woman's  bright  eyes,  a  dazzling  host  of  eyes 
From  every  land  where  woman  smiles  or  siglia , 
Of  every  hue,  as  Love  may  chance  to  raise 
His  black  or  azure  banner  in  their  blaze; 
And  each  sweet  mode  of  warfare,  from  the  flash 
That  lightens  boldly  through  the  shadowy  lash, 
To  the  sly,  stealing  splendours,  almost  hid, 
Like  swords  half-sheath  d,  beneath  the  downcast  lid 
Such,  AZIM,  is  the  lovely,  luminous  host 
Now  led  against  thee ;  and,  let  conquerors  boast 
Their  fields  of  fame,  he  who  in  virtue  arms 
A  young,  warm  spirit  against  beauty's  charms, 
Who  feels  her  brightness,  yet  defies  her  thrall, 
Is  the  best,  bravest  conqueror  of  them  all. 

Now,  through  the  Harem  chambers,  moving  lights 
And  busy  shapes  proclaim  the  toilet's  rites ; — 
From  room  to  room  the  ready  handmaids  hie, 
Some  skill  d  to  wreathe  the  turban  tastefully, 
Or  hang  the  veil,  in  negligence  of  shade, 
3  er  the  warm  blushes  of  the  youthful  maid, 
WTho,  if  between  the  folds  but  one  eye  shone, 
Like  SEBA'S  Queen  could  vanquish  with  that  one  • 
While  some  bring  leaves  of  Henna  to  imbue 
The  fingers'  ends  with  a  bright  roseate  hue,3 
So  bright,  that  in  the  mirror  s  depth  they  seem 
Like  tips  of  coral  branches  in  the  stream ; 
And  others  mix  the  Koliol  s  jetty  dye, 
To  give  that  long,  dark  languish  to  the  eye,3 
iVhich  makes  the  maids,  whom  kings  are  proud  to  cuU 
?rom  fair  CIRCASSIA'S  vales,  so  beautiful. 

All  is  in  motion ;  rings.,  and  plumes,  and  pearls 
\  re  shining  every  where ; — some  younger  girls 
Are  gone  by  moonlight  to  the  garden  beds, 
To  gather  fresh,  cool  chaplets  for  their  heads ; 
jay  creatures  !  sweet,  though  mournful  'tis  to  KCO 
low  each  prefers  a  garland  from  that  tree 
Vhich  brings  to  mind  her  childhood  s  innocent  day, 
Vnd  the  dear  fields  and  friendships  far  away. 
nhe  maid  of  INDIA,  blest  again  to  hold 
n  her  full  lap  the  Champac's  leaves  of  gold,* 
"'hinks  of  the  lime,  when,  by  the  GANGES'  flood, 
ler  little  play-mates  scatter'd  many  a  bud 


1  "Thou  haHt  ravished  my  heart  with  one  of  thine  ey«i. 

2  "Thuy  tinged  the  ends  of  her  fingers  scarlet  with  Hcn- 
nn,  BO  that  they  resembled  branches  of  coral." — Story  oj 
I'rincr  Fultvn  in  Vahardaiivx/i. 

3  "  The  women  blacken  the  inside  of  their  eyelids  with 
a  powder  named  the  black  Cohol." — ftussel, 

4  "  The  appearance  of  the  blossorr*  of  the  gold-coloured 
Oampac  on  the  black  hair  of  the  Indian  women,  has  sup- 
plied the  Sanscrit  Poets  with  many  elegant  allusions.— Sec 
.isiatic  Researches    vol.  iv. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Upon  her  long  black  hair,  with  glossy  gleam 
Juki  dripping  from  the  consecrated  stream ; 

.,e  young  Arab,  haunted  by  the  smell 
Of  her  own  mountain-flowers,  as  by  a  spell, — 
The  tweet  EJcaya,1  and  that  courteous  tree 
Which  bows  to  all  who  seek  its  canopy^— 
Seen  call'd  up  round  her  by  these  magic  scents, 
The  well,  the  camels,  and  her  father's  tents; 
Sighs  for  the  home  she  lell  with  little  pain, 
And  wishes  e'en  its  sorrows  back  again ! 

Meanwhile,  through  vast  illuminated  halls, 
Silent  and  bright,  where  nothing  but  the  falls 
Of  fragrant  waters,  gushing  with  cool  sound 
From  many  a  jasper  fount,  is  heard  around, 
Young  AZIM  roams  bewilder'd, — nor  can  guess 
What  means  this  maze  of  light  and  loneliness. 
Here  the  way  leads,  o'er  tesselated  floors, 
Or  mats  of  CAIRO,  through  long  corridors, 
Where,  rang'd  in  cassolets  and  silver  urns, 
Sweet  wood  of  aloe  or  of  sandal  burns ; 
And  spicy  rods,  such  as  illume  at  night 
The  bowers  of  TIBET,*  send  forth  odorous  light, 
Like  Peris'  wands,  when  pointing  out  the  road 
For  some  pure  Spirit  to  its  blest  abode  ! — 
And  here,  at  once,  the  glittering  saloon 
Bursts  on  his  sight,  boundless  and  bright  as  noon ; 
Where,  in  the  midst,  reflecting  back  the  rays 
In  broken  rainbows,  a  fresh  fountain  plays 
High  as  th'  enamell'd  cupola  which  towers 
All  rich  with  arabesques  of  gold  and  flowers ; 
And  the  mosaic  floor  beneath  shines  through 
The  spiinkling  of  that  fountain's  silver}'  dew, 
Like  the  wet,  glistening  shells,  of  every  dye, 
That  on  the  margin  of  the  Red  Sea  lie. 

Here  KK>  he  traces  the  kind  visitings 
Of  woman's  love  in  those  fair,  living  things 
Of  land  and  wave,  whose  fate, — in  bondage  thrown 
For  their  weak  loveliness — is  like  her  own ! 
On  one  side,  gleaming  with  a  sudden  grace 
Through  water,  brilliant  as  the  crystal  vase 
In  which  it  undulates,  small  fishes  shine, 
Like  golden  ingots  from  a  fairy  mine ; 
While,  on  the  other,  lattic'd  lightly  in 
With  odoriferous  woods  of  CAMORIX,* 

F.ach  brilliant  bird  that  wings  the  air  is  seen ; 

Gay,  sparkling  loories,  such  as  gleam  between 
The  crimson  blossoms  of  the  coral  tree,1 
In  the  warm  iaJcs  of  India's  sunny  sea  : 
Mecca's  blue  sacred  pigeon,*  and  the  thrush 
Of  Indostin,'  whose  holy  warblings  gush, 


"  ^,.tre*  hmom>  (°*  't»  perfume,  and  common  on  the 
bill!  of  \  rmrn. — .\V4nAr. 

2  Of  the  genus  mimosa,   "which  droop*  its  branches 
•  r»on  approach™  ii,  •reining  a.  if  it  saluted 
UMMC  who  retire  uuder  it.  shade."— Jf,cb*l,r. 

r3,i!lC'°Vef  *T  a  f'rincil>al  ingredient  in  the  composition 
of  Ihc  iwrfu.ned  rods,  which  men  of  rank  keep  cu nrtamlv 
burn.nx  ,n  lh.  „  p.e*-iwe."-r«n,rr'.  7fi*rt 
i    ,"n"i"!  ''  ""  """  '•'k.i.d'alops.nue  In  Arabes  appel- 
lent  Oud  (  „,„.„,  n  cclui   du   sandal,   qui  s'y  trouve  en 
frnnH?  quanuu.-."-////  rbrlot. 
5  "Thousands  of  rariegated  loories  visit  the  coral  trees." 

8  « In  Mrrra,  there  are  quantities  of  blue  pizeonT'wUch 
nono  will  .ffr-ghi  ,„  abu*,,  much  to-kHL'^«Y3«±S 
9}  rue  JVMMMMMi 

-I ,  Thrush  i.  e,.eemr>d  among  -he  first  cho- 

UTS  of  In.l.a  It  .„.  perched  on  the  ,ncr,,f  P^odas,  ,nd 
Koni  thence  delivers  its  melodious  song."— Pennant'*  Hin 


At  evening,  from  the  tall  pagoda's  top ; — 
Those  golden  birds,  that,  in  the  spice-time,  drop 
About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  food 
Whose  scent  hath  lur'd  them  o'er  the  summer  tlood , 
And  those  that  under  Araby's  soft  sun 
Build  their  high  nests  of  budding  cinnamon  ;2 — 
In  short,  all  rare  and  beauteous  tilings  that  fly 
Through  the  pure  element,  here  calmly  lie 
Sleeping  in  light,  like  the  green  birds3  that  dwell 
In  Eden's  radiant  fields  of  asphodel ! 

So  on  through  scenes  past  nil  imagining, — 
More  like  the  luxuries  of  that  impious  King,* 
Whom  Death's  dark  Angel,  with  his  lightning  torch 
Struck  down  and  blasted  even  in  Pleasure's  porch, — 
Than  the  pure  dwelling  of  a  Prophet  sent, 
Arm'd  with  Heaven's  sword,  for  man's  enfranchise 

ment — 

Young  AZIM  wander'd,  looking  sternly  round  ; 
His  simple  garb  and  war-boots'  clanking  sound, 
But  ill  according  with  the  pomp  and  grace 
And  silent  lull  of  that  voluptuous  place ! 

"  Is  this,  then,"  thought  the  youth,  "  is  this  the  way 
To  free  man's  spirit  from  the  deadening  sway 
Of  worldly  sloth ; — to  teach  him,  while  he  lives, 
To  know  no  bliss  but  that  which  virtue  gives ; 
And  when  he  dies,  to  leave  his  lofty  name 
A  light,  a  land-mark  on  the  cliffs  of  fame  1 
It  was  not  so,  land  of  the  generous  thought 
And  daring  deed  !  thy  godlike  sages  taught ; 
It  was  not  thus,  in  bowers  of  wanton  ease, 
Thy  Freedom  nurs'd  her  sacred  energies ; 
Oh  !  not  beneath  th'  enfeebling,  withering  glow 
Of  such  dull  luxury  did  those  myrtles  grow, 
With  which  she  wreath'd  her  sword,  when  she  would 

dare 

Immortal  deeds ;  but  in  the  bracing  air 
Of  toil, — of  temperance, — of  that  high,  rare, 
Ethereal  virtue,  which  alone  can  breathe 
Life,  health,  and  lustre  into  Freedom's  wreath  ! 
\Vho,  that  surveys  this  span  of  earth  we  press, 
This  speck  of  life  in  time's  great  wilderness, 
This  narrow  isthmus  'twixt  two  boundless  seas, 
The  past,  the  future,  two  eternities ! 
Would  sully  the  bright  spot,  or  leave  it  bare, 
When  he  might  build  him  a  proud  temple  there, 
A  name,  that  long  shall  hallow  all  its  space, 
And  be  each  purer  soul's  high  resting-place  1 
But  no — it  cannot  be  that  one,  whom  God 
Has  sent  to  break  the  wizard  Falsehood's  rod, — 
A  Prophet  of  the  truth,  whose  mission  draws 

rights  from  Heaven,  should  thus  profane  his  cause 
With  the  world's  vulgar  pomps, — no,  no — I  see — 
He  thinks  me  weak — this  glare  of  luxury 
Is  but  to  tempt,  to  try  the  eaglet  gaze 
Of  my  young  soul ; — shine  on,  'twill  stand  the  blaze !" 


1  Birds  of  Paradise,  which,  at  the  nutmeg  season,  come 
in  flights  froiii  Un  southern  Isles  to  Intlm.an.l  "  ihRstten^th 
of  Ihe  nutmrg,"  says  Tarrrnirr,  "so  intoxicates  them,  that 
they  fall  dead  drunk  to  the  earih." 

•2  "  Thai  bird  whirli  liv.-th  in  Arabia,  and  buildeUi  its 
rest  with  cinnamon." — Broic»'.-<  f'ulfar  l-'.rrn-s. 

"  The  glints  of  the  martyrs  will  hi-  lodsed  in  the  crops 
of  green  birds  "—(iihbon,  vol.  ix.  p.  4-.M. 

4  £h.-d.id,  who  made  the  delirious)  gardens  of  Trim,  in 
mitation  of  P«radise,  and  was  destroyed  by  lightning  tha 
first  umc  ho  attempted  to  enter  them. 


LALLA  ROOKIL 


So  thought  the  youth  , — but,  ev'n  while  he  defied 
The  witching  scene,  he  felt  its  witchery  glide 
Through  every  sense.   The  perfume,  breathing  round, 
Like  a  pervading  spirit ; — the  still  sound 
Of  fulling  waters,  lulling  as  the  song 
Of  Indian  bees  at  sunset,  when  they  throng 
Around  the  fragrant  NILICA,  and  deep 
In  its  blue  blossoms  hum  themselves  to  sleep!1 
And  music  too — dear  music  !  that  can  touch 
Bcyoml  all  else  the  soul  that  loves  it  much — 
Now  heard  fur  off,  so  far  as  but  to  seem 
Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream ; — 
All  was  too  much  for  him,  too  full  of  bliss  : 
The  heart  could  nothing  feel,  that  felt  not  this. 
Soften'd,  he  sunk  upon  a  couch,  and  gave 
His  soul  up  to  sweet  thoughts,  like  wave  on  wave 
Succeeding  in  smooth  seas,  when  storms  are  laid ; — 
He  thought  of  ZELICA,  his  own  dear  maid, 
And  of  the  time,  when,  full  of  blissful  sighs, 
They  sat  and  look'd  into  each  other's  eyes, 
Silent  and  happy — as  if  God  had  given 
Nought  else  worth  looking  at  on  this  side  heaven ! 

"  O  my  lov'd  mistress  !  whose  enchantments  still 
Are  with  me,  round  me,  wander  where  I  will — 
It  is  for  thee,  for  thee  alone  I  seek 
The  paths  of  glory — to  light  up  thy  cheek 
With  warm  approval — in  that  gentle  look, 
To  read  my  praise,  as  in  an  angel  s  book, 
And  think  all  toils  rewarded,  when  from  thee 
I  gain  a  smile,  worth  immortality  ! 
How  sh;ill  1  bear  the  moment,  when  restor'd 
To  that  young  heart  where  I  alone  am  lord, 
Though  of  such  bliss  unworthy, — since  the  best 
Alone  deserve  to  be  the  happiest ! — 
When  from  those  lips,  imbreatlfd  upon  for  years, 
I  shall  again  kiss  off  the  soul-felt  tears, 
And  find  those  tears  warm  as  when  last  they  started, 
Those  sacred  kisses  pure  as  when  we  parted ! 
Oh  my  own  life  ! — why  should  a  single  day, 
A  moment,  keep  me  from  those  arms  away  ?" 

While  thus  he  thinks,  still  nearer  on  the  breeze 
Come  those  delicious,  dream-like  harmonies, 
Each  note  of  which  but  adds  new,  downy  links 
To  the  soft  chain  in  which  his  spirit  sinks. 
ITn  turns  him  tow'rd  the  sound,  and,  faraway 
Through  a  long  vista,  sparkling  with  the  play 
Or  countless  lamps, — like  the  rich  track  which  Day 
Leaves  on  the  waters,  when  he  sinks  from  us; 
So  long  the  path,  its  light  so  tremulous ; — 
He  sees  a  group  of  female  forms  advance, 
Some  chain'd  together  in  the  mazy  dance 
By  fetters,  forg'd  in  the  green  sunny  bowers, 
As  they  were  captives  to  the  King  of  Flowers ; — 
And  somo  disporting  round,  unlink'd  and  free, 
Who  scom'd  to  mock  their  sister's  slavery, 
And  round  and  round  them  still,  in  wheeling  flight 
Went,  like  gay  moths  about  a  lamp  at  night ; 
While  others  walk'd  as  gracefully  along, 
Their  feet  kept  time,  the  very  soul  of  song 
From  psaltery,  pipe,  and  lutes  of  heavenly  thrill, 
Or  their  own  youthful  voices,  heavenlier  still ! 


1  "My  Pundits  assure  me  that  the  plant  before  us  [the 
Nilica]  is  their  S.jihiilica,  thus  named  MCaOM  the  bee»  are 
(uppoaod  to  Bleep  on  hi  biocsoms." — Sir  W.  Janes. 


And  now  they  come,  now  pass  before  his  eye, 

Forms  such  as  Nature  moulds,  when  she  would  vie 

With  Fancy's  pencil,  and  gave  birth  to  things 

Lovely  beyond  its  fairest  picturings  ! 

Awhile  they  dance  before  him,  then  divide 

Breaking,  like  rosy  clouds  at  even-tide 

Around  the  rich  pavilion  of  the  sun, 

Till  silently  dispersing,  one  by  one, 

Through  many  a  path  that  from  the  chamber  leads 

To  gardens,  terraces,  and  moonlight  meads, 

Their  distant  laughter  comes  upon  the  wind. 

And  but  one  trembling  nymph  remains  behind — 

Beck'ning  them  back  in  vain,  for  they  are  gone, 

And  she  is  left  in  all  that  light  alone ; 

No  veil  to  curtain  o'er  her  beauteous  brow, 

In  its  young  bashfulness  more  beauteous  now; 

But  a  light,  golden  chain-work  round  her  hair. 

Such  as  the  maids  of  YEZD  and  SHIRAZ  wear 

From  which,  on  either  side,  gracefully  hung 

A  golden  amulet,  in  th'  Arab  tongue, 

Engraven  o'er  with  some  immortal  line 

From  holy  writ,  or  bard  scarce  less  divine ; 

While  her  left  hand,  as^hrinkingly  she  stood, 

Held  a  small  lute  of  gold  and  sandal-wood, 

Which  once  or  twice,  she  touch'd  with  hurried  strain, 

Then  took  her  trembling  fingers  off  again 

But  when  at  length  a  timid  glance  she  stole 

At  AZIM,  the  sweet  gravity  of  soul 

She  saw  through  all  his  features  calm'd  her  fear, 

And,  like  a  half-tam'd  antelope,  more  near, 

Though  shrinking  still,  she  came  ; — then  sat  her  dowa 

Upon  a  musnud's'  edge  ;  and,  bolder  grown, 

In  the  pathetic  mode  of  ISFAHAN* 

Touch'd  a  preluding  strain,  and  thus  began : — 

There's  a  bower  of  roses  by  BENDEMEER'S'  stream, 
And  the  nightingale  sings  round  it  all  the  day  long; 

In  the  time  of  my  childhood  'twas  like  a  sweet  dream, 
To  sit  in  the  roses  and  hear  the  bird's  song. 

That  bower  and  its  music  I  never  forget, 

But  oft  when  alone,  in  the  bloom  of  tho  year, 

I  think — is  the  nightingale  singing  there  yet  ? 

Are  the  roses  still  bright  by  the  calm  BKNUEMEKRJ 

No,  the  roses  soon  wither'd  that  hung  o'ei  the  wave. 
But  some  blossoms  were  gather'd,  while  freshlj 

they  shone, 

And  a  dew  was  distill'd  from  their  flowers,  ihat  gave 
All  the  fragrance  of  summer,  when  summer  waj 
gone. 

Thus  memory  draws  from  delight,  ere  it  dies, 
An  essence  that  breathes  of  it  many  a  year; 

Thus  bright  to  my  soul,  as  'twas  then  to  my  eyes 
Is  that  bower  on  the  banks  of  the  calm  BK.NDK.M  KRR. 

"  Poor  maiden !"  thought  the  youth,  "  if  thou  wert 

sent, 

With  thy  soft  lute  and  beauty's  blandishment, 
To  wake  unholy  wishes  in  this  heart, 
Or  tempt  its  truth,  thou  little  know'st  the  art. 


1  Miisnuds  :ire  cushioned  seats,  usually  reserved  for  per- 
sons of  distiiifi  (.n. 

2  The  Persian*,  like  the  ancient  Greeks,  call  their  mn-irtl 
modes   or    Perdas  l>y  the   mime*  of  dilll-rent    conn  lie*  or 
cities;   as,  the  moilc'of  lafuliHti,  the  mode  nf  Irak,  etc 

3  A  river  winch  How»  near  the  ruins  of  Chiliuiimf 


38 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  though  thy  lip  should  sweetly  counsel  wrong, 
Those  rectal  eye*  would  disavow  its  song. 
But  thou  hast  breath'd  such  parity,  thy  lay 
Returns  so  fondly  to  youth's  virtuous  day, 
And  leads  thy  soul — if  e'er  it  wander'd  thence—- 
So gently  beck  to  its  first  innocence, 
That  I  would  sooner  stop  th*  unchained  dove, 
When  swift  returning  to  its  home  of  love, 
And  round  its  snowy  wing  new  fetters  twine, 
Than  turn  from  virtue  one  pure  wish  of  thine." 

Scarce  had  this  feeling  pass'd,  when,  sparkling 

through 

The  gently  open'd  curtains  of  light  blue 
That  veil'd  the  breezy  casement,  countless  eyes, 
Peeping  like  stars  through  the  blue  evening  skies, 
Look'd  laughing  in,  as  if  to  mock  the  pair 
That  sat  so  still  and  melancholy  there. — 
And  now  the  curtains  fly  apart,  and  in 
From  the  cool  air,  'mid  showers  of  jessamine 
Which  those  without  fling  after  them  in  play, 
Two  lightsome  maidens  spring,  lightsome  as  they 
Who  live  in  th'  air  on  odours,  and  around        - 
The  bright  saloon,  scarce  conscious  of  the  ground, 
Chase  one  another  in  a  varying  dance 
Of  mirth  and  languor,  coyness  and  advance, 
Too  eloquently  like  love's  warm  pursuit : — 
While  she,  who  sung  so  gently  to  the  lute 
Her  dream  of  home,  steals  timidly  away, 
Shrinking  as  violets  do  in  summer's  ray, — 
But  takes  with  her  from  AZIM'S  heart  that  sigh 
We  sometimes  give  to  forms  that  pass  us  by 
In  the  world's  crowd,  too  lovely  to  remain, 
Creatures  of  light  we  never  see  again ! 

Around  the  white  necks  of  the  nymphs  who  danc'd, 
Hung  carcaneu  of  oricni  gems,  that  glanc'd 
More  brilliant  than  the  sea-glass  glittering  o'er 
The  hills  of  crystal  on  the  Caspian  shore ;' 
While  from  their  long,  dark  tresses,  in  a  fall 
Of  curls  descending,  bells  as  musical 
At  those  that,  on  the  golden-shafted  trees 
Of  EDEM,  shake  in  the  Eternal  Breeze,* 
Rung  round  their  steps,  at  every  bound  more  sweet, 
As  'twere  th'  ecstatic  language  of  their  feet ! 
At  length  the  chase  was  o'er,  and  they  stood  wreath'd 
Within  each  other's  arms  ;  while  soft  there  breath'd 
Through  the  cool  casement,  mingled  with  the  sighs 
Of  moonlight  flowers,  music  that  seem'd  to  rise 
From  some  still  lake,  so  liquidly  it  rose ; 
And,  as  it  swell'd  again  at  each  faint  close, 
The  ear  could  track  through  all  that  maze  of  chords 
And  young  sweet  voices,  these  impassion'd  words  :— 

A  SPIRIT  there  is,  whose  fragrant  sigh 

Is  burning  now  through  earth  and  air; 
Where  cheeks  are  blushing,  the  Spirit  is  nigh, 
'•  lips  are  meeting,  the  Spirit  is  there ! 


I 


"To  the  north  of,  .  ..,  ,,r  ,hp  <•„,„•„_ 

r""  .rkWIitolS 

,,  ,*  *••-«!•••   »'.«!    crv.tHU,    with    v  hi,  I, 

i™«  -J'*""y  «f  «*«  *«««•««  J)mba»»tldor  I*  P 

a  whi.-!,  will  !,..  rut.!,,!,  the  «>MII,|  ,,f  the  bell,  ba 
•      .n  tho  trw,  *,„..:  r 


His  breath  is  the  soul  of  flowers  like  these, 

And  his  floating  eyes— oh  !  they  resemble 
Blue  water-lilies,1  when  the  breeze 

Is  making  the  stream  around  them  tremble  ! 
Hail  to  thee,  hail  to  thee,  kindling  power  ! 

Spirit  of  Love,  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour, 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  th» 

By  the  fair  and  brave, 

Who  blushing  unite, 
Like  the  sun  and  the  wave, 

When  they  meet  at  night ! 
By  the  tear  that  shows 

When  passion  is  nigh, 
As  the  rain-drop  flows 

From  the  heat  of  the  sky ! 
,  By  the  first  love-beat 

Of  the  youthftil  heart, 
By  the  bliss  to  meet, 

And  the  pain  to  part ! 
By  all  that  thou  hast 

To  mortals  given, 
Which — oh  !  could  it  last, 

This  earth  were  heaven  ! 

We  call  thee  hither,  entrancing  Power! 

Spirit  of  Love  !  Spirit  of  Bliss  ! 
Thy  holiest  time  is  the  moonlight  hour ! 

And  there  never  was  moonlight  so  sweet  as  thi» 


Impatient  of  a  scene,  whose  luxuries  stole, 
pile  of  himself,  too  deep  into  his  soul, 
And  where,  'midst  all  that  the  young  heart  loves  most 
•lowers,  music,  smiles,  to  yield  was  to  be  lost ; 
'he  youth  had  started  up  and  turn'd  away 
mm  the  light  nymphs  and  their  luxurious  lay, 
'o  muse  upon  the  pictures  that  hung  round, — 
right  images,  that  spoke  without  a  sound, 
nd  views,  like  vistas  into  fairy  ground, 
'ut  here  again  new  spells  came  o'er  his  sense ; — 
.11  that  the  pencil's  mute  omnipotence 
ould  call  up  into  life,  of  soft  and  fair, 
•f  fond  and  passionate,  was  glowing  there  ; 
'for  yet  too  warm,  but  touch'd  with  that  fine  art 
Vhich  paints  of  pleasure  but  the  purer  part ; 
Vhich  knows  ev'n  Beauty  when  half-veil'd  is  best, 
Jke  her  own  radiant  planet  of  the  west, 
Vhose  orb  when  half  retir'd  looks  loveliest ! 
'here  hung  the  history  of  the  Genii-Kins, 
rac'd  through  each  gay,  voluptuous  wandering 
fith  her  from  SABA'S  bowers,  in  whose  bright  eyes 
!e  read  that  to  be  blest  is  to  be  wise  ;3 — 

fond  ZULKIKA*  woos  with  open  arms 
'he  Hebrew  boy,  who  flies  from  her  young  charms, 
"et,  flying,  turns  to  gaze,  and,  half  undone, 
Vishes  that  heav'n  and  she  could  both  be  won  ! 


1  Tho  blue  lotos,    which   grows  in    Cashmere   and  in 
ia. 

Fur  the  loves  of  Kin-:  Solomon,  [who  was  supposed  to 

rer  II.H  ulmie   r.-u-,.   of  Genii]   with    U.-ilkis.  thr 

lie.  n  of  Sh.-lm  or  S.ihrt,  see  /•>'  Herbrlot,  and  the  Jfotet 

t>ir  h'urnn,  chup.  '.'. 

3  Th.'  wife  "f  Poii|ihnr,  thus  named  by  the  Orientals, 
•r  adventure  with  the  P:itri;.rrh  Joseph  fj  the  subject  ul 
any  of  their  pocina  and  romances 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


And  here  MOHAMMED,  born  for  love  and  guile, 
Forgets  the  Koran  in  his  Mary's  smile  ; — 
Then  beckons  some  kind  angel  from  above 
With  a  new  »xt  to  consecrate  their  love  !* 

With  rapid  step,  yet  pleas'd  and  lingering  eye, 
l)id  the  youth  pass  these  pictur'd  stories  by, 
And  hasten'd  to  a  casement,  where  the  light 
Of  the  calm  moon  came  in,  and  freshly  bright 
The  fields  without  were  seen,  sleeping  as  still 
As  if  no  life  remain'd  in  breeze  or  rill. 
Here  paus'd  he,  while  the  music,  now  less  near, 
Breath'd  with  a  holier  language  on  his  ear, 
As  though  the  distance  and  that  heavenly  ray 
Through  which  the  sounds  came  floating,  took  away 
All  that  had  been  too  earthly  in  the  lay. 
Oh !  could  he  listen  to  such  sounds  unmov'd, 
And  by  that  light — nor  dream  of  her  he  lov'd  ? 
Dream  on,  unconscious  boy !  while  yet  thou  may'st 
'Tis  the  last  bliss  thy  soul  shall  ever  taste. 
Clasp  yet  awhile  her  image  to  thy  heart, 
Ere  all  the  light,  that  made  it  dear,  depart. 
Think  of  her  smiles  as  when  thou  saw'st  them  last, 
Clear,  beautiful,  by  nought  of  earth  o'ercast ; 
Recall  her  tears,  to  thee  at  parting  given, 
Pure  as  they  weep,  if  angels  weep,  in  heaven ! 
Think  in  her  own  still  bower  she  waits  thee  now, 
With  the  same  glow  of  heart  and  bloom  of  brow, 
Yet  shrin'd  in  solitude — thine  all,  thine  only, 
Like  the  one  star  above  thee,  bright  and  lonely . 
Oh  that  a  dream  so  sweet,  so  long  enjoy'd, 
Should  be  so  sadly,  cruelly  destroy'd  ! 

The  song  is  hush'd,  the  laughing  nymphs  are  flown, 
And  he  is  left,  musing  of  bliss,  alone  ; — 
Alone  ? — no,  not  alone — that  heavy  sigh, 
That  sob  of  grief,  which  broke  from  some  one  nigh — 
Whose  could  it  be? — alas!  is  misery  found 
Here,  even  here,  on  this  enchanted  ground  ? 
He  turns,  and  sees  a  female  form,  close  veil'd, 
Leaning,  as  if  both  heart  and  strength  had  fail'd, 
Against  a  pillar  near; — not  glittering  o'er 
Wiih  gem«  and  wreaths,  such  as  the  other  wore, 
But  in  that  deep-blue  melancholy  dress,2 
BOKHARA'S  maidens  wear  in  mindfulness 
Of  friend0  or  kindred,  dead  or  far  away ; — 
And  such  as  ZELICA  had  on  that  day 
He  left  her, — when,  with  heart  too  full  to  speak, 
He  took  a-vay  her  last  warm  tears  upon  his  cheek. 

A  strange  emotion  stirs  within  him, — more 
Than  mere  compassion  ever  wak'd  before ; 
Unconsciously  he  opes  his  arms,  while  she 
Springs  forward,  as  with  life's  last  energy, 
But,  swooning  in  that  one  convulsive  bound, 
Sinks,  ere  she  reach  his  arms,  upon  the  ground ; — 
Her  veil  falls  otT — her  faint  hands  clasp  his  knees — 
'Tis  she  herSelf! — 'tis  ZEI.ICA  he  sees! 
But,  ah,  so  pale,  so  chang'd — none  but  a  lover 
Could  in  that  wreck  of  beauty's  shrine  discover 
The  once  ador'd  divinity !  ev'n  he 
Stood  for  some  moments  mute,  and  doubling!/ 


1  The  particulars  of  Mahomet's  amour  with   Mary,  tl 
Coptic  itirl,  in  justification  <>(  which  hr  aildrd  a  new  chn 
*ier  to  the;  Koran,  ma;  be  found  m  fi'.':riinr'.i  A'uten  upi 
Abulfeda,  -  .131. 

2  ''Oee^-blue  i<»  Ihcir  mourning  colour." — Hanway. 


Put  back  the  ringlets  from  her  brow,  and  gaz'd 
Upon  those  lids,  where  once  such  lustre  blaz'd, 
Ere  he  could  think  she  was  indeed  his  own, 
Own  darling  maid,  whom  ho  so  long  had  known 
In  joy  and  sorrow,  beautiful  in  both ; 
Who,  e'en  when  grief  was  heaviest — when  loth 
He  left  her  for  the  wars — in  that  worst  hour 
Sat  in  her  sorrow  like  the  sweet  night-flower,' 
When  darkness  brings  its  weeping  glories  out, 
And  spreads  its  sighs  like  frankincense  about  I 

"  Look  up  my  ZELICA — one  moment  show 
Those  gentle  eyes  to  me,  that  I  may  know 
Thy  life,  thy  loveliness  is  not  all  gone, 
But  there,  at  least,  shines  as  it  ever  shone. 
Come,  look  upon  thy  AZIM— one  dear  glance, 
Like  those  of  old,  were  heaven  !  whatever  chance 
Hath  brought  thee  here,  oh !  'twas  a  blessed  one  '. 
There — my  sweet  lids — they  move — that  kiss  hath  run 
Like  the  first  shoot  of  life  through  every  vein, 
And  now  I  clasp  her,  mine,  all  mine  again ! 
Oh  the  delight — now,  in  this  very  hour, 
When,  had  the  whole  rich  world  been  in  my  power 
I  should  have  singled  out  thee,  only  thee, 
From  the  whole  world's  collected  treasury — 
To  have  thee  here — to  hang  thus  fondly  o'er 
My  own  best  purest  ZELICA  once  more !" 

It  was  indeed  the  touch  of  those  lov'd  lips 
Upon  her  eyes  that  chas'd  their  short  eclipse, 
And,  gradual  as  the  snow,  at  heaven's  breath, 
Melts  off  and  shows  the  azure  flowers  beneath. 
Her  lids  uncles' d,  and  the  bright  eyes  were  seen 
lazing  on  his, — not,  as  they  late  had  been, 
Quick,  restless,  wild — but  mournfully  serene ; 
As  if  to  lie,  ev'n  for  that  tranc'd  minute, 
So  near  his  heart,  had  consolation  in  it ; 
And  thus  to  wake  in  his  belov'd  caress 
Took  from  her  soul  one  half  its  wretchedness. 
3ui  when  she  heard  him  call  her  good  and  pure 
Dh  'twas  too  much — too  dreadful  to  endure  ! 
Shuddering  she  broke  away  from  his  embrace, 
And,  hiding  with  both  hands  her  guilty  face, 
Said,  in  a  tone,  whose  anguish  would  have  rivr  i 
A  heart  of  very  marble,  "  pure  ! — oh !  heaven.  — 

That  tone — those  looks  so  chang'd — the  withering 

blight, 

That  sin  and  sorrow  leave  where'er  they  light—- 
The  dead  despondency  of  those  sunk  eyes, 
'Vhere  once,  had  he  thus  met  her  by  surprise, 
le  would  have  been  himself,  too  happy  boy! 
{eflected  in  a  thousand  lights  of  joy; 
Arid  then  the  place,  that  bright  unholy  place, 
Vhere  vice  lay  hid  beneath  each  winning  grace 
And  charm  of  luxury,  as  the  viper  weavi  s 
ts  wily  covering  of  sweet  balsam-leaves;2 — 
Ml  struck  upon  his  heart,  sudden  and  cold 
death  itself; — it  needs  not  to  be  told — 
So,  no — lie  sees  it  all,  plain  as  the  brand 
)f  burning  shame  can  mark — whate'er  the  hand, 


1  The  sorr>'A  In!  nyctantliug,  which  begins  to  spread  it* 
ch  odoili  a  HIT 

2  'Toiict'inii!!;   ilie   vipers,   which   Pliny  Buys   WCT  fr« 
lent  among  :h<-   bulsai  i-trees,  I  made  very  particular  in, 

uiry:  «;vi'rni  wore  bru  jght  me  alive,  both  in  Yambo  lux 
idda." — Hruee 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Thai  could  from  heav'n  and  him  such  brightm- 
Tw  done— to  ht-w'n  and  him  she*.  l"»i  ">r  t;v 
|t  w.,,  moment;  not  the  tears, 

The  l.njioru.!:,  lading  misery  of  years, 
Could  match  that  minute's  anguish— all  the  worst 
Of  sorrow's  dements  in  that  dark  burst, 
Broke  o'er  h:s  soul,  and,  with  one  crash  of  fate, 
Laid  the  whole  hopes  of  his  life  desolate  ! 

"  Oh  '  curse  me  not,"  she  cried,  as  wild  he  toss'd 
His  desperate  hand  tow'rds  heav'u-"  though  1  am 

lost,  f  ,, 

Think  not  that  guilt,  that  falsehood  made  me-  tall; 
jS'(li  no—'twas  grief,  'twas  madness  did  it  all ! 
Nay,  doubt  me  not— though  all  thy  love  l<a»h  ceas'd— 
I  know  it  hath— yet,  yet  believe,  at  least, 
Thnt  every  spark  of  reason's  light  must  be 
Quench'd  in  this  brain,  ere  I  could  stray  from  thee! 
They  told  me  thou  wert  dead— why,  AziM,  why, 
Did  we  not  both  of  us  that  instant  die 
When  we  were  parted  ?— oh.could'st  thou  but  know 
With  what  a  deep  devotedness  of  woe 
I  wept  thy  absence — o'er  and  o'er  again 
Thinking  of  thee,  still  thee,  till  thought  grew  pain, 
And  memory,  like  a  drop,  that,  night  and  day, 
Falls  ,old  and  ceaseless,  wore  my  heart  away  ! 
Didst  thou  but  know  how  pale  I  sat  at  home, 
My  eyes  still  turn'd  the  way  thou  wert  to  come, 
And,  all  the  long,  long  night  of  hope  and  fear, 
Thy  voice  and  step  still  sounding  in  my  ear — 
Oh  God  !  thou  would'st  not  wonder,  thai,  at  last, 
When  every  hope  was  all  at  once  o'ercast, 
When  I  heard  frightful  voices  round  me  say 
A-im  if  Atnd'.— «his  wretched  brain  gave  way, 
And  1  became  a  wreck,  at  random  driven, 
Without  one  glimpse  of  reason  or  of  Heaven — 
All  wild — and  ev'n  this  quenchless  love  within 
Tum'd  to  foul  fires  to  light  me  into  sin  ! 
Thou  pitiest  me — 1  knew  thou  would'st — that  sky 
Hath  nought  beneath  it  half  so  lorn  as  I. 
The  fiend,  who  lur'd  me  hither — hist !  come  near, 
Or  thou  too,  tluat  art  lost,  if  he  should  hear — 
Told  me  such  things — oh !  with  such  dev'lish  art, 
As  would  have  ruin'd  ev'n  a  holier  heart — 
Of  thee,  and  of  that  ever-mdiant  sphere, 
Where,  bless' d  at  length,  if  1  but  serv'd  Aim  here, 
I  should  for  ever  live  in  thy  dear  sight, 
And  drink  from  those  pure  eyes  eternal  light! 
Think,  think  how  lost,  how  madden'd  I  must  be, 
To  hope  th  it  guilt  could  lead  to  God  or  thee  ! 
Thou  weep'st  for  me — do,  weep — oh  !  that  1  durst 
Kiss  off  that  tear!  but,  no — these  I  ps  are  curst, 
They  must  not  touch  thee ;— one  divine  caress, 
One  blessed  moment  of  forgetful  ness 
I've  had  within  those  arms,  and  tli-.t  shall  lie, 
Shrin'd  in  my  soul's  deep  memory  till  I  die  ! 
The  last  of  joy's  last  relics  here  bdow, 
The  one  swett  drop  in  all  this  waste  of  woe. 
My  heart  has  treasur'd  from  alien  ion's  spring, 
To  soothe  anil  cool  its  deadly  withering  ! 
But  ll  .11  must  go — for  ever  go  ; 

This  place  is  not  for  thee — for  thee  !  oh  no : 
Did  I  but  tell  thee  half,  thy  tortur'd  brn:n 
Would  burn  Lke  mine,  and  mine  go  wild  again! 

:h,lhat  Guilt  re'gnshcrb — that  hears,  once  gooc 
Now  t«  iuied,  ch.li'd  and  broken,  are  liis  food. 


Enough,  that  we  are  parted— that  there  rolls 
A  Hood  of  headlong  late  between  our  souls, 
Whose  darkue.-s  >e\ers  me  as  wide  from  thee 
As  hell  from  heav'n,  to  alj  eternity  !"— 

"ZKI.ICA!  /KLICA!"  the  youth  cxclaim'd, 
In  all  the  tortures  of  a  mind  iiill.un'd 
Almost  to  madness— "  by  that  sacred  Heav'n, 
Where  yet,  if  pray'rs  can  move,  thou'll  U-  forgiven, 
As  th.m  act  here— here,  in  this  writhing  heart, 
All  sinful,  wild,  and  ruin'd  as  thou  art! 
i)  the  remembrance  of  our  once  pure  love, 
Vhich,  like  a  church-yard  light,  still  burns  above 
he  grave  of  our  lost  souls— which  guilt  in  tlico 
,'annol  extinguish,  nor  despair  in  me  ! 
do  conjure,  implore  thee  to  My  hence — 
"  thou  hast  yet  one  spark  of  innocence, 

'ly  with  me  from  this  place. 

"  With  thee  !  oh  blis* 

Tis  worth  whole  years  of  torment  to  hear  this. 
Vhat !  take  the  lost  one  with  thee  ?— let  her  rove 
Bv  thy  dear  side,  as  in  those  days  of  love, 
Vhen  we  were  both  so  happy,  both  so  pure — 
^oo  heavenly  dream  !  if  there's  on  earth  a  cure 
'or  the  sunk  heart,  'tis  this— day  after  day 
To  be  the  blest  companion  of  thy  way ; — 
To  hear  thy  angel  eloquence — to  see 
['hose  virtuous  eyes  for  ever  turn'd  on  me ; 
And  in  their  light  re-chasten'd  silently, 
ike  the  stain'd  web  that  whitens  in  the  sun, 
row  pure  by  being  purely  shone  upon ! 
And  thou  wilt  pray  for  me — 1  know  thou  wilt — 
At  the  dim  vesper  hour,  when  thoughts  of  guilt 
Jome  heaviest  o'er  the  heart,  thou'lt  litl  thine  eyes, 
t'ull  of  sweet  tears,  unto  the  darkening  skies, 
And  plead  for  me  with  Heav'n,  till  1  can  ciare 
To  fix  iny  own  weak,  sinful  glances  there ; — 
Till  the  good  angels,  when  they  see 'me  cling 
For  ever  near  thee,  pale  and  sorrowing, 
Shall  for  thy  sake  pronounce  my  soul  forgiven, 
And  bid  thee  uk?  thy  weeping  slave  to  heaven, ! 
Oh  yes,  I'll  fly  with  thee. " 

Scarce  had  she  said 
These  breathless  words,  when  a  voice,  deep  and  dread 
As  that  of  3IoNKKR,  waking  up  the  dead 
From  their  rirst  sleep — so  startling  'twas  to  both — 
Rung  through  the  casement  near,  "  Thy  oath !  thy 

oath !" 

Oh  Heav'n,  the  ghastlincss  of  that  maid's  look! — 
"  'Tis  he,"  family  she  cried,  while  terror  shook 
Her  inmost  core,  nor  durst  she  lift  her  ty  •>, 
Though  through  the  casement,  now,  nought  but  the 

skies 

And  moonlight  fields  were  seen,  calm  as  before — 
"  'Tis  he,  and  1  am  his — all,  all  is  o'er — 
Go — fly  this  instant,  or  thou  art  ruin'd  too — 
My  oath,  my  oath,  oh  God  !  'tis  all  too  true, 
True  as  the  worm  in  this  cold  heart  it  is — 
I  am  MOKANNA'S  bride — his,  AZIM,  his. — 
The  Dead  stood  round  us,  while  I  spoke  that  vow 
Their  blue  lips  echo'd  it — 1  hear  them  now  ! 
Their  eyes  glar'd  on  mo,  while  1  pledg'd  that  bowl 
'Twas  burning  blood — 1  feel  it  in  my  soul ! 
And  the  Veil'd  Bridegroom— hist !  I've  seen  to-night 
What  angels  know  not  of — so  foul  a  sight 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


So  horrible — oh  !  may'st  thou  never  see 

What  Merc  lies  hid  from  all  but  hell  and  me ! 

But  1  must  hence — off,  oft — 1  am  not  thine, 

Nor  HeavVs,  nor  Love's,  nor  aught  that  is  divine — 

Hold  me  not — ha! — think'st  thou  the.  fiends  that  sever 

Hearts,  cannot  sunder  hands  .' — thus,  then — forever!" 

With  all  that  strength  which  madness  lends  the 

weak, 

She  flung  away  his  arm  ;  and,  with  a  shriek, — 
Whose  sound,  though  he  should  linger  out  more  years 
Than  wretch  e'er  told,  can  never  leave  his  ears, — 
Flew  up  through  that  long  avenue  of  light, 
Fleetly  as  some  dark,  ominous  bird  of  night, 
Across  the  sun,  and  soon  was  out  of  sight. 


LALLA  ROOKH  could  think  of  nothing  all  day  but 
the  misery  of  these  two  young  lovers.  Her  gaiety 
was  gone,  and  she  looked  pensively  even  upon  FAD- 
LADKKN.  She  felt  too,  without  knowing  why,  a  sort 
of  uneasy  pleasure  in  imagining  that  A/IM  must  have 
been  just  such  a  youth  as  FKR AMORZ  ;  just  as  worthy 
to  enjoy  all  the  blessings,  without  any  of  the  pangs, 
of  that  illusive  passion,  which  too  often,  like  the 
gunny  apples  of  Istkahar,  is  all  sweetness  on  one  side, 
and  all  bitterness  on  the  other. 

As  they  passed  along  a  sequestered  river  after  sun- 
set, they  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the  bank, 
whose  employment  seemed  to  them  so  strange,  that 
they  slopped  their  palankeens  to  observe  her.  She 
had  lignted  a  small  lamp,  tilled  with  oil  of  cocoa, 
and  placing  it  in  an  earthen  dish,  adorned  with  a 
wreath  of  flowers,  had  committed  it  with  a  trembling 
hand  to  the  stream,  and  was  now  anxiously  watching 
its  progress  down  the  current,  heedless  of  the  gay 
cavalcade  which  had  drawn  up  beside  her.  LALLA 
ROOKH  was  all  curiosity  : — when  one  of  her  attend- 
ants, who  had  lived  upon  the  batiks  of  the  Ganges, 
(where  this  ceremony  is  so  frequent,  that  often,  in 
the  dusk  of  Ilie  even 'njr,  the  river  is  seen  glittering  all 
over  with  lights,  like  the  Oton-tala  or  Sea  of  Stars,) 
informed  the  Princess  that  it  was  the  usual  way  in 
which  the  friends  of  those  who  had  gone  on  dangerous 
voyages  offered  up  vows  for  their  safe  return.  If  the 
lamp  sunk  immediately,  the  omen  was  disastrous; 
but  if  it  went  shining  down  the  stream,  and  continued 
to  burn  till  entirely  out  of  sight, the  return  of  the  be- 
loved object  was  considered  as  certain. 

LALLA  ROOKH,  as  they  moved  on,  more  than  once 
looked  back,  to  observe  how  the  young  Hindoo's 
lamp  proceeded  ;  and,  while  she  saw  with  pleasure 
that  it  was  still  unextinguished,  she  could  not  help 
fearing  that  all  the  hopes  of  this  life  were  no  better 
than  that  feeble  light  upon  the  river.  The  remainder 
of  the  journey  was  passed  in  silence  She  now,  for 
the  first  time,  felt  that  shade  of  melancholy,  which 
comes  over  the  youthful  maiden's  heart,,  as  sweet 
and  transient  as  her  own  breath  upon  a  mirror;  nor 
was  it  till  she  heard  the  lute  of  I-'KRAMORZ,  touched 
liglnly  at  the  door  of  her  pavilion,  that  she  waked 
from  the  reverie  in  which  she  had  been  wandering. 
Instantly  her  eyes  were  lighted  up  with  pleasure,  and, 
sifter  a  few  tiaheaid  remarks  from  FAUI.ADEEN  upon 
the  indecorum  of  a  poet  seating  himself  in  presence 
F 


of  a  Princess,  every  thing  was  arranged  as  on  tru 
preceding  evening,  and  all  listened  with  eagenuss 
while  the  story  was  thus  continued  : — 

WHOSE  are  the  gilded  tents  that  crowd  the  way, 
Where  all  was  waste  and  silent  yesterday  ? 
This  City  of  War,  which,  in  a  few  short  hours, 
Hath  sprung  up  here,  as  if  the  magic  powers 
Of  Him,  who,  in  the  twinkling  of  a  star, 
Built  the  high  pillar'd  halls  of  CKILMI.NAR,' 
Had  conjur'd  up,  far  as  the  eye  can  see, 
This  world  of  tents,  and  domes,  and  sun-bright  v 

mory  ! — 

Princely  pavilions,  screen'd  by  many  a  fold 
Of  crimson  cloth,  and  topp'd  with  balls  of  gold  ;— 
Steeds,  with  their  housings  of  rich  silver  spun, 
Their  chains  and  poitrels  glittering  in  the  sun ; 
And  camels,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells, 
Shaking  in  every  breeze  their  light-ton'd  bells ! 

But  yester-eve,  so  motionless  around, 
So  mute  was  this  wide  plain,  that  not  a  sound 
But  the  far  torrent,  or  the  locust-bird ' 
Hunting  among  the  thickets,  could  be  heard  ; — 
Yet  hark  !  what  discords  now,  of  every  kind, 
Shouts,  laughs,  and  screams,  are  revelling  in  the  wind 
The  neigh  of  cavalry ;  the  tinkling  throngs 
Of  laden  camels  and  their  driver's  songs  ;— 
Ringing  of  arms,  and  flapping  in  the  breeze 
Of  streamers  from  ten  thousand  canopies; — 
War-music,  bursting  out  from  time  to  time 
With  gong  and  tymbalon's  tremendous  chime  ;— 
Or,  in  the  pause,  when  harsher  sounds  are  mute, 
The  mellow  breathings  of  some  horn  or  flute, 
That,  far  off,  broken  by  the  eagle  note 
Of  til'  Abyssinian  trumpet,'  swell  and  float  ? 

Who  leads  this  mighty  army  ? — ask  ye  "  who  ?" 
And  mark  ye  not  those  banners  of  dark  hue, 
The  Night  and  Shadow,4  over  yonder  tent  1 — 
It  is  the  CALIPH'S  glorious  armament. 
Rous'd  in  his  palace  by  the  dread  alarms, 
That  hourly  came,  of  the  false  Prophet's  arms, 
And  of  his  host  of  infidels,  who  hurl'd 
Defiance  fierce  at  Islam*  and  the  world ; — 
Though  worn  with  Grecian  warfare,  and  behind 
The  veils  of  his  bright  palace  calm  reclin'd, 
Yet  brook'd  he  not  such  blasphemy  should  stain, 
Thus  unreveng'd,  the  evening  of  his  reign ; 
But,  having  sworn  upon  the  Holy  Grave0 
To  conquer  or  to  perish,  once  more  gave 


1  The  edifices  of  Cliilminar  nml  Balbec  are  snppodftd  ic 
have  been  built  by  the  Genii,  acting  under  tlio  orders  <>t  Jen. 
ben  Jun,  wliu  governed  the  world  long  before  the  tm.e  \>4 
Ailnm. 

2  A  native  of  Khorassaii,  and  allured  southward  hymrani 
of  (ho  water  of  a   tbiin'tln,  between  Sbira/  and   ls;iuliiin, 
(•tilled  the  Fountain  of  Birds,  of  which  it  is  so  fond  that  it 
will  followwherever  that  wati  r  la  carried. 

3  "  This  train  pet  is  often  called  in  Abyssinia,  ncsfrr  cano 
which  signifies,  Tiie  note  of  the  Eagle." — JVute  «/  Bruce'* 
editnr. 

4  The  two  black  standards  borne  befbn  the  Caliphs  *t 
the  Mouse  of  Alihns  wure  called,  allegorically,  the  Night  ami 
the  Shadow.     See  Gihl/nn. 

5  The  Mahometan  Religion. 

6  "Tlio  Persians  swear  by  the  Tomb  of  Shoh  Bounds, 
who  is  buried  at  Casbin ;  and  when  one  cU'sires  another  u 
asservate  a  matter,  he  will  ask  him  if  he  dare  swear  by  Ihf 
Holy  Grave." — Struy. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ha  shadowy  banners  proucuy  to  the  breeze, 
And,  with  an  army  nurs'd  in  victories, 
Here  stands  to  crush  the  rebels  that  o'er-run 
Ilia  blest  and  beauteous  Province  of  the  Sun. 

Ne'er  did  the  march  of  MAJIADI  display 
S jch  pomp  before ; — not  e'en  when  on  his  way 
To  MECCA'S  Temple,  when  both  land  and  sea 
Were  spoil'd  to  feed  the  Pilgrim's  luxury ;' 
When  round  him,  'mid  the  burning  sands,  he  saw 
Fruits  of  the  North  in  icy  freshness  thaw, 
And  cool'd  his  thirsty  lip  beneath  the  glow 
Of  MKCCA'S  sun,  with  urns  of  Persian  snow  :s — 
Nor  e'er  did  armament  more  grand  than  that, 
Pour  from  the  kingdoms  of  the  Caliphat. 
First,  in  the  van,  the  People  of  the  Rock,3 
On  their  light  mountain  steeds,  of  royal  stock  ;4 
Then  Chieftains  of  DAMASCUS,  proud  to  see 
The  flashing  of  their  swords'  rich  marquetry  ;5 
Men  from  the  regions  near  the  VOLGA'S  mouth, 
M i\M  with  the  rude,  black  archers  of  the  South ; 
And  Indian  lancers,  in  white-turban'd  ranks, 
From  the  far  SINDE,  or  ATTOCK'S  sacred  banks, 
With  dusky  legions  from  the  land  of  Myrrh,6 
And  many  a  mace-arm'd  Moor,  and  Mid-Sea  islander. 

Nor  less  in  number,  though  more  new  and  rude 
In  warfare's  school,  -was  the  vast  multitude 
That,  fir'd  by  zeal,  or  by  oppression  wrong'd, 
Round  the  white  standard  of  the  Impostor  throng'd. 
Besides  his  thousands  of  Believers, — blind, 
Burning  and  headlong  as  the  Samiel  wind, — 
Many  who  felt,  and  more  who  fear'd  to  feel 
The  bloody  Islamite's  converting  steel, 
Flock'd  to  his  banner ; — Chiefs  of  the  UZBEK  race, 
Waving  their  heron  crests  with  martial  grace  ;* 
TURKOMANS,  countless  as  their  flocks,  led  forth 
From  th'  aromatic  pasture*  of  the  North ; 
Wild  warriors  of  the  turquoise  hills8 — and  those 
Who  dwell  beyond  the  everlasting  snows 
Of  HINDOO  KOSH,S  in  stormy  freedom  bred, 
Their  fort  the  rock,  their  camp  the  torrent's  bed. 
But  none,  of  all  who  own'd  the  Chiefs  command, 
Rush'd  to  that  battle-field  with  bolder  hand, 
Or  sterner  hate,  than  IRAN'S  outlaw'd  men, 
Her  worshippers  of  fire10 — all  panting  then 
For  vengeance  on  the  accursed  Saracen ; 


1  Mahadi,  in  a  tingle  pilgrimage  to  Mecca,  expended  six 
million"  of  dinars  of  gold. 

2  "Nivem  Meccam  apportavit, rem  ibi  aut  nunquara  aut 
taro  »isam."— Jibulftda. 

3  The  inhabitant*  of  llcjoj  or  Arnbin  Pclrm,  called  by  an 
Eastern  writer  "The  People  of  the  Ruck."—  Elm  }{aukal. 

4  "Thote  horse.,  called  by  the  Arabians,  Kochlani,  of 
whom  a  written  genealogy  has  been  kept  for  2000  years. 
Thoy  are  said  to  derive  tlieir  origin  from  King  Solomon's 
itceds." — JWefrnAr. 

5  "  Many  of  the  figures  on  the  blades  of  their  swords,  are 
wrought  in  gold  or  silver,  or  in  marquetry  with  small  gems  " 
—.1iiat.  Mar.  vol.  i. 

6  Aziib,  or  Sabn. 

11  The  Chief*  of  the  Uzbec  Tartar*  wear  a  plume  of 
white  heron's  feathers  in  their  turbans."—  Account  of  Inde- 
fe*ttr*t  Tartnry. 

H  "  In  the  mountains  of  Ninhapour,  and  Tous,  in  Khoras- 
t»n,  they  find  tur<;iini*m."—  Kbn  Hauknl. 

9  For  a  description  of  these  stupendous  ranges  of  moun- 
tains, »•>••  UfUmtUutl  Caubul. 

10  Thfi  (;h«tx-r«  or  Cncbn's,  thoti*  original  natives  of  Per- 
<in,  who  adhered  10  their  ancient  faith,  the  religion  of  Zoro- 
ttter,  and  who,  after  the  conquest  of  their  country  by  the 
Arnfw,  wore  either  persecuted  al  home,  or  forced  to  become 
•Kodorers  abroad. 


Vengeance  at  last  for  their  dear  country  spurn'a, 
Her  throne  usurp'd,  and  her  bright  shrines  o'erturn  d 
From  YEZD'S'  eternal  Mansion  of  tne  Fire, 
Where  aged  saints  in  dreams  of  Heav'n  expire , 
From  BADKU,  and  those  fountains  of  blue  flame 
That  burn  into  the  CASPIAN,2  tierce  they  came, 
Careless  for  what  or  whom  the  blow  was  sped, 
So  vengeance  triumph'd,  and  their  tyrants  bled ! 

Such  was  the  wild  and  miscellaneous  host, 
That  higli  in  air  their  motly  banners  tost 
Around  the  Prophet  Chief— all  eyes  still  bent 
Upon  that  glittering  Veil,  where'er  it  went, 
That  beacon  through  the  battle's  stormy  flood, 
That  rainbow  of  the  field,  whose  showers  were  blood ! 

Twice  hath  the  sun  upon  their  conflict  set, 
And  ris'n  again,  and  found  them  grappling  yet ; 
While  steams  of  carnage,  in  his  noon-tide  bla/.e, 
Smoke  up  to  heav'n — hot  as  that  crimson  haze 
By  which  the  prostrate  Caravan  is  aw'd, 
In  the  red  Desert,  when  the  wind's  abroad  ! 
"  On,  swords  of  God  !"  the  panting  CALIPH  calls, — 
Thrones  for  the  living — Heav'n  for  him  who  falls !' 
"  On,  brave  avengers,  on,"  MOKANNA  cries, 
"  And  EBLIS  blast  the  recreant  slave  that  Hies!" 
Now  comes  the  brunt,  the  crisis  of  the  day — 
They  clash — they  strive — the  CALIPH'S  troops  give 

way! 

MOKANNA'S  self  plucks  the  black  Banner  down, 
And  now  the  Orient  World's  imperial  crown 
Is  just  within  his  grasp — when,  hark  !  that  shout ! 
Some  hand  hath  check'd  the  flying  Moslem's  rout ; 
And  now  they  turn — they  rally — at  their  head 
A  warrior,  (like  those  angel  youths  who  led, 
In  glorious  panoply  of  heav'n's  own  mail, 
The  Champions  of  the  Faith  through  BKDAR'S  vale,)* 
Bold  as  if  gifted  with  ten  thousand  lives, 
Turns  on  the  fierce  pursuers'  blades,  and  drives 
At  once  the  multitudinous  torrent  back, 
While  hope  and  courage  kindle  in  his  track, 
And,  at  each  step,  his  bloody  falchion  makes 
Terrible  vistas,  through  which  victory  breaks  ! 
In  vain  MOKANNA,  'midst  the  general  flight, 
Stands,  like  the  red  moon,  on  some  stormy  night, 
Among  the  fugitive  clouds,  that,  hurrying  by, 
Leave  only  her  unshaken  in  the  sky !: — 
In  vain  he  ycUs  his  desperate  curses  out, 
Deals  death  promiscuously  to  all  about, 
To  foes  that  charge,  and  coward  friends  that  fly, 
And  seems  of  all  the  Great  Arch-enomy  ! 
The  panic  spreads — "a  miracle  !"  throughout 
The  Moslem  ranks,  "  a  miracle  !"  they  shout, 


1  "  Yezd,  the  chief  residence  of  those  ancient  natives, 
who  worship  the  Sun  and  the  Fire,  which  latter  they  have 
carefully  kept  lighted,  without  being  once  extinguished  for 
a  moment,  above  3000  years,  on   a  mountain   near  Yezd, 
called  Ater  Qiiedah,  signifying  the  House  or  Mansion  or 

he  Fire.  He  is  reckoned  very  unfortunate  who  dies  off 
.hat  mountain." — Str/i/irn'.i  1'irsia. 

2  "  When  the  weather  is  hazy,  the  springs  of  Xnptlia  (on 
an  island  near  Raku',  hoil  up  higher,  and  the  Naptha  often 

ukes  tire  on  th"  surface  of  the  earth,  anil  runs  in  a  flame 
nto  the  soa,  to  a  distair-e  almost  incredihle." — Il/uiway  on 
'f  enerlnntinfr  Fire  at  finku 

3  In  the  great  victory  gained  by  Mahomed  at  Hodar,  ho 
..'as  assisted,  s-iy  the  Mussulmans,  by  three  thousand  ar.zels, 
ed  by  Gabriel,  mounted  on  his  horse  Hia/uni.—  The  Koran 

and  its  Commentatar* 


LALLA  ROOiai. 


All  gazing  on  that  youth,  whose  coming  seems 
A  light,  a  glory,  such  as  breaks  in  dreams ; 
And  every  Word,  true  as  o'er  billows  dim 
The  needle  tracks  the  load-star,  following  him ! 

Right  tow'rds  MOKANNA  now  he  cleaves  his  path, 
Impatient  cleaves,  as  though  the  bolt  of  wrath 
He  bears  from  Heav'n  withheld  its  awful  burst 
From  weaker  heads,  and  souls  but  half-way  curst, 
To  break  o'er  him,  the  mightiest  and  the  worst ! 
But  vain  his  speed — though  in  that  hour  of  blood, 
Had  all  God's  seraphs  round  MOKANNA  stood, 
With  swords  of  fire,  ready  like  fate  to  fall, 
MOKANNA'S  soul  would  have  defied  them  all; — 
Vet  now  the  rush  of  fugitives,  too  strong 
For  human  force,  hurries  e'en  him  along ; 
In  vain  he  struggles  'mid  the  wedg'd  array 
Of  flying  thousands, — he  is  borne  away ; 
And  the  sole  joy  his  baffled  spirit  knows 
In  this  forc'd  flight  is — murdering,  as  he  goes ! 
As  a  grim  tiger,  whom  the  torrent's  might 
Surprises  in  some  parch'd  ravine  at  night, 
Turns,  e'en  in  drowning,  on  the  wretched  flocks 
Swept  with  him  in  that  snow-flood  from  the  rocks, 
And,  to  the  last,  devouring  on  his  way, 
Bloodies  the  stream  he  hath  not  power  to  stay ! 

"  Alia  il  Alia  !" — the  clad  shout  renew — 
"  Alia  Akbar!"1 — the  Caliph  's  in  MEROU. 
Hang  out  your  gilded  tapestry  in  the  streets, 
And  light  your  shrines,  and  chaunt  your  ziraleets  ;2 
The  swords  of  God  have  triumph'd — on  his  throne 
Your  Caliph  sits,  and  the  Veil'd  Chief  hath  flown. 
Who  does  not  envy  that  young  warrior  now, 
To  whom  the  Lord  of  Islam  bends  his  brow, 
In  all  the  graceful  gratitude  of  power, 
For  his  throne's  safety  in  that  perilous  hour? 
Who  does  not  wonder,  when,  amidst  th'  acclaim 
Of  thousands,  heralding  to  heaven  his  name — 
'Mid  all  those  holier  harmonies  of  fame, 
Which  sounds  along  the  path  of  virtuous  souls, 
Like  music  round  a  planet  as  it  rolls ! 
He  turns  away  coldly,  as  if  some  gloom 
Hung  o'er  his  heart  no  triumphs  can  illume  ; — 
Some  sightless  grief,  upon  whose  blasted  gaze 
Though  glory's  light  may  play,  in  vain  it  plays  I 
Yes,  wretched  AZI.M  !  thine  is  such  a  grief, 
Beyond  all  hope,  all  terror,  all  relief; 
A  dark,  cold  calm,  which  nothing  now  can  break, 
Or  warm,  or  brighten, — like  that  Syrian  Lake,3 
I'pon  whose  surface  morn  and  summer  shed 
Their  smiles  in  vain,  for  all  beneath  is  dead ! 
I  !<•  arts  there  have  teen,  o'er  which  this  weight  of  woe 
Came  by  long  use  of  suffering,  tame  and  slow; 
Rut  thine,  lost  youth  !  was  sudden — over  thee 
It  broke  at  once,  when  all  seem'd  ecstacy ; 
When  Hope  look'd  up,  and  saw  the  gloomy  Past 
Melt  into  splendour,  and  Bliss  dawn  at  last — 
Twas  thru,  ev'n  then,  o'er  joys  so  freshly  blown, 
Tins  mortal  blight  of  misery  came  down  ; 
Kv'i\  then,  the  full,  warm  gushings  of  thy  heart 
Were  check'd — like  fount-drops,  frozen  as  they  start  ! 


1  The  tvchir,  or  cry  of  the  Arabs,  "  Alia  Akbar!"  say« 
Ocklrv,  inc.u.s  "Odd  is  most  mighty." 

•i  Tim  /iialoet  is  a  kind  of  chorus,  which  the  women  of 
the  Kust  sing  upon  joyful  occasions. 

3  The  Dead  Sea,  which  contains  neither  animal  nor 
Timetable  life. 


And  there,  like  them,  cold,  sunless  relics  nang, 
Each  fix'd  and  chill'd  into  a  lasting  pang ! 

One  sole  desire,  one  passion  now  remains, 
To  keep  life's  fever  still  within  his  veins, — 
Vengeance  ! — dire  vengeance  on  the  wretch  who  ca»t 
O'er  him  and  all  he  lov'd  that  ruinous  blast. 
For  this,  when  rumours  rcach'd  him  in  his  flight 
Far,  far  away,  after  that  fatal  night, — 
Rumours  of  armies,  thronging  to  th'  attack 
Of  the  Veil'd  Chief, — for  this  he  wing'd  him  back, 
Fleet  as  the  vulture  speeds  to  flags  unfurl'd, 
And  came  when  all  seem'd  lost,  and  wildly  hurl'd 
Himself  into  the  scale,  and  sav'd  a  world ! 
For  this  he  still  lives  on,  careless  of  all 
The  wreaths  that  glory  on  his  path  lets  full ; 
For  this  alone  exists — like  lightning-fire 
To  speed  one  bolt  of  vengeance,  and  expire  ! 

But  safe,  as  yet,  that  Spirit  of  Evil  lives ; 
With  a  small  band  of  desperate  fugitives, 
The  last  sole  stubborn  fragment,  left  unriven, 
Of  the  proud  host  that  late  stood  fronting  heaven, 
He  gain'd  MEROU — breath'd  a  short  curse  of  \)\«od 
O'er  his  lost  throne — then  pass'd  the  JIHON'S  flood, 
And  gathering  all,  whose  madness  of  belief 
Still  saw  a  Saviour  in  their  downfall'n  Chief, 
Rais'd  the  white  banner  within  NEKSHEB'S  gates,* 
And  there,  untam'd,  th'  approaching  conquerc  r  wsdti 

Of  all  his  Haram,  all  that  busy  hive, 
With  music  and  with  sweets  sparkling  alive, 
He  took  but  one,  the  partner  of  his  flight, 
One,  not  for  love — not  for  her  beauty's  light — 
For  ZELICA  stood  withering  midst  the  gay, 
Wan  as  the  blossom  that  fell  yesterday 
From  the  Alma  tree  and  dies,  while  overhead 
To-day's  young  flower  is  springing  in  its  stead  !* 
No,  not  for  love — the  deepest  damn'd  must  be 
Touch'd  with  heaven's  glory,  ere  such  fiends  as  ha 
Can  feel  one  glimpse  of  love's  divinity  ! 
But  no,  she  is  his  victim ; — there  lie  all 
Her  charms  for  him — charms  that  can  never  pall, 
As  long  as  hell  within  his  heart  can  stir, 
Or  one  faint  trace  of  heaven  is  left  in  her. 
To  work  an  angel's  ruin, — to  behold 
As  white  a  page  as  Virtue  e'er  unroll'd 
Blacken,  beneath  his  touch,  into  a  scroll 
Of  damning  sins,  seal'd  with  a  burning  soul — 
This  is  his  triumph  ;  this  the  joy  accurst, 
That  ranks  him,  among  demons,  all  but  first ! 
This  gives  the  victim,  that  before  him  lies 
Blighted  and  lost,  a  glory  in  his  eyes, 
A  light  like  that  with  which  hell-fire  illumes 
The  ghastly,  writhing  wretch  whom  it  consumes  ! 

But  other  tasks  now  wait  him — tasks  that  need 
All  the  deep  daringness  of  thought  and  deed 
With  which  the  Dives*  have  gifted  him — for  mark. 
Over  yon  plains,  which  night  had  else  made  dark, 


1  The  ancient  Oxus. 

2  A  cily  of  Transoxiania. 

3  "  You  never  can  cast  your  eyes  on  this  tree,  but  yor 
meet  them  either  blossoms  or  fruit:  and  as  the  blosrora 
Jropg   underneath    on    the    ground,   (which   is   frequently 
covered  with  these  purple-coloured  flower*,)  others  com* 
"orth  in  their  stead,"  etc.  etc. — JVieuAoJf. 

4  The  Demons  of  the  Persian  mythology 


II 


MOOKL  S  \VOKK6». 


Those  lantern*,  countless  as  the  winged  lights 
That  spangle  INDIA'S  fields  on  showery  nights,1— 
Far  as  their  formidable  glpams  they  shed, 
The  mighty  tents  of  tlie  beleagu  rer  spread, 
Glimmering  along  th'  horizon's  dusky  line, 
And  thence  in  nearer  circles,  till  they  shine 
Among  the  founts  and  groves,  o'er  which  the  town 
In  all  its  arm'd  magnificence  looks  down. 
Yet,  fearless,  from  his  lofty  battlements 
MOKAN.VA  views  that  multitude  of  tents ; 
Nay,  smiles  to  think  that,  though  entoil'd,  beset, 
Not  less  than  myriads  dare  to  front  him  yet : — 
Thai,  friendless,  throneless,  he  thus  stands  at  bay, 
H'cii  thus  a  match  for  myriads  such  as  they ! 
*  Oh  !  for  a  sweep  of  that  dark  angel's  wing, 
Who  brush'd  the  thousands  of  th'  Assyrian  King* 
To  darkness  in  a  moment,  that  1  might 
People  Hell's  chambers  with  yon  host  to-night ! 
Rut  come  what  may,  let  who  will  grasp  the  throne, 
Caliph  or  Prophet,  Man  alike  shall  groan  ; 
Let  who  will  torture  him,  Priest — Caliph — King — 
Alike  this  loathsome  world  of  his  shall  ring 
rVith  victims'  shrieks  and  howling*  of  the  slave, — 
Sounds,  that  shall  glad  me  ev'n  within  my  grave." 
Tnus  to  himself— but  to  the  scanty  train 
Still  left  around  him,  a  far  ditferent  strain  : — 
"Glorious  defenders  of  the  sacred  Crown 
."bear  from  Heav'n,  whose  light,  nor  blood  shall  drown 
Nor  shadow  of  earth  eclipse  ; — before  whose  gems 
The  paly  pomp  of  this  world's  diadems, 
The  crown  of  GERASHID,  the  pillar'd  throne 
Of  PARVIZ,J  and  the  heron  ciest  that  shone,* 
Magnificent,  o'er  ALI'S  beauteous  eyes,* 
Fade  like  the  stars  when  morn  is  in  the  skies : 
Warriors,  rejoice — the  port,  to  which  we've  pass'd 
O'er  destiny's  dark  wave,  beams  out  at  last ! 
Victory's  our  own — 'tis  written  in  that  Book 
Upon  *hose  leaves  none  but  the  angels  look, 
That  ISLAM'S  sceptre  shall  beneath  the  power 
Of  her  great  foe  fall  broken  in  that  hour, 
When  the  moon's  mighty  orb,  before  all  eyes, 
From  NEKSHKB'S  Holy  Well  portentously  shall  rise ! 
Now  turn  and  see !" — 

They  tum'd,  and,  as  he  spoke, 
A  sudden  splendour  all  around  them  broke, 
And  they  beheld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright, 
Rise  from  the  Holy  Well,  and  cast  its  light 
K.  in  nd  tlie  rich  city  and  the  plain  for  miles,' — 
Flinging  such  radiance  o'er  the  gilded  tiles 


1  '  '  i  r  'i  in-  i.iiun*  the  fire-flies  in  India  durin"  tlie  rainv 
4*<iii.-  »,-.-  in*  TrnneU. 

orit'n!al*  Ki"8  of  M°"s- 


3  Cho»ru«.    For  the  description  of  his  Throne  or  Palace, 
•X  1'iobo*  Mild  /'  H'rlirlnt. 

4  "  Tne  <-,,„.„  ,.r<;-.f^|,i,|  j,  ,lm,,lr  smi  tarnished  before 
It,-  IHT,,..,  u,l.  ,,f  ihy  turb.,,."-Kr,,ti,  on,'  of  the  ,  I,  .„•«  « 
«..,«.  m  ,„«««  of  Ah,  written   in  dmn,.-,,:,,  of  gold  ,OUIul 

Milm.'ilu.nb.-- 

3  "Th.-  !>,-.,  ui  vof  All'.  pjrriwniio  remarkable,  ihntwhr-n- 
V""1'"  '••'-  ......  •••  I,  thin,  .,  Uv  lovTlv 

tbe,  «,,  ,1  «  Avn  IUh.  ,„  ,h,  Kvw  of  SKcBfiT 
•          iniUM  ,H-mUn,  dr,i»  m.,i,  ie  ,„,„   ,e  de  ,     vj||     rf 

.'..•n.ni-,,,1  „.„„  „.„-,..  I,,  „,,„.  ,,u  ,-„„,,  d.  « 
p«.,t.  „„  r.,r..«  h,.,,,,,,.,,,  ..mblablr  a  I,  hune.qui  |1Ortail  ea 
n-mM-n.  ,,,«,u-a  la  .l..i.nr,  ,|,  ,,|n,,.,lr.  ,n,l|^."J."  ?  *  £ 

•  **"  em""d  8awndtlin'«1'.  w  t«  Moon- 


Of  many  a  dome  and  fair-rooFd  minaret, 
As  autumn  suns  shed  round  them  when  they  set ' 
Instant  from  all  who  saw  th'  illusive  sign 
A  murmur  broke — "Miraculous  !  divine  !" 
The  Gheber  bow  d,  thinking  his  idol  Star 
Had  wak  d,  and  burst  impatient  through  the  bar 
Of  midnight,  to  inflame  him  to  tlie  war  ! 
While  he  of  MOUSSA  s  creed,  saw,  in  that  ray 
The  glorious  Light  which,  in  his  freedom  s  day 
Had  rested  on  tlie  Ark,1  and  now  again 
Shone  out  to  bless  the  breaking  of  his  chain  ! 

1  To  victory !"  is  at  once  the  cry  of  all  — 
Nor  stands  MOKANNA  loitering  at  that  call ; 
But  instant  the  huge  gates  are  flung  aside, 
And  forth,  like  a  diminutive  mountain-tide 
Into  the  boundless  sea,  they  speed  their  course 
Right  on  into  the  MOSLEM  s  mighty  force. 
The  watchmen  of  the  camp, — who,  in  their  rounds, 
Had  paus  d  and  een  forgot  the  punctual  sounds 
Of  the  small  drum  with  which  they  count  die  night, 
To  gaze  upon  that  supernatural  Lght, — 
Now  sink  beneath  an  unexpected  arm, 
And  in  a  death-groan  give  their  last  alarm. 
'  On  for  the  lamps,  that  l.glit  yon  lofly  screen,1 
NTor  blunt  your  blades  with 'massacre  so  mean; 
There  rests  the  CALIHH — speed — one  luchy  lance 
Way  now  achieve  mankind's  deliverance  !  ' 
Desperate  the  die — such  as  they  only  cast, 
Who  venture  for  a  world,  and  stake  their  last. 
But  Fate  s  no  longer  with  him — blade  for  blade 
Springs  up  to  meet  them  through  the  glimmering  slwde. 
And,  as  the  cla.-h  is  heard,  new  legions  soon 
Pour  to  the  spot, — like  bees  of  KAUZKROON* 
To  the  shrill  timbrel  s  summons, — till,  at  length, 
The  mighty  camp  swarms  out  in  ail  its  strength, 
And  back  to  NKKSIIKB  s  gates,  covering  the  plain 
With  random  slaughter, drives  the  adventurous  train 
Among  the  last  of  whom,  the  Silver  \\--.[ 
Is  seen  glittering  at  times,  l,ke  the  white  sail 
Of  some  toss  d  vessel,  on  a  stormy  night, 
Catching  the  tempest  s  moim-maiy  ligi.t ! 

And  hath  not  this  brought  the  proud  spirit  low? 
Nor  dash  d  his  brow,  nor  check  d  his  daring  ?  No. 
Though  half  the  wretches,.whom  at  night  he  led 
To  thrones  and  victory,  l,e  disgrac  d  and  dead, 
Yet  morning  hears  him,  with  unshrinking  cn'st, 
St.ll  vaunt  of  thrones,  and  victory  to  the  rest. 
And  they  believed  him  ! — oh,  the  lover  may 
Distrust  that  look  which  steals  his  soul  away ; — 
The  babe  may  cease  to  think  that  it  can  play 
VV  ith  heaven  s  rainbow  ; — alchymisls  may  doubt 
The  shinmg  gold  their  cruc.ble  gives  out ; 
But  Faith,  fanatic  Faith,  once  wedded  fast 
To  some  dear  falsehood,  hugs  it  to  the  last. 


1  The  Shprhinah,  called   Sakinat  in  the   Koran.— See 

-  Thu  part*  of  the  night  are  made  known  an  wdl  by  in- 
itruini'iits  of  music,  a.*  liy  the  rounds  ol  the  wuirfi'i.rn  With 
•id  -  :i:i  I  Mmill  drums.— Sec  tjurdir'tl  Oriental  CugLumi 

m\.  ii.  p.  mi. 

"Tlir  SiTrnpurda,  higli  s<  r.'.  ns  of  red  rlo'h,  MifT>-ntx? 
.vith  runt,  imircl  lo  inclose  :t  rmi>:ili-raUle  Hpace  round  Unj 
oynl  tent*."— JfottM  an  tkr  Kalnirdarux/i. 

4  "From  th.'  grciv.--  of  Oriinge  ini>«  »t  Kn-i7nro«-n,  di« 
xet  cull  a  celebrated  hon«v." — .i/onc.r'*  Tram-it 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


And  well  th'  Impostor  knew  all  lures  and  arts, 
That  LUCIFER  e  er  taught  to  tangle  hearts  ; 
Nor,  mid  these  last  bold  workings  of  his  plot 
Against  men's  souls,  is  ZELICA  forgot. 
Ill-fated  ZELICA  !  had  reason  been 
Awake,  through  half  the  horrors  thou  hast  seen, 
Thou  never  rould  st  have  borne  it — Death  had  com 
At  once  and  taken  thy  wrung  spirit  home. 
But  'twas  not  so — a  torpor,  a  suspense 
Of  thought  ilmost  of  life,  came  o'er  th'  intense 
And  passionate  struggles  of  that  fearful  night, 
When  her  last  hope  of  peace  and  heav'n  took  flight 
And  though,  at  times,  a  gleam  of  frenzy  broke, — 
As  through  some  dull  volcano's  veil  of  smoke 
Ominous  flashings  now  and  then  will  start, 
Which  show  the  tire  's  still  busy  at  its  heart ; 
i'et  was  she  mostly  wrapp'd  in  sullen  gloom,— 
Not  such  as  AZIM'S,  brooding  o'er  its  doom, 
And  calm  without,  as  is  the  brow  of  death, 
While  busy  worms  are  gnawing  underneath  ! — 
But  in  a  blank  and  pulseless  torpor,  free 
From  thought  or  pain,  a  seal'd  up  apathy, 
Which  letl  her  oft,  with  scarce  one  living  thrill, 
The  cold,  pale  victim  of  her  torturer's  will. 

Again,  as  in  MEROU,  he  had  her  deck'd 
Gorgeously  out,  the  Priestess  of  the  sect ; 
And  led  her  glittering  forth  before  the  eyes 
Of  his  rude  train,  as  to  a  sacrifice ; 
Pallid  as  she,  the  youtg,  devoted  Bride 
Of  the  fierce  NILE,  when,  deck'd  in  all  the  pride 
Of  nuptial  pomp,  she  sinks  into  his  tide !' 
And  while  the  wretched  maid  hung  down  her  head, 
And  stood,  as  one  just  risen  from  the  dead, 
Amid  that  gazing  crowd,  the  fiend  would  tell 
His  credulous  slaves  it  was  some  charm  or  spell 
Posspss'd  her  now, — and  from  that  darken'd  trance 
Should  dawn  ere  long  their  Faith's  deliverance. 
Or  if,  at  times,  goaded  by  guilty  shame, 
Her  soul  was  rous'd,  and  words  of  wildness  came, 
Instant  the  bold  blasphemer  would  translate 
Her  ravings  into  oracles  of  fate, 
Would  hail  Heav'n's  signals  in  her  flashing  eyes, 
And  call  her  shrieks  the  language  of  the  skies  ! 

But  vain  at  length  his  arts — despair  is  seen 
Gathering  around  ;  and  famine  comes  to  glean 
All  that  the  sword  had  left  unreap'd: — in  vain 
At  morn  and  eve  across  the  northern  plain 
He  looks  impatient  for  the  promis'd  spears 
Of  the  wild  hordes  and  TARTAR  mountaineers. 
They  come  not — while  his  fierce  beleaguerers  pour 
Engines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before, 
And  horrible  as  new  ;2 — javelins,  that  fly 
Enwreath'd  with  smoky  llames  through  the  dark  sky, 
And  red-hot  globes,  that,  opening  as  they  mount, 
Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  Naptha  fount, 
Showers  of  a  consuming  fire  o'er  all  below ; 
Looking,  as  through  th*  illumin'd  night  they  go, 


Like  those  wild  birds'  that  by  the  Magians,  oft, 
At  festivals  of  fire,  were  sent  aloft 
Into  the  air,  with  blazing  faggots  tied 
To  their  huge  wings,  scattering  combustion  wide ' 
All  night,  the  groans  of  wretches  who  expire, 
In  agony,  beneath  these  darts  of  fire, 
Ring  through  the  city — while,  descending  o'er 
Its  shrines  and  domes  and  streets  of  sycamore  :- 
Its  lone  bazaars,  with  their  bright  cloths  of  gold, 
Since  the  last  peaceful  pageant  left  unroll'd  ; — 
Its  beauteous  marble  baths,  whose  idle  jets 
Now  gush  with  blood  ; — and  its  tall  minarets, 
That  late  have  stood  up  in  the  evening  glare 
Of  the  red  sun,  unhallow'd  by  a  prayer ; — 
O'er  each,  in  turn,  the  dreadful  flame-bolts  fall, 
And  death  and  conflagration  throughout  all 
The  desolate  city  hold  high  festival! 

MOKANNA  sees  the  world  is  his  no  more ; — 
One  sting  at  parting,  and  his  grasp  is  o'er. 
"  What !   drooping  now  1" — thus,   with   unblushing 

cheek, 

He  hails  the  few,  who  yet  can  hear  him  speak, 
Of  all  those  famish'd  slaves,  around  him  lying, 
And  by  the  light  of  blazing  temples  dying ; — 
'  What !  drooping  now  ? — now,  when  at  length  we 

press 

Home  o'er  the  very  threshold  of  success ; 
When  ALLA  from  our  ranks  hath  thinn'd  away 
Those  grosser  branches,  that  kept  out  his  ray 

favour  from  us,  and  we  stand  at  length 
Heirs  of  his  light  and  children  of  his  strength, 
The  chosen  few  who  shall  survive  the  fall 
Of  kings  and  thrones,  triumphant  over  all ! 
rlave  you  then  lost,  weak  murmurers  as  you  are, 

faith  in  him,  who  was  your  Light,  your  Star  ? 
lave  you  forgot  the  eye  of  glory,  hid 
3eneath  this  Veil,  the  flashing  of  whose  lid 
ould,  like  a  sun-stroke  of  the  desert,  wither 
Millions  of  such  as  yonder  Chief  brings  hither  ? 
^ong  have  its  lightnings  slept — too  long — but  now 
Ml  earth  shall  feel  th*  unveiling  of  this  brow  ! 
To-night — yes,  sainted  men  !  This  very  night, 
bid  you  all  to  a  fair  festal  rite, 
Where,  having  deep  refresh'd  each  weary  limb 
With  viands  such  as  feast  Heaven's  cherubim, 
And  kindled  up  your  souls,  now  sunk  and  dim, 

h  that  pure  wine  the  dark-ey'd  maids  above 
Veep,  seal'd  with  precious  musk,  for   those   ihey 

love,2 — 

will  myself  uncurtain  in  your  sight 
'he  wonders  of  this  brow's  ineffable  light ; 
'hen  lead  you  forth,  and  with  a  wink  disperse 
Ton  myriads,  howling  through  the  universe  !" 

Eager  they  listen — while  each  accent  darts 
Vew  life  into  their  chill'd  and  hope-sick  hearts ; — 
such  treacherous  life  as  the  cool  draught  supplies 
'o  him  upon  the  stake,  who  drinks  and  dies  ! 


1  "  A  custom  still  subsisting  at  this  (lay,  seems  to  me  to 

prove  that  I  ho  KL')  p'ian-;  formerly  s;icrii;ced  a  vui:ii_'  vii^'in 
to  tlie  god  of  the  Nile  ;  for  they  now  m:ikr  n  <t;mie  of  earth 
in  sliapi!  of  a  girl,  to  which  they  give  the  nnme  of  the  Be- 
trothed Bride,  and  throw  it  into  the  river." — .S»r«n;. 

2  The  Greek   tire,  which  was  occasionally   lent  by  the 
Emperor?  to  their  allies.     "  It  was,"  says  Gibbon,  "cither 
launched  in  red-hot  balls  of  stone  and  iron,  or  darted  in 
arrow-*  and  javelins,  twisted  round  with  flax  and  tow,  which 
had  deeply  imbibed  the  inflammable  oil." 


1  "At  the  great  festival  of  fire,  called  the  Sheb  Seze, 
it'v  u-i'd  to  set  fire  to  large  bunches  of  dry  combustibles, 
'.stened  round  wMd  beasts  and  birds,  which  being  then  let 
>ose,  the  air  and  earth  appeared  one  great  illumination  : 
nd  as  these  terrified  creatures  naturally  fled  to  the  wood 

r  shelter,  it  is  easy  to  conceive  the  conflagrations  they 
roduced." — Richards  nit's  Dissertation. 

"2  "The  righteous  shall  be  given  to  drink  ot  pure  wine 
:aled ;  the  seal  whereof  shall  be  musk." — Koran,  chan 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Wildly  they  point  their  lances  to  the  light 
Of  the  fast-sinking  sun,  and  shout  "to-night !" — 
"  Te-night,"  their  Chief  re-echoes,  in  a  voice 
Of  fiend-like  mockery  that  bids  hell  rejoice  ! 
Deluded  victims — never  hath  this  earth 
Seen  mourning  half  so  mournful  as  their  mirth ! 
Here,  to  the  few,  whose  iron  frames  had  stood 
This  racking  waste  of  famine  and  of  blood, 
Faint,  dying  wretches  clung,  from  whom  the  shout 
Of  triumph  like  a  maniac's  laugh  broke  out ; — 
There,  others,  lighted  by  the  smouldering  fire, 
Danc'd,  like  wan  ghosts  about  a  funeral  pyre, 
Among  the  dead  and  dying,  strew'd  around ; — 
While  some  pale  wretch  look'd  on,  and  from  his  wounc 
Plucking  the  fiery  dart  by  which  he  bled, 
In  ghastly  transport  wav'd  it  o'er  his  head  ! 

'Twas  more  than  midnight  now — a  fearful  pause 
Had  fullow'd  the  long  shouts,  the  wild  applause, 
That  lately  from  those  royal  gardens  burst, 
Where  the  Veil'd  demon  held  his  feast  accurst, 
When  ZELICA — alas,  poor  ruin'd  heart, 
In  every  horror  doom'd  to  bear  its  part ! — 
Was  bidden  to  the  banquet  by  a  slave, 
Who,  while  his  quivering  lip  the  summons  gave, 
Grew  black,  as  though  the  shadows  of  the  grave 
Compass'd  him  round,  and,  ere  he  could  repeat 
His  message  through,  fell  lifeless  at  her  feet ! 
Shuddering  she  went — a  soul-felt  pang  of  fear, 
A  presage  that  her  own  dark  doom  was  near, 
Rons'd  every  feeling,  and  brought  Reason  back 
Once  more,  to  writhe  her  last  upon  the  rack. 
All  round  seem'd  tranquil — e'en  the  foe  had  ceas'd, 
As  if  aw-j'e  of  that  demoniac  feast, 
His  fiery  bolts ;  and  though  the  heavens  look'd  red, 
'Twas  but  some  distant  conflagration's  spread 
But  hark  ! — she  stops — she  listens — dreadful  tone ! 
Tis  her  tormentor's  laugh — and  now,  a  groan, 
A  long  death-groan  comes  with  it — can  this  be 
The  ptace  of  mirth,  the  bower  of  revelry? 
She  enters.    Holy  ALLA,  what  a  sight 
Was  there  before  her !     By  the  glimmering  light 
Of  the  pale  dawn,  mix'd  with  the  flare  of  brands 
That  round  lay  burning,  dropp  d  from  lifeless  hands, 
She  taw  the  board,  in  splendid  mockery  spread, 
Rich  censers  breathing — garlands  overhead, — 
The  urns,  the  cups,  from  which  they  late  had  quafTd, 
All  goW  and  gems,  but— what  had  been  the  draught? 
Oh !  who  need  ask,  that  saw  those  livid  guests, 
With  their  swell  n  heads  sunk,  blackening,  on  their 

breasts, 

Or  looking  pale  to  Heaven  with  glassy  glare, 
A»  if  tfwy  sought  but  saw  no  mercy  there ; 
As  if  they  felt,  though  poison  rack  d  them  through, 
R'-morse  the  deadlier  torment  of  die  two  ! 
While  some,  the  bravest,  hardiest  in  the  train 
Of  th.-ir  fiilse  Chief,  who  on  the  battle-plain 
Would  have  met  death  with  transport  by  his  side, 
Here  mute  and  helpless  gasp'd ;— but  as  they  died, 
Look'd  horrible  vengeance  with  thei%eyes'  last  strain, 
And  clench'd  the  slackening  hand  at  him  in  vain. 

Dreadful  it  was  to  see  the  ghastly  stare, 
The  stony  look  of  horror  and  despair, 
Which  some  of  these  expiring  victims  cast 
Upon  thuir  soul's  tormentor  to  lhe4ast; 


Upon  that  mocking  Fiend,  whose  Veil,  now  rais'd, 

Show'd  them,  as  in  death's  agony  they  gaz'd, 

Not  the  longpromisd  light,  the  brow,  whose  beaming 

Was  to  come  forth,  all  conquering,  all  redeeming ; 

But  features  horribler  than  Hell  e  er  trac  d 

On  its  own  brood ; — no  Demon  of  the  Waste,1 

No  church-yard  Ghole,  caught  lingering  in  the  light 

Of  the  bless  d  sun,  e'er  blasted  human  sight 

With  lineaments  so  foul,  so  fierce  as  those 

Th'  Impostor  now,  in  grinning  mockery,  shows. — 

"There,  ye  wise   Saints,  behold   your  Light,  your 

Star, — 

Ye  would  be  dupes  and  victims,  and  ye  are. 
Is  it  enough  ?  or  must  I,  while  a  thrill 
Laves  in  your  sapient  bosoms,  cheat  you  still  7 
Swear  that  the  burning  death  ye  feel  within, 
[s  but  the  trance  with  which  Heav'n's  joys  begin ; 
That  this  foul  visage,  foul  as  e'er  disgrac  d 
E  en  monstrous  man,  is — after  God's  own  taste; 
And  that — but  see  !— ere  I  have  half-way  said 
My  greetings  through,  th'  uncourteous  souls  are  fled. 
Farewell,  sweet  spirits  !  not  in  vain  ye  die, 
f  EBLIS  loves  you  half  so  well  as  I. — 
la,  my  young  bride  ! — 'tis  well — take  thou  thy  seat ; 
Vay  come — no  shuddering — didst  thou  never  meet 
The  dead  before  ? — they  grac  d  our  wedding,  sweet , 
And  these,  my  guests  to-night,  have  brimm  d  so  true 
Their  parting  cups,  that  thou  shall  pledge  one  too. 
Jut — how  is  this  ? — all  empty  ?  all  drunk  up  ? 
lot  lips  have  been  before  thee  in  the  cup, 
foung  bride, — yet  stay — one  precious  drop  remains, 
nough  to  warm  a  gentle  Priestess'  veins  ; — 
lere,  drink — and  should  thy  lover's  conquering  arms 
'•'peed  hither,  ere  thy  lip  lose  all  its  charms, 
Jive  him  but  half  this  venom  in  thy  kiss, 
Ajid  1 11  forgive  my  haughty  rivals  bliss  ! 

"  For  me — I  too  must  die — but  not  like  these 
ile,  rankling  things,  to  fester  in  the  breeze ; 
'o  have  this  brow  in  ruffian  triumph  shown, 
Vith  all  death's  grimness  added  to  its  own, 
.nd  rot  to  dust  beneath  the  taunting  eyes, 
)f  slaves,  exclaiming  'There  his  Godship  lies  !' — 
"to — cursed  race — since  first  my  soul  drew  breath, 
'hey've  been  my  dupes,  and  shall  be,  even  in  death 

~"hou  see'st  yon  cistern  in  the  shade — 'tis  fill'd 
Vith  burning  drugs,  for  this  last  hour  distill'd  ; 
'here  will  I  plunge  me,  in  that  liquid  flume — 

""it  bath  to  lave  a  dying  Prophet's  frame ! 
"here  perish,  all — ere  pulse  of  thine  shall  fail — 
STor  leave  one  limb  to  tell  mankind  the  tale. 
o  shall  my  votaries,  wheresoe'er  they  rave, 
roclaim  that  Heav'n  took  back  the  Saint  it  gave ; — 
'hat  I've  but  vanish'd  from  this  earth  awhile, 
'o  come  again,  with  bright,  unshrouded  smile  ! 
o  shall  they  build  me  altars  in  their  zeal, 
There  knaves  shall  minister,  and  fools  shall  kneel ; 
There  Faith  may  mutter  o'er  her  mystic  spell, 
-"ritten  in  blood — and  Bigotry  may  swell 
"he  sail  he  spreads  for  Heaven  with  blasts  from  Hell ! 


1  "The  Afghanns  believe  each  of  the  numerous  solitude* 

rtt  D!' tlieir  country,  lo  be  inhabited  by  a  lonely 

•rnon,  whom  they  call  the  Gboolee  Beeabau,  or  Spirit  of 

.     They  often  illustrate  the  wildneM  of  any  se 

:.-,!. T-<1  tiiU',  by  s-nying,  they  are  wiid  as  the  Durnoa  of 
e  Waste." — E!f /tinstone's  (Jaubul. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


So  shall  my  banner,  through  long  ages,  be 
The  rallying  sign  of  fraud  and  anarchy ; — 
Kings  yet  unborn  shall  rue  MOKAXXA'S  name, 
And,  though  I  die,  my  spirit,  still  the  same, 
Shall  walk  abroad  in  all  the  stormy  strife, 
And  guilt,  and  blood,  that  were  its  bliss  in  life ! 
But  hark  !  their  battering  engine  shakes  the  wall — 
Why,  /</  it  shnke — thus  1  can  brave  them  all : 
No  trace  of  me  shall  greet  them,  when  they  come, 
And  I  can  trust  thy  faith,  for — thou'lt  be  dumb. 
Now  mark  how  readily  a  wretch  like  me, 
In  one  bold  plunge,  commences  Deity  !" 

He  sprung  and  sunk,  as  the  last  words  were 'said — 
Quick  clos'd  the  burning  waters  o  er  his  head, 
And  ZELICA  was  left — within  the  ring 
Of  those  wide  walls  the  only  living  thing; 
The  only  wretched  one,  still  curst  with  breath, 
[n  all  that  frightful  wilderness  of  death  ! 
More  like  some  bloodless  ghost, — such  as,  they  tell, 
In  the  lone  Cities  of  the  Silent1  dwell, 
And  there,  unseen  of  all  but  ALLA,  sit 
Each  by  its  own  pale  carcass,  watching  it. 

But  morn  is  up,  and  a  fresh  warfare  stirs 
Throughout  the  camp  of  the  beleaguerers. 
Their  globes  of  fire,  (the  dread  artillery,  lent 
By  GREECE  to  conquering  MAHADI,)  are  spent; 
And  now  the  scorpion's  shaft,  the  quarry  sent 
From  high  balistas,  and  the  shielded  throng 
Of  soldiers  swinging  the  huge  ram  along, — 
All  speak  th'  impatient  Islamite's  intent 
To  try,  at  length,  if  tower  and  battlement 
And  bastion'd  wall  be  not  less  hard  to  win, 

rich  to  break  down  than  the  hearts  within. 
First  in  impatience  and  in  toil  is  he, 
The  burning  AZIM — oh !  could  he  but  see 
Th'  Impostor  once  alive  within  his  grasp, 
Not  the  gaunt  lion's  hug,  nor  Boa's  clasp, 
Could  match  the  gripe  of  vengeance,  or  keep  pace 
With  the  fell  heartiness  of  Hate's  embrace  ! 

Loud  rings  the  pond'rous  ram  against  the  walls ; 
Now  shake  the  ramparts,  now  a  buttress  falls ; 
But  still  no  breach — "  once  more,  one  mighty  swing 
Of  all  your  beams,  together  thundering!" 
There — the  wall  shakes — the  shouting  troops  exult — 
"Quick,  quick  discharge  your  weightiest  catapult 
Right  on  that  spot, — and  NEKSHEB  is  our  own!" — 
'Tis  done — the  battlements  come  crashing  down, 
And  the  huge  wall,  by  that  stroke  riv'n  in  two, 
Yawning,  like  some  old  crater,  rent  anew, 
Shows  the  dim,  desolate  city  smtfking  through ! 
But  strange  !  no  signs  of  life — nought  living  seen 
Above,  below     what  can  this  stillness  mean  ? 
A  minute's  pause  suspends  all  hearts  and  eyes — 
"In  through  the  breach,'*  impetuous  AZIM  cries; 
But  the  cool  CALIPH,  fearful  of  some  wile 
In  this  blank  stillness,  checks  the  troops  awhile. — 
Just  then,  a  figure,  with  slow  step,  advanc'd 
Furt h  from  the  ruin'd  walls ;  and,  as  there  glanc'd 
A  sunbeam  over  it,  all  eyes  could  see 
The  well-known  Silver  Veil !— "  'Tis  He,  'tis  He, 


1  "They  have  all  a  groat  reverence  for  burial-grounds, 
which  they  sometimes  call  by  the  poetical  name  of  Cities 
at  the  Silent,  and  which  they  people  with  the  "hosts  of  the 
departed,  who  sit  each  at  the  head  of  his  own  grave,  invisi- 
»le  to  mortal  eyes."—  Elphinstone. 


MOKANNA,  and  alone !"  they  shout  around ; 
Young  AZIM  from  his  steed  springs  to  the  ground — 
"  Mine,  Holy  Caliph !  mine,"  He  cries,  "  the  task 
To  crush  yon  daring  wretch — 'tis  all  I  ask." 
Eager  he  darts  to  meet  the  demon  foe, 
Who  still  across  wide  heaps  of  ruin  slow 
And  falteringly  comes,  till  they  are  near ; 
Then,  with  a  bound,  rushes  on  AZIM'S  speai , 
And,  casting  off  the  Veil  in  falling,  shows — 
Oh ! — 'tis  his  ZELICA'S  life-blood  that  flows  ! 

"  I  meant  not,  AZIM,"  soothingly  she  said, 
As  on  his  trembling  arm  she  lean'd  her  head, 
And,  looking  in  his  face,  saw  anguish  there 
Beyond  all  wounds  the  quivering  flesh  can  beai-- 
"  I  meant  not  thou  should'st  have  the  pain  of  thw , — 
Though  death,  with  thee  thus  tasted,  is  a  bliss 
Thou  would'st  not  rob  me  of,  didst  thou  but  know 
How  oft  I've  pray'd  to  God  I  might  die  so  ! 
But  the  Fiend's  venom  was  too  scant  and  slow  ; — 
To  linger  on  were  maddening — and  I  thought 
If  once  that  Veil — nay,  look  not  on  it — caught 
The  eyes  of  your  fierce  soldiery,  I  should  be 
Struck  by  a  thousand  death-darts  instantly. 
But  this  is  sweeter — oh !  believe  me,  yes — 
I  would  not  change  this  sad,  but  dear  caress, 
This  death  within  thy  anns  I  would  not  give 
For  the  most  smiling  life  the  happiest  live ! 
All,  that  stood  dark  and  drear  before  the  eye 
Of  my  stray'd  soul,  is  passing  swiftly  by ; 
A  light  comes  o'er  me,  from  those  looks  of  love. 
Like  the  first 'dawn  of  mercy  from  above ; 
And  if  thy  lips  but  tell  me  I'm  forgiv'n, 
Angels  will  echo  the  blest  words  in  heaven ! 
But  live,  my  AZIM  ; — oh!  to  call  thee  mine 
Thus  once  again  !  my  AZIM — dream  divine  ! 
Live,  if  thou  ever  lov'dst  me,  if  to  meet 
Thy  ZELICA  hereafter  would  be  sweet, 
Oh  live  to  pray  for  her — to  bend  the  knee 
Morning  and  night  before  that  Deity, 
To  whom  pure  lips  and  hearts  without  a  stain, 
As  thine  are,  AZIM,  never  breath'd  in  vain, 
And  pray  that  he  may  pardon  her, — may  take 
Compassion  on  her  soul  for  thy  dear  sake, 
And,  nought  remembering  but  her  love  to  thee, 
Make  her  all  thine,  all  His,  eternally ! 
(Jo  to  those  happy  fields  where  first  we  twin'd 
Our  youthful  hearts  together — every  wind, 
That  meets  thee  there,  fresh  from  the  well-kno*j; 

flowers, 

Will  bring  the  sweetness  of  those  innocent  hours 
Back  to  thy  soul,  and  thou  may'st  feel  again 
For  thy  poor  ZELICA  as  thou  did'st  then. 
So  shall  thy  orisons,  like  dew  that  flies 
To  heav'n  upon  the  morning's  sunshine,  rise 
With  all  love's  earliest  ardour  to  the  skies  ! 
And  should  they — but  alas !  my  senses  fail — 
Oh  for  one  minute ! — should  thy  prayers  prevail — 
If  pardon'd  souls  may  from  that  World  of  Bliss 
Reveal  their  joy  to  those  they  love  in  this, — 
I'll  come  to  thee — in  some  sweet  dream — and  toll — 
Oh  heaven — I  die — dear  love!  farewell,  farewell." 

Time  fleeted — years  on  years  had  pass'd  away 
And  few  of  those  who,  on  that  mournful  day, 
Had  stood,  with  pity  in  their  eyes,  to  see 
The  maiden's  death,  and  the  youth's  agony, 


.MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Weie  living  still — when,  by  a  rustic  grave 

Beside  the  swift  Amoo's  transparent  wave, 

An  aged  man,  wno  nad  grown  aged  there 

By  that  Jone  grave,  morning  and  night  in  prayer, 

For  the  last  time  knelt  down — and,  though  the  shade 

Of  death  hung  darkening  over  him,  there  play'd 

A  gleam  of  rapture  on  his  eye  and  cheek, 

That  briglten'd  even  Death — like  the  last  streak 

Of  intense  glory  on  th'  horizon's  brim, 

When  night  o'er  all  the  rest  hangs  chill  and  dim. 

His  soul  had  seen  a  vision,  while  he  slept ; 

She,  for  whose  spirit  he  had  pray'd  and  wept 

So  many  years,  had  come  to  him,  all  drest 

In  angel's  smiles,  and  told  him  she  was  blest ! 

For  this  the  old  man  breath'd  his  thanks,  and  died, — 

And  there,  ypon  the  banks  of  that  lov'd  tide, 

lie  and  his  Z^LICA  sleep  side  by  side. 


THE  story  of  the  Veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan 
being  ended,  they  were  now  doomed  to  hear  FADLA- 
IIKKN'S  criticisms  upon  it.  A  series  of  disappoint- 
ments and  accidents  had  occurred  to  this  learned 
Chamberlain  during  the  journey.  In  the  first  place, 
ihose  couriers  stationed,  as  in  the  reign  of  Shah 
Jehan,  between  Delhi  and  the  Western  coast  of 
India,  to  secure  a  constant  supply  of  mangoes  for  the 
royal  table,  had,  by  some  cruel  irregularity,  failed 
in  their  duty;  and  to  eat  any  mangoes,  but  those  of 
Mazagong  was,  of  course,  impossible.  In  the  next 
place,  the  elephant,  laden  with  his  fine  antique  porce- 
lain, had,  in  an  unusual  fit  of  liveliness,  shattered  the 
whole  set  to  pieces : — an  irreparable  loss,  as  many  of 


patched."  He  then  proceeded  to  analy/e  the  poem; 
in  that  strain,  (so  well  known  to  the  unfortunate  bards 
of  Delhi,)  whose  censures  were  an  infliction  from 
which  few  recovered,  and  whose  very  praises  were  like 
the  honey  extracted  from  the  bitter  flowers  of  the 
aloe.  The  chief  personages  of  the  story  were,  if  he 
rightly  understood  them,  an  ill-favoured  gfiiticin  in, 
with  a  veil  over  his  face ; — n  voung  lady,  \vh 
son  went  and  came  according  as  it  suited  the  poet's 
convenience  to  be  sensible  or  otherwise ; — and  a 
youth  in  one  of  those  hideous  Bucharian  bonnets, 
who  took  the  aforesaid  gentleman  in  a  veil  for  a  Di- 
vinity. "  From  such  materials,"  said  he,  "  what  can 
be  expected  ? — after  rivalling  each  other  in  long 
speeches  and  absurdities,  through  some  thousands  of 
lines,  as  indigestible  as  the  filberds  of  Bcrdau,ourfriend 
in  the  veil  jumps  into  a  tub  of  aquafortis  ;  the  young 
lady  dies  in  a  set  speech,  whose  only  recommendation 
is  that  it  is  her  last ;  and  the  lover  lives  on  to  a  good 
old  age,  for  the  laudable  purpose  of  seeing  her  ghost, 
which  he  at  last  happily  accomplishes  and  expires. 
This,  you  will  allow,  is  a  fair  summary  of  the  story ; 
and  if  Nasser,  the  Arabian  merchant,  told  no  better, 
our  Holy  Prophet  (to  whom  be  all  honour  and  glory  !) 
had  no  need  to  be  jealous  of  his  abilities  for  story 
telling."1 

With  respect  to  the  style,  it  was  worthy  of  the  mat 
ter ; — it  had  not  even  those  politic  contrivances  of 
structure,  which  make  up  for  the  commonness  of  the 
thoughts  by  the  peculiarity  of  the  manner,  nor  thai 
stately  poetical  phraseology  by  which  sentiments, 
mean  in  themselves,  like  the  blacksmith's-1  apron 
converted  into  a  banner,  are  so  easily  gilt  and  em- 
broidered into  consequence.  Then,  as  to  the  versifi- 
cation, it  was,  to  say  no  worse  of  it,  execrable  :  it  had 


the  vessels  were  so  exquisitely  old  as  to  have  been   neither  the  copious  flow  of  Ferdosi,  the  sweetness  of 
used  under  the  Emperors  Yan  and  Chun,  who  reigned   Hafez,  nor  the  sententious  march  of  !Sadi  •  but  ap- 


many  ages  before  the  dynasty  of  Tang.  His  Koran 
too.  supposed  to  be  the  identical  copy  between  the 
.eaves  of  which  Mahomet's  favourite  pigeon  used  to 
nestle,  had  been  mislaid  by  his  Koran-bearer  three 
whole  days;  not  without  much  spiritual  alarm  to 
FAULADEEN,  who,  though  professing  to  hold,  with 
other  loyal  and  orthodox  Mussulmans,  that  salvation 
could  only  be  found  in  the  Koran,  was  strongly  sus- 
pected of  believing  in  his  heart,  that  it  could  only  be 
found  in  his  own  particular  copy  of  it.  When  to  all 
rhe»e  grievances  is  added  the  obstinacy  of  the  cooks, 
in  putting  the  pepper  of  Canara  into  his  dishes  in- 
stead of  the  cinnamon  of  Serendib,  we  may  easily 
•upposo  that  he  came  to  the  task  of  criticism  with,  at 
least,  a  sufficient  degree  of  irritability  for  the  purpose. 
"  In  order,"  said  he,  importantly  swinging  about  his 
chaplet  of  pearls,  "to  convey  with  clearness  my 
opinion  of  the  story  this  young  man  has  related,  it  is 
ueeewiry  to  take  a  review  of  all  the  stories  that  have 
sver— "  My  good  FADI.ADEEN  !"  exclaimed  the  Prin- 
=es«,  interrupting  him,  "  we  really  do  not  deserve  that 
you  should  give  yourself  so  much  trouble.  Your 
opinion  of  the  poem  we  have  just  heard,  will,  I  have 
no  doubt,  be  abundantly  edifying,  without  any  further 
waste  of  your  valuable  erudition."  "  If  that  be  all  " 
replied  the  critic,— evidently  mortified  at  not  being 
allowed  to  show  how  much  he  knew  about  every 

thing  but  the  subject  immediately  before  him "  If 

thai  bo  all  that  is  required,  the  matter  is  easily  des- 


peared  to  him,  in  the  uneasy  heaviness  of  its  move- 
ments, to  have  been  modelled  upon  the  gait  of  a  very 
tired  dromedary.  -  The  licenses  too  in  which  it  in- 
dulged were  unpardonable; — for  instance  tliis  line,  and 
the  poem  abounded  with  such ; — 

Like  the  faint,  exquisite  music  of  a  dream. 

"What  critic  that  can  count,"  said  FADLADKE.V, 
"and  has  his  full  complement  of  lingers  to  count 
withal,  would  tolerate  for  an  instant  such  syllabic  su- 
perfluities ?" — He  here  looked  round  and  discovered 
that  most  of  his  audience  were  asleep;  while  the 
glimmering  lamps  seemed  inclined  to  follow  their 
example.  It  became  necessary,  therefore,  however 
painful  to  himself,  to  put  an  end  to  his  valuable  ani 
madversions  for  the  present,  and  he  accordingly  con- 
cluded, with  an  air  of  dignilied  candour,  thus  :  "  Not- 
withstanding the  observations  which  I  have  thought 
it  my  duty  to  make,  it  is  by  no  means  my  wish  to  dis 
courage  the  young  man  :  so  far  from  it,  indeed,  that 
if  he  will  but  totally  alter  his  style  of  writing  and 


1  I.a  lecture  de   c.-s  Fables  plaisait  si   fort  aux  Arahes, 
nd  .Mahomet   les  ciitit'iciiail  de  I'llisloire  de   I'.An- 

.    ii.»    les   mepi  isaient,  lui   disanl   ';'. 
•  r    leiir    racoulait    rtaient    heau<-oup    plus  licllcs. 


arnra  a  .Vi.-?.T  la  mule  lictiou  de  Mahomet 


et  de  tous  scs  di.-ciples. — />' Hcrbelot. 

•-'  'I'l  •  lilacksmith  Gao,  who  successfully  resisted  the 
tyrant  /uliuk,  and  wlio*e  apron  became  the  Kuyal  f-'andard 
>il'  I'eriia. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


JmnKing,  I  have  very  little  donbt  that  I  shall  be  vastly 
pleased  with  him." 

Some  days  elapsed,  after  this  harangue  of  the  Great 
Chamberlain,  before  LALLA  ROOKH  could  venture  to 
ask  for  another  story.  The  youth  was  still  a  wel- 
come guest  in  the  pavilion ;  to  one  heart,  perhaps  too 
dangerously  welcome — but  all  mention  of  poetry  was, 
as  if  by  common  consent,  avoided.  Though  none  of 
the  party  had  much  respect  for  FADLADKEN,  yet  his 
censures,  thus  magisterially  delivered,  evidently  made 
an  impression  on  them  all.  The  Poet  himself,  to 
whom  criticism  was  quite  a  new  operation,  (being 
wholly  unknown  in  that  Paradise  of  the  Indies,  Cash- 
mere,/ felt  the  shock  as  it  is  generally  felt  at  first,  till 
use  has  made  it  more  tolerable  to  the  patient ; — the 
ladies  began  to  suspect  that  they  ought  not  to  be 
pleased,  and  seemed  to  Conclude  that  there  must  have 
been  much  good  sense  in  what  FADLADEEN  said, 
from  its  having  set  them  all  so  soundly  to  sleep; — 
while  the  self-complacent  Chamberlain  was  left  to 
triumph  in  the  idea  of  having,  for  the  hundred  and 
fiftieth  time  in  his  life,  extinguished  a  Poet.  LALLA 
ROOKH  alone — and  Love  knew  why — persisted  in 
being  delighted  with  all  she  had  heard,  and  in  resolv- 
ing to  hear  more  as  speedily  as  possible.  Her  man- 
ner, however,  of  first  returning  to  the  subject  was 
unlucky.  It  was  while  they  rested  during  the  heat 
of  noon  near  a  fountain,  on  which  some  hand  had 
rudely  traced  those  well-known  words  from  the 
Garden  of  Sadi, — "  Many,  like  me,  have  viewed  this 
fountain,  but  they  are  gone,  and  their  eyes  are  closed 
for  ever  !" — that  she  took  occasion,  from  the  melan- 
choly beauty  of  this  passage,  to  dwell  upon  the  charms 
of  poetry  in  general.  "  It  is  true,"  she  said,  "  few 
poets  can  imitate  that  sublime  bird,  which  flies  al- 
ways in  the  air,  and  never  touches  the  earth;1 — it  is 
only  once  in  many  ages  a  Genius  appears,  whose 
words,  like  those  on  the  Written  Mountain,  last  for 
ever : — but  still  there  are  some,  as  delightful  perhaps, 
though  not  so  wonderful,  who,  if  not  stars  over  our 
head,  are  at  least  flowers  along  our  path,  and  whose 
sweetness  of  the  moment  we  ought  gratefully  to  in- 
hale, without  calling  upon  them  for  a  brightness  and 
a  durability  beyond  their  nature.  In  short,"  continued 
she,  blushing,  as  if  conscious  of  being  caught  in  an 
oration,  "  it  is  quite  cruel  that  a  poet  cannot  wander 
through  his  regions  of  enchantment,  without  having  a 
critic  for  ever,  like  the  old  Man  of  the  sea,  upon  his 
back."- — FADLADKKN,  it  was  plain,  took  this  last 
luckless  allusion  to  himself,  and  would  treasure  it  up 
in  his  mind  as  a  whetstone  for  his  next  criticism.  A 
sudden  silence  ensued  ;  and  the  Princess,  glancing  a 
look  at  FKRAMORZ,  saw;  plainly  she  must  wait  for  a 
more  courageous  moment. 

But  the  glories  of  Nature,  and  her  wild,  fragrant 
airs,  playing  freshly  over  the  current  of  youthful 
•pints,  will  soon  heal  even  deeper  wounds  than  the 
dull  Fadladeens  of  this  world  can  inflict.  In  an  even- 
ing or  two  after,  they  came  to  the  small  Valley  of 
Gardens,  which  had  been  planted  by  order  of  the 
Emperor  for  his  favourite  sister  Rochinara,  during 
their  progress  to  Cashmere,  some  years  befiare ;  and 
never  was  there  a  more  sparkling  assermlage  of 
sweets,  since  the  Gul/.ar-e-Irem,  or  Rose-bower  of 


The  Huma. 
G 


2  The  story  of  Sinbad. 


Irem.  Every  precious  flower  was  there  to  be  found, 
that  poetry,  or  love,  or  religion  has  ever  consecrated, 
from  the  dark  hyacinth,  to  which  Hafez  compares 
his  mistress's  hair,  to  the  Camahila,  by  whose  rosy 
blossoms  the  heaven  of  India  is  scented.  As  they 
sat  in  the  cool  fragrance  of  this  delicious  spot,  and 
LALLA  ROOKH  remarked  that  she  could  fancy  it  the 
abode  of  that  flower-loving  Nymph  whom  they  wor- 
ship in  the  temples  of  Kathay,  or  one  of  those  Peris, 
those  beautiful  creatures  of  the  air,  who  live  upon  per- 
fumes, and  to  whom  a  place  like  this  might  make  some 
amends  for  the  Paradise  they  have  lost, — the  young 
Poet,  in  whose  eyes  she  appeared,  while  she  spoke, 
to  be  one  of  the  bright  spiritual  creatures  she  was 
describing,  said,  hesitatingly,  that  he  remembered  a 
Story  of  a  Peri,  which,  if  the  Princess  had  no  objec- 
tion, he  would  venture  to  relate.  "It  is,"  said  he, 
with  an  appealing  look  to  FADLADEEN,  "in  a  lighter 
and  humbler  strain  than  the  other;"  then,  striking  a 
few  careless  but  melancholy  chords  on  his  kitar,  he 
thus  began : — 

PARADISE  AND  THE  PERI. 


ONE  morn  a  Peri  at  the  gate 
Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate  ; 
And  as  she  listen'd  to  the  Springs 

Of  Life  within,  like  music  flowing, 
And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings 

Through  the  half-open'd  portal  glowing, 
She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 
Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place ! 

"  How  happy,"  exclaim'd  this  child  of  air, 
"  Are  the  holy  Spirits  who  wander  there, 

'Mid  flowers  that  never  shall  fade  or  fall : 
Though  mine  are  the  gardens  of  earth  and  sea, 
And  the  stars  themselves  have  flowers  for  me, 

One  blossom  of  Heaven  out-blooms  them  ali . 

"  Though  sunny  the  lake  of  cool  CASHMERE, 
With  its  plane-tree  Isle  reflected  clear,1 

And  sweetly  the  founts  of  that  Valley  fall ; 
Though  bright  are  the  waters  of  SING-SU-HAY, 
And  the  golden  floods,  that  thitherward  stray,* 
Yet — oh,  'tis  only  the  Blest  can  say 

How  the  waters  of  Heaven  outshine  them  aT  ! 

"  Go  wing  thy  flight  from  star  to  star, 
From  world  to  luminous  world,  as  far 

As  the  universe  spreads  its  flaming  wall ; 
Take  all  the  pleasures  of  all  the  spheres, 
And  multiply  each  through  endless  years, 

One  minute  of  Heaven  is  worth  them  all  1" 

The  glorious  Angel,  who  was  keeping 
The  gates  of  Light,  beheld  her  weeping ; 
And,  as  he  nearer  drew  and  listen'd 
To  her  sad  song,  a  tear-drop  glisten'd 
Within  his  eyelids,  like  the  spray 
From  Eden's  fountain,  when  it  lies 


1  "  Numerous  small  islands   emerge  from  the  Lake  ol 
("asluni  ro.     One  is  called  Char  Chenaur,  from  the  plane- 
trurs  ii;uin  it." — Furster. 

2  "The  Allan  Kol,or  Golden  River  of  Tibet,  which  runs 
into  the  Lakes  ol'Sing-su  hay,  ling  abundance  of  gold  in  IM 
skills,  which  employs  the  inhabitants  all  summer  in  gather 
ing  it." — Description  of  Tibet  in  PinkertoK 


On  the  blue  flow'r,  which,  Bramins  say, 
Bloom,  no  where  but  in  Parad.se . 

«  Nymph  of  m  fair,  but  erring  line . 

Gently  he  said-"  One  hope  is  thine. 

Tis  written  in  the  Book  of  Fate, 
•  TV  Peri  ytt  may  beforgvxn 


tie  Gift  Out  u  nKMtoVor  to  Hfoven! 
Go,  seek  it,  and  redeem  thy  sin  ;— 
Tk  eweet  to  let  the  Pardon'd  tn . 

Rapidly  as  comets  mn 

To  th'  embraces  of  the  sun— 

Fleeter  than  the  starry  brands, 

Flung  at  night  from  angel  hands 

At  thoee  dark  and  daring  sprites, 

W"|K>  would  climb  th'  empyreal  heights,— 

Down  the  blue  vault  the  PERI  flies, 

And,  lighted  earthward  by  a  glance 
That  just  then  broke  from  morning's  eyes, 

Hang  hovering  o'er  our  world's  expanse. 

But  whither  shall  the  Spirit  go 

To  find  this  gift  for  Heav'n  ?— "  I  know 

The  wealth,"  she  cries,  "of  every  urn, 

In  which  unnumber'd  rubies  burn, 

Beneath  the  pillars  of  CHILMINAR  ;2— 

I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  are 

Many  a  fathom  down  in  the  sea, 

To  the  south  of  sun-bright  ARABY  ;' — 

I  know  too  where  the  Genii  hid 

The  jewell'd  cup  of  their  King  JAMSHID,* 

With  Life's  elixir  sparkling  high— 

But  gifts  like  these  are  not  for  the  sky. 

Where  was  there  ever  a  gem  that  shone 

Like  the  steps  of  ALLA'S  wonderful  Throne  ? 

And  the  Drops  of  Life— oh  !  what  would  they  be 

In  the  boundless  Deep  of  Eternity  ?" 

While  thus  she  mtis'd,  her  pinions  fann'd 
The  air  of  that  sweet  Indian  land, 
Whose  air  w  balm ;  whose  ocean  spreads 
O'er  coral  rocks  and  amber  beds ; 
Whose  mountains,  pregnant  by  the  beam 
Of  the  warm  sun,  with  diamonds  teem ; 
Whose  rivulets  are  like  rich  brides, 
Lovely,  with  gold  beneath  their  tides ; 
Whose  Modal  groves  and  bowers  of  spice 
Might  be  a  Peri's  Paradise! 
But  crimson  now  her  riven  ran 

With  human  blood— the  smell  of  death 
Came  reeking  from  those  spicy  bowers, 
And  man,  the  sacrifice  of  man, 

Mingled  hia  taint  with  every  breath 
Up  wafted  from  the  innocent  flowers ! 
land  of  the  Sun!  what  foot  invades 
Thy  pagoda  and  thy  pillar' d  shades— 


1  "  The  Mahometans  suppose  that  falling  stars  are  the 
Arrbfand*  wherewith  the  foou  angels  drive  away  the  bad, 
whs»  they  approach  too  near  the  empyruum  or  verge  of  the 
Urn****.  —  Frfgr. 

8  "The  Forty  PiDart:  so  the  Persians  call  the  ruins  of 
tW.ef.oli..  It  i*  unarmed  by  them  thai  this  palace  and  the 
Jrftfee*  at  Balbee  were  built  by  c;,-nu,  for  the  purpose  of 
hiding  in  their  subterraneous  - 


_ : 

Thy  cavern  shrines,  and  idol  stones, 

Thy  monarchs  and  their  thousand  thrones? 

•Tis  He  of  GAZNA  !'— fierce  in  wrath 

He  comes,  and  INDIA'S  diadems 
Lie  scatterM  in  his  ruinous  path.— 

His  blood-hounds  he  adorns  with  gems, 
Torn  from  the  violated  necks 

Of  many  a  young  and  lov'd  Sultana  ;2— 

Maidens  within  their  pure  Zenana, 

Priests  in  the  very  fane  he  slaughters, 
And  choaks  up  with  the  glittering  wrecks 

Of  golden  shrines  the  sacred  waters ' 

Downward  the  PERI  turns  her  gaze, 
And,  through  the  war-field's  bloody  haze, 
Beholds  a  youthful  warrior  stand, 
Alone,  beside  his  native  river, — 
The  red  blade  broken  in  his  hand, 
And  the  last  arrow  in  his  quiver. 
"  Live,"  said  the  Conqueror,  "  live  to  share 
The  trophies  and  the  crowns  I  bear !" 
Silent  that  youthful  warrior  stood— 
Silent  he  pointed  to  the  flood 
All  crimson  with  his  country's  blood, 
Then  sent  his  last  remaining  dart, 
For  answer  to  th'  Invader's  heart. 
False  flew  the  shaft,  though  pointed  well ; 
The  Tyrant  liv'd,  the  Hero  fell  !— 
Yet  mark'd  the  PERI  where  he  lay, 

And  when  the  rush  of  war  was  past, 
Swiftly  descending  on  a  ray 

Of  morning  light,  she  caught  the  last- 
Last  glorious  drop  his  heart  had  shed, 
Before  its  free-born  spirit  fled ! 
"  Be  this,"  she  cried,  as  she  wing'd  her  flight, 
"  My  welcome  gift  at  the  Gates  of  Light. ' 
Though  foul  are  the  drops  that  oft  distil 
On  the  field  of  warfare,  blood  like  this, 
For  Liberty  shed,  so  holy  is, 
It  would  not  stain  the  purest  rill, 

That  sparkles  among  the  Bowers  of  Bliss  ! 
Oh  !  if  there  be,  on  this  earthly  sphere, 
A  boon,  an  ottering  Heaven  holds  uear, 
'Tis  the  last  libation  Liberty  draws 
From  the  heart  that  bleeds  and  breaks  in  her  cause  !" 
"  Sweet,"  said  the  Angel,  as  she  gave 

The  gift  into  his  radiant  hand, 
"  Sweet  is  our  welcome  of  the  Brave 

Who  die  thus  for  their  native  land. — 
But  se.e — alas  ! — the  crystal  bar 
Of  Eden  moves'  not — holier  far 
Than  e'en  this  drop  the  boon  must  be, 
That  opens  the  gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee !" 

Her  first  fond  hope  of  Eden  blighted, 

Now  among  AFRIC'S  Lunar  Mountains,1 
Far  to  the  South,  the  PERI  lighted  ; 


•*••••»*•*  •* 
3  The  Ufee  of  P» 
•-up  o 


their  Mbterraneout  caverns  immenxe   treasures. 
iWMin  there."—  li'Herbilot,  y0l*r* 

m 


1  Mahmood  of  (Ja/.na,  or  Glii/ni,  who  conquered  India  in 
ihu  liri'inniii^  uf  the  lllh  century. — See  his  Hislory  in  Dole 
and  Air  ./.  jliile/ilm. 

•i  "  It  is  reported  thiit  the  hunting  equip i«e  of  the  Sultan 
Mahmood  WHS  so  magnificent, that  lie  kept  -ICO  grey  hounds 


fMf  for  the  foundation*  of  Per 


and  lilontl-hounils,  each  of  which  wore,  a  Dollar  net   with 
fawelivmil  •]  eovering  edged  withhold  -iid   pi-arl»."»-l/n»- 
tersal  Hixtury.  vol.  iii. 
3  "  The  Mountain*  of  the.  Moon,  or  the  Monies  T-mi-3  of 

'hid,  discovered,  tlw-T  s:.y.  when  dig-    antiijiiiiy,  at  the  tool  of  which  the  Nile  is  supposed  to  rise  '' 

i  of  Pervepolu." — RttkorUton.  \ — Hruce. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


51 


And  sleek'd  her  plumage  at  the  fountains 
Of  that  Egyptian  tide, — whose  birth 
Is  hidden  from  the  sons  of  earth, 
Deep  in  those  solitary  woods, 
Where  oft  the  Genii  of  the  Floods 
Dance  round  the  cradle  of  their  Nile, 
Anil  hail  the  new-born  Giant's  smile  !' 
Thence,  over  EGYPT'S  palmy  groves, 

Her  grots,  and  sepulchres  of  kings,* 
The  exil'd  Spirit  sighing  roves ; 
And  now  hangs  listening  to  the  doves 
In  warm  ROSETTA'S  vale3 — now  loves 

To  watoh  the  moonlight  on  the  wings 
Of  the  white  pelicans  that  break 
The  azure  calm  of  MCERIS*  Lake.4 
Twas  a  fair  scene — a  land  more  bright 

Never  did  mortal  eye  behold  I 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  saw  this  night 

Those  valleys,  and  their  fruits  of  gold, 
Basking  in  heav'n's  serenest  light ; — 
Those  groups  of  lovely  date-trees  bending 

Languidly  their  leaf-crown'd  heads, 
Like  youthful  maids,  when  sleep,  descending, 

Warns  them  to  their  silken  beds  ;6 — 
Those  virgin  lilies,  all  the  night 

Bathing  their  beauties  in  the  lake, 
That  they  may  rise  more  fresh  and  bright, 

When  their  beloved  Sun  's  awake ; — 
Those  ruin'd  shrines  and  towers  'that  seem 
The  relics  of  a  splendid  dream ; 

Amid  whose  fairy  loneliness 
Nought  but  the  lapwing's  cry  is  heard, 
Nought  seen  but  (when  the  shadows,  flitting 
Fast  from  the  moon,  unsheath  its  gleam) 
Some  purple-wing'd  Sultana6  sitting 

Upon  a  column,  motionless 
And  glittering,  like  an  idol  bird ! — 
Who  could  have  thought,  that  there,  e'en  there, 
Amid  those  scenes  so  still  and  fair, 

The  Demon  of  the  Plague  hath  cast 

From  his  hot  wing  a  deadlier  blast, 
More  mortal  far  than  ever  came 
From  the  red  Desert's  sands  of  flame ! 
So  quick,  that  every  living  thing 
Of  human  shape,  touch'd  by  his  wing, 

Like  plants,  where  the  Simoon  hath  past, 
At  once  falls  black  and  withering ! 

The  sun  went  down  on  many  a  brow, 

Which,  full  of  bloom  and  freshness  then, 
Is  rankling  in  the  pest-house  now, 


1  "The  Nile,  which  the  Abyssinians  know  by  the  names 
of  Abey  and  Alawy,  or  the  Giant." — jlsiat.  Kcsearc/ies, 
vol.  i.  p.  387. 

'J  Si  r  Terry's  View  of  the  Levant,  for  an  account  of  the 
•epiik-hres  in  Upper  Thebes,  and  the  numberless  grots 
rmvied  all  over  with  hieroglyphics,  in  the  mountains  of 
Upper  Egypt. 

3  "  The  orchards  of  Rosetta  are  filled  with  turtle-doves." 
— Sannini. 

4  Savary  mentions  the  pelicans  upon  Lake  Meeds. 

5  "  The  superb  date-tree,  whose  head  languidly  reclines, 
tike  that  of  a  handsome  woman  overcome  with  sleep." — 
Uafard  el  Hadad. 

6  "That  beautiful  bird,  with  plumage  of  the  finest  chining 
blue,  with  purple  beak  and  legs,  the  natural  and  living  orna- 
ment of  the  temples  and  palaces  of  the  Greeks  and  Romans, 
which,  from  the  stateliness  of  its  port,  as  well  as  tin;  bril- 
liancy of  its  colours  has  obtained  the  title  of  Sultana." — 


And  ne'er  will  feel  that  st;n  again ! 
And  oh  !  to  see  th'  unburied  heaps 
On  which  the  lonely  moonlight  sleeps — 
The  very  vultures  turn  away, 
And  sicken  at  so  fouj  a  prey  ! 
Only  the  fierce  hya:na  stalks' 
Throughout  the  city's  desolate  walks 
At  midnight,  and  his  carnage  plies — 

Woe  to  the  half-dead  wretch  who  meets 
The  glaring  of  those  large  blue  eyes2 

Amid  the  darkness  of  the  streets  ! 

I 

"  Poor  race  of  Men !"  said  the  pitying  Spirit, 

"Dearly  ye  pay  for  your  primal  fall — 
Some  flowrets  of  Eden  ye  still  inherit, 

But  the  trail  of  the  Serpent  is  over  them  all  T 
She  wept — the  air  grew  pure  and  clear 

Around  her,  as  the  bright  drops  ran ; 
For  there's  a  magic  in  each  tear 

Such  kindly  Spirits  weep  for  man  ! 

Just  then  beneath  some  orange  trees, 
Whose  fruit  and  blossoms  in  the  breeze 
Were  wantoning  together,  free, 
Like  age  at  play  with  infancy — 
Beneath  that  fresh  and  springing  bower, 

Close  by  the  Lake,  she  heard  the  moan 
Of  one  who,  at  this  silent  hour, 

Had  thither  stol'n  to  die  alone. 
One  who  in  life,  where'er  he  mov'd, 

Drew  after  him  the  hearts  of  many ; 
Yet  now,  as  though  he  ne'er  were  lov'd, 

Dies  here,  unseen,  unwept  by  any ! 
None  to  watch  near  him — none  to  slake 

The  fire  that  in  his  bosom  lies, 
With  e'en  a  sprinkle  from  that  lake, 

Which  shines  so  cool  before  his  eyes. 
No  voice,  well-known  through  many  a  day 

To  speak  the  last,  the  parting  word, 
Which,  when  all  other  sounds  decay, 

Is  still  like  distant  music  heard  : 
That  tender  farewell  on  the  shore 
Of  this  rude  world,  when  all  is  o'er, 
Which  cheers  the  spirit,  ere  its  bark 
Puts  off  into  the  unknown  Dark. 

Deserted  youth !  one  thought  alone 

Shed  joy  around  his  soul  in  death- 
Thai  she,  whom  he  for  years  had  known 
And  lov'd,  and  might  have  call'd  his  own, 

Was  safe  from  this  foul  midnight's  breath  ;— 
Safe  in  her  father's  princely  halls, 
Where  the  cool  airs  from  fountain — falls, 
Freshly  perfum'd  by  many  a  brand 
Of  the  sweet  wood  from  India's  land, 
Were  pure  as  she  whose  brow  they  fann'd. 

But  see, — who  yonder  comes  by  stealth, 

This  melancholy  bower  to  seek, 
Like  a  young  envoy  sent  by  Health, 

With  rosy  gifts  upon  her  cheek  ? 
Tis  she — far  off",  through  moonlight  dim, 

He  knew  his  own  betrothed  bride, 


1  Jackson,  speaking  of  the  plague  that  occurred  in  Wen 
Rarbary,  when  ho  was  there,  says,  "  The  birds  of  the  air  t?ed 
away  from  the  abodes  of  men.     The  hyaenas,  on  the  oon 
trary,  visited  the  cemeteries,"  &.c. 

2  Bruce. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


She,  who  would  rather  die  with  him. 

Than  li>e  to  gain  the  world  beside ! — 
Her  ana*  are  round  her  lover  now, 

Hi*  livid  cheek  to  hen  the  presses, 
And  dip*,  to  bind  hi*  burning  brow, 

In  the  cool  Ukc  her  loosen'd  Irenes. 
Ah !  once,  how  little  did  he  think 
An  bow  would  come,  when  he  should  shrink 
With  horror  from  that  dear  embrace, 

Those  gentle  arms,  that  were  to  him 
Holjr  a*  is  the  cradling  place 
Of  Eden's  infant  cherubim ! 
And  now  he  yield* — now  turn*  away, 
Shuddering  a*  if  the  venom  lay 
All  in  those  proffer 'd  lip*  alone— 
Tbow  lip*  that,  then  *o  fearless  grown, 
Never  until  that  instant  came 
Near  hi*  unask'd,  or  without  shame. 
"  Oh !  let  me  only  breathe  the  air, 

The  blessed  air  that's  breath'd  by  thee, 
And,  whether  on  its  wing*  it  bear 

Healing  or  death,  'Us  sweet  to  me ! 
There,  drink  my  tears,  while  yet  they  fall, — 
Would  that  my  bosom's  blood  were  balm, 
And,  well  thou  know.'*t,  I'd  shed  it  all, 
To  give  thy  brow  one  minute's  calm. 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me  that  dear  face — 

Am  I  not  thine — thy  own  lov'd  bride — 
The  one,  the  chosen  one,  whose  place 

In  life  or  death  is  by  thy  side ! 
Think'*  thou  that  she,  whose  only  light, 

In  this  dim  world,  from  thee  hath  shone. 
Could  bear  the  long,  the  cheerless  night, 

That  must  be  hen  when  thou  art  gone  ? 
That  I  can  live,  and  let  thee  go, 
Who  art  my  life  itself  ?—  No,  no— 
Wbe»  the  stem  dies,  the  leaf  that  grew 
OBI  of  it*  heart  must  perish  too ! 
Then  turn  to  me,  my  own  love,  turn, 
Before  like  thee  I  fade  and  burn ; 
CKaf  to  these  yet  cool  lip*,  and  share 
The  last  pure  life  that  lingen  there !" 
She  fails— she  sinks—a*  dies  the  lamp 
In  charnel  airs  or  cavern-damp, 
80  quickly  do  his  baleful  *tghs 
Quench  all  the  sweet  light  of  her  eye*. 
One  *troggle— «nd  hi*  pain  is  past— 

Her  lover  b  no  longer  living ! 
One  kiss  the  maiden  gives,  one  last, 

l*"t  kita,  which  she  expire*  in  giving ! 
•Seep,"  said  the  P«*i,  a*  *oftly  she  stole 
The  farewell  sigh  of  that  vanishing  *oul, 
Aa  trae  aa  e'er  warm'd  a  woman's  breast— 
*  Sleep  on  ;  in  vision*  of  odour  rest, 
!•  balmier  airs  than  ever  yet  rtirr'd 
TV  enchanted  pile  of  that  lonely  bird, 
Who  *ing*  at  the  but  hi*  own  death-lay,1 
A»d  in  music  and  perfume  die*  away  !» 
Tim  saying,  from  her  Up*  she  spread 
Unearthly  breathing,  through  the  place. 


—    J   -•»— — 

stt*  In  to  UM 


And  shook  her  sparkling  wreath,  ana  shed 

Such  lustre  o'er  each  paly  face, 
That  like  two  lovely  saints  they  seem'd 

Upon  the  eve  of  dooms-day  taken 
From  their  dim  graves,  in  odour  sleeping; — 

While  that  benevolent  PERI  beam'd 
Like  their  good  angel,  calmly  keeping 

Watch  o  er  them,  till  their  souls  would  waken  I 

But  morn  is  blushing  in  the  sky ; 

Again  the  PERI  soars  above, 
Bearing  to  Heav'n  that  precious  sigh 

Of  pure,  self-sacrificing  love. 
High  throbb'd  her  heart,  with  hope  elate 

The  Elysian  palm  she  soon  shall  win, 
For  the  bright  Spirit  at  the  gate 

Smil'd  as  she  gave  that  offering  in ; 
And  she  already  hears  the  trees 

Of  Eden,  with  their  crystal  bells 
tinging  in  that  ambrosial  breeze 

That  from  the  throne  of  ALLA  swells ; 
And  she  can  see  the  starry  bowls 

That  lie  around  that  lucid  lake, 
Jpon  whose  banks  admitted  souls 

Their  first  sweet  draught  of  glory  take  I1 

tut  ah  !  e'en  Peri's  hopes  are  vain — 

.gain  the  Fates  forbade ;  again 
"V  immortal  barrier  clos'd — "  not  yet," 

'he  Angel  said  as,  with  regret, 

Ie  shut  from  her  that  glimpse  of  glory- 
True  was  the  maiden,  and  her  story, 

Written  in  light  o'er  AJ.LA'S  head, 

y  Seraph  eyes  shall  long  be  read. 

ut  PERI,  see — the  crystal  bar 
)f  Eden  moves  not — holier  far 

han  e'en  this  sight  the  boon  must  be 

hat  opes  the  gates  of  Heav'n  for  thee." 

Now,  upon  SYRIA'S  land  of  roses3 

>ftly  the  light  of  eve  reposes, 

nd  like  a  glory,  the  broad  sun 

angs  over  sainted  LEBANON  ; 
Phose  head  in  wintry  grandeur  towers. 

And  whitens  with  eternal  sleet, 

rhile  summer,  in  a  vale  of  flowers, 

Is  sleeping  rosy  at  his  feet. 

o  one,  who  look'd  from  upper  air 

er  all  th'  enchanted  regions  there, 

ow  beauteous  must  have  been  the  glow. 
The  life,  the  sparkling  from  below  ! 
Fair  gardens,  shining  streams,  «ith  ranks 
Of  golden  melons  on  their  banks, 
More  golden  where  the  sun-light  falls-— 
Gay  lizards,  glittering  on  the  walls1 


wd'e^lM?  mT  °r   *  Huadransular  lake  sland  a  thou- 

'l«s,  made  of  stars,  out  of  which  souls  pre.lesii.ipj 

M»Ar,-L.VJCr',/:  '. r'"k  lhe  crystal  wave.»-From  Cha- 


countr     h  • 
Slid 


i,|  r""'      "<•'' 

*•"««•  species  of  rose  for  which  that 
"  *'*•'*•  «""««  Chance,  Suristan,  the 


,io  'rV  sawone  da?  in  the  ereat 

many  th  .usamU  ^ih  /  lhe  ?u?  al  Balbcc'  amounted  tc 
rui.  led  h  '         SrotJnJ.  lhe  walls,  and  stones  of  th« 

•M  buildmgs  were  covered  with  ihe^."-£ntc». 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


Of  ruin'd  shrines,  busy  and  bright 
As  they  were  all  alive  with  light; — 
And,  yet  more  splendid,  numerous  flocks 
Of  pigeons,  settling  on  the  rocks, 
With  »heir  rich  restless  wings,  that  gleam 
Variously  in  the  crimson  beam 
Of  the  warm  west, — as  if  inlaid 
With  brilliants  from  the  mine,  or  made 
Of  tearless  rainbows,  such  as  span 
IV  unclouded  skies  of  PERISTAN. 
A.nd  then,  the  mingling  sounds  that  come, 
Of  shepherd's  ancient  reed,1  with  hum 
Of  the  wild  bees  of  PALESTINE, 

Banqueting  through  the  flowery  vales  ; — 
And,  JORDAN,  those  sweet  banks  of  thine, 

And  woods,  so  full  of  nightingales ! 

But  nought  can  charm  the  luckless  PERI  ; 
Her  soul  is  sad — her  wings  are  weary — 
Joyless  she  sees  the  son  look  down 
On  that  great  Temple,  once  his  own,2 
Whose  lonely  columns  stand  sublime, 

Flinging  their  shadows  from  on  high, 
Like  dials,  which  the  wizard,  Time, 

Had  rais'd  to  count  his  ages  by ! 

Yet  haply  there  may  lie  conceal'd 
Beneath  those  Chambers  of  the  Sun, 

Some  amulet  of  gems  anneal'd 

In  upper  fires,  some  tabret  seal'd 
With  the  great  name  of  SOI.OMO.V, 
Which,  spell'd  by  her  illumin'd  eyes, 

May  teach  her  where,  beneath  the  moon, 

In  earth  or  ocean  lies  the  boon, 

The  charm  that  can  restore  so  soon, 
An  erring  Spirit  to  the  skies  ! 

Cheer'd  by  this  hope  she  bends  her  thither  ;- 

Still  laughs  the  radiant  eye  of  Heaven, 

Nor  have  the  golden  bowers  of  Even 
In  the  rich  West  begun  to  wither ; — 
When,  o'er  the  vale  of  BALBEC,  winging 

Slowly,  she  sees  a  child  at  play, 
Among  the  rosy  wild-flowers  singing, 

As  rosy  and  as  wild  as  they  ; 
Chasing,  with  eager  hands  and  eyes, 
The  beautiful  blue  damsel-flies,3 
That  flutter'd  round  the  jasmine  stems, 
Like  winged  flowers  or  flying  gems ; — 
And,  near  the  boy,  who,  tir'd  with  play, 
Now  nestling  'mid  the  roses  lay, 
She  saw  a  wearied  man  dismount 

From  his  hot  steed,  and  on  the  brink 
Of  a  small  imaret's  rustic  fount 

Impatient  fling  him  down  to  drink. 
Then  swift  his  haggard  brow  he  turn'd 

To  the  fair  child,  who  fearless  sat, 
Though  never  yet  hath  day-beam  burn'd 

Upon  a  brow  more  fierce  than  that, — 
Sullenly  fierce — a  mixture  dire, 
Like  thunder-clouds,  of  gloom  and  fire  ! 


1  "The  Syrinx,  or  Pun'*  pipe,  is  still  a  pastoral  instru- 
ment in  Syria." — hi' 

2  The  Temple  of  the  Sun  at  Balbec. 

3  "You  behold  thorp  nconsidcrnMn  number  of  a  remarka- 
ble species  of  beautiful  insects,  the  elesj;ince  of  whose  ap- 
pearance and  their  attiro  procuiid  lor  them  the  name  of 
Ilamsel*  "—Sunnini. 


In  which  the  PERI'S  eye  could  read 
Dark  tales  of  many  a  ruthless  deed  ; 
The  ruin'd  maid — the  shrine  profan'd — 
Oaths  broken — and  the  tnreshold  stain'd 
With  blood  of  guests  ! — llife  written,  all, 
Black  as  the  damning  drops  that  fall 
From  the  denouncing  Angel's  pen, 
Ere  mercy  weeps  them  out  again ! 

Yet  tranquil  now  that  man  of  crime 
(As  if  the  balmy  evening  time 
Soften'd  his  spirit,)  look'd  and  lay, 
Watching  the  rosy  infant's  play  : — 
Though  still,  whene'er  his  eye  by  chance 
Fell  on  the  boy's,  its  lurid  glance 

Met  that  unclouded,  joyous  gaze, 
As  torches,  that  have  burnt  all  night 
Through  some  impure  and  godless  rite, 

Encounter  morning's  glorious  rays. 

But  hark  !  the  vesper-call  to  prayer, 

As  slow  the  orb  of  daylight  sets, 
Is  rising  sweetly  on  the  air, 

From  SYRIA'S  thousand  minarets ! 
The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 
Of  flowers,  where  he  had  laid  his  head, 
And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels,  with  his  forehead  to  the  south, 
Lisping  th"  eternal  name  of  God 

From  purity's  own  cherub  mouth, 
And  looking,  while  his  hands  and  eyes 
Are  lifted  to  the  glowing  skies, 
Like  a  stray  babe  of  Paradise, 
Just  lighted  on  that  flowery  plain, 
And  seeking  for  its  home  again  ! 
Oh  'twas  a  sight — that  Heav'n — that  Child — 
A  scene,  which  might  have  well  beguil'd 
E'en  haughty  EBLIS  of  a  sigh 
For  glories  lost  and  peace  gone  by ! 

And  how  felt  he,  the  wretched  Man, 

Reclining  there — while  memory  ran 

O'er  many  a  year  of  guilt  and  strife, 

Flew  o'er  the  dark  flood  of  his  life, 

Nor  found  one  sunny  resting-place, 

Nor  brought  him  back  one  branch  of  grace ! 

"  There  «w*  a  time,"  he  said,  in  mild 

Heart-humbled  tones — "  thou  blessed  child ! 

When  young,  and  haply  pure  as  thou, 

I  look'd  and  pray'd  like  thee — but  now — ** 

He  hung  his  head — each  nobler  aim 

And  hope  and  feeling,  which  had  slept 
From  boyhood's  hour,  that  instant  came 

Fresh  o'er  him,  and  he  wept — he  wept ! 

Blest  tears  of  soul-felt  penitence  ! 

In  whose  benign,  redeeming  flow 
Is  felt  the  first,  the  only  sense 

Of  guiltless  joy  that  guilt  can  know. 

"There's  a  drop,"  said  the  PERI,  "that  flown  fnm 

the  moon 

Falls  through  the  withering  airs  of  June 
Upon  EGYPT'S  land,1  of  so  healing  a  power 
So  balmy  a  virtue,  that  e'en  in  the  hour 


1  The  \ucta,  or  Miraculous  Drop,  which  falla  in  Esti'U 
precisely  on  Saint  John's  day,  in  June,  and  U  supposed  tu 
have  the  effect  of  stopping  the  plague 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  drop  d«c«>d*contttion  die*  f 
And  health  im»in»in  earth  and  •  kies 
Oh,isknoium*,thoiimanofsin, 

The  precious  tew.  of  repentance  fall  ? 
Thoufh  foul  thy  fiery  plagues  within, 

oSfc-wedy  d«>P  «**  ^P6"'"1  them  *"* 


And  BOW—  behold  him  kneeling  there 
By  the  child's  side,  in  humble  prayer, 
While  the  Mine  sunbeam*  shine  upon 
The  guilty  and  the  guiltless  one, 
And  hymnt  of  joy  proclaim  through  heaven 
The  triumph  of  a  Soul  forgiven  ! 
Twas  when  the  golden  orb  had  set, 
While  on  their  knees  they  linger'd  yet, 
There  fell  a  light  more  lovely  far 
Than  ever  came  from  sun  or  star, 
Upon  the  tear,  that,  warm  and  meek, 
Dew'd  that  repentant  sinner's  cheek: 
To  mortal  eye  this  light  might  seem 
A  northern  flash,  or  meteor  beam- 
But  well  the  enraptur'd  PE*I  knew 
Twas  a  bright  smile  the  Angel  threw 
From  Heaven's  gate,  to  hail  that  tear 
Her  harbinger  of  glory  near  ! 
•  Joy,  joy  for  ever  !  my  task  is  done-^ 
The  gate*  are  pass'd,  and  Heaven  is  won  ! 
Oh  !  am  1  not  happy  ?  1  am,  I  am— 

To  the*,  sweet  Eden  !  how  dark  and  sad 
Are  the  diamond  turrets  of  SHADUKIAM,' 

And  the  fragrant  bowers  of  AMBERABAD  ! 
Farewell,  ye  odours  of  Earth,  that  die, 
Passing  away  like  a  lover's  sigh  ;  — 
My  feast  is  now  the  Tooba  tree.* 
Whose  scent  is  the  breath  of  Eternity  ! 

*  Farewell,  ye  vanishing  flowers,  that  shone 
In  my  fairy  wreath,  so  bright  and  brief,— 
Oh  !  what  are  the  brightest  that  e'er  have  blown, 
To  the  Lote-tree,  springing  by  ALLA'S  Throne,3 

Whose  flowers  have  a  ooul  in  every  leaf  ! 
Joy,  joy  for  ever!  —  my  task  is  done  — 
The  gates  are  pass'd,  and  Heav'n  is  won  !" 


*  AKB  this,"  said  the  Great  Chamberlain, w  is  poetry 
this  flimsy  manufacture  of  the  brain,  which,  in  com 
pamon  with  tb*  lofty  and  durable  monuments 
(CUDS,  is  as  the  gold  filigree-work  of  Zamara  bes 
the  eternal  architecture  of  Egypt !"    After  this  go 
gsaus  sentence,  which,  with  a  few  more  of  the  sam 
kind,  FADI. ADEEM  kept  by  him  for  rare  and  importan 
occasions,  be  proceeded  to  the  anatomy  of  the  sho 
poem  jutt  recited.    The  lax  and  easy  kind  of  metre 
in  which  it  was  written  ought  to  be  denounced,  le 
•aid,  as  one  of  the  leading  erases  of  the  alarming 


owth  of  poetry  in  our  times.  If  some  check  wen. 
t  given  to  this  lawless  facility,  we  should  soon  lx 
errun  by  a  race  of  bards  as  numerous  and  as  shal 
w  as  the  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  streams  of 
jsra.1  They  who  succeeded  in  this  style  deserved 
astisement  for  their  very  success;— as  warriors 
LVC  been  punished,  even  after  gaining  a  victory, 
cause  they  had  taken  the  liberty  of  gaining  it  in  an 
regular  or  unestablished  manner.  What,  then,  was 

be  said  to  those  who  failed?  to  tho>e  who  pre- 
imed,  as  in  the  present  lamentable  instance,  to  imi- 
te  the  license  and  ease  of  the  bolder  sons  of  song, 
ithout  any  of  that  grace  or  vigour  which  gave  a 
gnity  even  to  negligence— who,  like  them,  Hung  the 
reed1  carelessly,  but  not,  like  them,  to  the  mark  ;— 
and  who,"  said  he,  raising  his  voice  to  excite  a  pro- 
er  degree  of  wakefulness  in  his  hearers,  "  contrive 
o  appear  heavy  and  constrained  in  the  midst  of  all 
he  latitude  they  have  allowed  themselves,  like  one 
f  those  young  pagans  tha\  dance  before  the  Princess, 
•ho  has  the  ingenuity  to  move  as  if  her  limbs  were 
ettered  in  a  pair  of  the  lightest  and  loosest  drawers 
f  Masulipatam ." 

It  was  but  little  suitable,  he  continued,  to  the  grave 
inarch  of  criticism,  to  follow  this  fantastical  Peri,  of 
vhom  they  had  just  heard,  through  all  her  flights  and 
dventures  between  earth  and  heaven ;  but  he  could 
ot  help  adverting  to  the  puerile  conceitedness  of  the 
Three  Gifts  which  she  is  supposed  to  carry  to  the 
kies,— a  drop  of  blood,  forsooth,  a  sigh,  and  a  tear ! 
low  the  first  of  these  articles  was  delivered  into  the 
Angel's  "  radiant  hand,"  he  professed  himself  at  a 
oss  to  discover ;  and  as  to  the  safe  carriage  of  the 
sigh  and  the  tear,  such  Peris  and  such  poets  were 
>eings  by  far  too  incomprehensible  for  him  even  to 
guess  how  they  managed  such  matters.  "But,  in 
short,"  said  he,  "  it  is  a  waste  of  time  and  patience 
to  dwell  longer  upon  a  thing  so  incurably  frivolous, 
— puny  even  among  its  own  puny  race,  and  such  as 
only  the  Banyan  Hospital  for  Sick  Insects3  should 
undertake." 

In  vain  did  LALLA  ROOKH  try  to  soften  this  inexo 
rable  critic ;  in  vain  did  she  resort  to  her  most  elo 
quent  common-places, — reminding  him  that  poets 
were  a  timid  and  sensitive  race,  whose  sweetness 
was  not  to  be  drawn  forth,  like  that  of  the  fragrant 
grass  near  the  Ganges,  by  crushing  and  trampling 
upon  them; — that  severity  often  destroyed  every 
chance  of  the  perfection  which  it  demanded ;  and 
that,  after  all,  perfection  was  like  the  Mountain  of 
the  Talisman, — no  one  had  ever  yet  reached  its  sum- 
mit* Neither  these  gentle  axioms,  nor  the  still  gentler 
looks  with  which  they  were  inculcated,  could  lower 
for  one  instant  the  elevation  of  FADLADEEN'S  eye- 
brows, or  charm  him  into  any  thing  like  encourage- 
ment, or  even  toleration,  of  her  poet.  Toleration, 


of  Deiffct— the  nime  of  a  Pr 

[iMk.^*n       nr     Vm'.r*,     T    •  ul       *!..     * 


,  the  capital  of 
Amberabad  U  another 


1  The  Country  of  Dclifbt— the  nime  o( 

.*•  hiaginai  of  JiimitUD.  or  Fairy  Land, 

•rhiek  »  emUed  th*  Gtjetivnk.    Amber 

•f  DM  riti«  of  JinonUu. 

3  "Th.  trwTooK  tbat  itand.  taP«rs,ii^,  in  the  palace 
f  MiiuaX  "—S»Ut  Prdtm.  Dist.    "Touba,"  nys  D* 
or  eternal  happin«M." 


of 

JbrMrf, 


mm  nimtitmm,  m  vwrnai  napptneM. 
i*  owerib«l,ta  Ike  S3d  cfc.ptrr  of  the  Koran, 
tk.  ArwH  Gabriel, "  by  tb*  lote-tree,  beyond 
-—  _  no  SMBMf ;  near  it  it  the  Garden  of  Eternal 
."  This  tree,  M*  the  eomocnuton,  ttandi  in  the 
|i  HMVWI  oa  tk*  njht  baod  of  the  throne  of  God. 


1  "  It  is  said,  that  the  rivers  or  streams  of  Basra  were 
reckoned  in  the  time  of  Relal  ben  Abi  Bonieh,  anil  amounted 
to  the  number  of  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  streams." 
— F.b*  Haukal. 

2  The  name  of  the  javelin  with  which  the  Easterns  exer- 
cbe. — See  Castellan,  Mania  drs  Othomans,  turn.  iii.  p.  101. 

3  For  a  descripiion  of  this  Hospital  of  the  Banyans,  tee 
Parson's  Travels,  ]>   - 

4  "Near  thii  it  a  curious  hill,  called  Koh  Talism,  the 
Mountain  of  the  Talisman,  because,  according  to  the  tia- 
dilion*  of  the  country,  no  person  ever  succeeded  in  gaining 
its  summit." — Kinneir. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


indeed,  was  not  among  the  weaknesses  of  FADLA- 
DEEN : — he  carried  the  same  spirit  into  matters  of 
poetry  and  of  religion,  and,  though  little  versed  in  the 
beauties  or  sublimities  of  either,  was  a  perfect  master 
of  the  art  of  persecution  in  both.  His  zeal,  too,  was 
the  same  in  either  pursuit ;  whether  the  game  before 
him  was  pagans  or  poetasters, — worshippers  of  cows, 
or  writers  of  epics. 

They  had  now  arrived  at  the  splendid  city  of  La- 
hore, \vhosf  mausoleums  and  shrines,  magnificent 
and  numberless,  where  Death  seemed  to  share  equal 
honours  with  Heaven,  would  have  powerfully  affected 
the  heart  and  imagination  of  LALLA  ROOKH,  if  feel- 
ings more  of  this  earth  had  not  taken  entire  posses- 
sion of  her  already.  She  was  here  met  by  messen- 
gers despatched  from  Cashmere,  who  informed  her 
that  the  King  had  arrived  in  the  Valley,  and  was  him- 
self superintending  the  sumptuous  preparations  that 
were  making  in  the  Saloons  of  the  Shalimar  for  her 
reception.  The  chill  she  felt  on  receiving  this  intel- 
ligence,— which  to  a  bride  whose  heart  was  free  and 
light  would  have  brought  only  images  of  affection 
and  pleasure, — convinced  her  that  her  peace  was  gone 
for  ever,  and  that  she  was  in  love,  irretrievably  in  love, 
with  young  FERAMORZ.  The  veil,  which  this  passion 
wears  at  first,  had  fallen  off,  and  to  know  that  she 
loved  was  now  as  painful,  as  to  love  without  knowing 
it,  had  been  delicious.  FERAMORZ  too, — what  misery 
would  be  his,  if  the  sweet  hours  of  intercourse  so 
imprudently  allowed  them  should  have  stolen  into 
his  heart  the  same  fatal  fascination  as  into  hers  ; — if, 
notwithstanding  her  rank,  and  the  modest  homage  he 
always  paid  to  it,  even  he  should  have  yielded  to  the 
influence  of  those  long  and  happy  interviews,  where 
music,  poetry,  the  delightful  scenes  of  nature, — all 
tended  to  bring  their  hearts  close  together,  and  to 
waken  by  every  means  that  too  ready  passion,  which 
often,  like  the  young  of  the  desert-bird,  is  warmed 
jito  life  by  the  eyes  alone  !'  She  saw  but  one  way 
to  preserve  herself  from  being  culpable  as  well  as 
unhappy ;  and  this,  however  painful,  she  was  resolved 
to  adopt.  FERAMORZ  must  no  more  be  admitted  to 
her  presence.  To  have  strayed  so  far  into  the  dan- 
gerous labyrinth  was  wrong,  but  to  linger  in  it  while 
the  clew  was  yet  in  her  hand,  would  be  criminal. 
Though  the  heart  she  had  to  offer  to  the  King  of 
Bucharia  might  be  cold  and  broken,  it  should  at  least 
be  pure ;  and  she  must  only  try  to  forget  the  short 
vision  of  happiness  she  had  enjoyed, — like  that  Ara- 
bian shepherd,  who,  in  wandering  into  the  wilder- 
ni-s.s,  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Gardens  of  Irim,  and 
then  lost  them  again  for  ever  I'2 

The  arrival  of  the  young  Bride  at  Lahore  was  cele- 
brated in  the  most  enthusiastic  manner.  The  Rajas 
and  Omras  in  her  train,  who  had  kept  at  a  certain 
distance  during  the  journey,  and  never  encamped 
nearer  to  the  Princess  than  was  strictly  necessary  for 
her  safeguard,  here  rode  in  splendid  cavalcade  through 
the  city,  and  distributed  the  most  costly  presents  to 
the  crowd.  Engines  were  erected  in  all  the  squares, 
which  cast  forth  showers  of  confectionary  among 
the  people ;  while  the  artisans,  in  chariots  adorned 


1  "The  Arabians  brlicvc  tlmt  the  o§triclies  hatch  their 
Voung  by  only  looking  at  them." — P.  fanslcbe,  liclat.  d' 
Et?yi>te. 

B  See  SiZc's  Koran,  note,  vol.  ii.  p.  484. 


with  tinsel  and  flying  streamers,  exhibited  the  badges 
of  their  respective  trades  through  the  streets.  Such 
brilliant  displays  of  life  and  pageantry  among  the 
palaces,  and  domes,  and  gilded  minarets  of  Lahore, 
made  the  city  altogether  like  a  place  of  enchantment : 
— particularly  on  the  day  when  LALLA  ROOKH  set 
out  again  upon  her  journey,  when  she  was  accom- 
panied to  the  gate  by  all  the  fairest  and  richest  of  the 
nobility,  and  rode  along  between  ranks  of  beautiful 
boys  and  girls,  who  waved  plates  of  gold  and  silver 
flowers  over  their  heads1  as  they  went,  and  then 
threw  them  to  be  gathered  by  the  populace. 

For  many  days  after  their  departure  from  Lahore 
a  considerable  degree  of  gloom  hung  over  the  whole 
party.  LALLA  ROOKH,  who  had  intended  to  make 
illness  her  excuse  for  not  admitting  the  young  min- 
strel, as  usual,  to  the  pavilion,  soon  found  that  to 
feign  indisposition  was  unnecessary; — FADLADEEN 
felt  the  loss  of  the  good  road  they  had  hitherto  travel- 
led, and  was  very  near  cursing  Jehan-Guire  (of  blessed 
memory !)  for  not  having  continued  his  delectable 
alley  of  trees,2  at  least  as  far  as  the  mountains  of 
Cashmere ; — while  the  ladies,  who  had  nothing  now 
to  do  all  day  but  to  be  fanned  by  peacocks'  feathers 
and  listen  to  FADLADEEN,  seemed  heartily  weary  of 
the  life  they  led,  and,  in  spite  of  all  the  Great  Cham- 
berlain's critiqism,  were  tasteless  enough  to  wish  for 
the  poet  again.  One  evening,  as  they  were  proceed- 
ing to  their  place  of  rest  for  the  night,  the  Princess, 
who,  for  the  freer  enjoyment  of  the  air,  had  mount- 
ed her  favourite  Arabian  palfrey,  in  passing  by  a  sinalj 
grove,  heard  the  notes  of  a  lute  from  within  its  leaves, 
and  a  voice,  which  she  but  too  well  knew,  singing  the 
following  words : — 

TELL  me  not  of  joys  above, 
If  that  world  can  give  no  bliss, 

Truer,  happier  than  the  Love 

Which  enslaves  our  souls  in  this ! 

Tell  me  not  of  llouris'  eyes  ; — 
Far  from  me  their  dangerous  glow 

If  those  looks  that  light  the  skies 
Wound  like  some  that  burn  below. 

Who  that  feels  v;hat  Love  is  here, 
All  its  falsehood — all  its  pain — 

Would,  for  e'en  Elysium's  sphere, 
Risk  the  fatal  dream  again  ? 

Who,  that  midst  a  desert's  heat 

Sees  the  waters  fade  away, 
Would  not  rather  die  than  meet 

Streams  again  as  false  as  they  ? 

The  tone  of  melancholy  defiance  in  which  these 
words  were  uttered,  went  to  LALLA  ROOKH'S  heart, 
— and,  as  she  reluctantly  rode  on,  she  could  net  help 
feeling  it  as  a  sad  but  sweet  certainly,  that  FERAMORZ 
was  to  the  full  as  enamoured  and  miserable  as  her- 
self. 

The  place  where  they  encamped  that  evening  was 
the  first  delightful  spot  they  had  come  to  since  they 
left  Lahore.  On  one  side  of  them  was  a  grove  full 
of  small  Hindoo  tempjes,  and  planted  with  the  most 


1  Fcrislita. 

2  The  fine  road  mncle  by  the  Emppror  Jehan-Guire  »'ron» 
Agra  to  Lahore,  planted  with  trees  oil  each  side. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


fraccfbl  tree*  of  the  East ;  where  the  tamarind,  th 
ciasia,  and  the  silken  plantains  of  Ceylon  were  mi 
(led  in  rich  contrast  with  the  high  fan-like  foliage  o 
the  palmyra,— that  favourite  tree  of  the  luxurious  bir 
that  light!  up  the  chambers  of  its  nest  with  fire-Hies 
In  the  middle  of  the  lawn,  where  the  pavilion  stoo 
'here  was  a  tank  surrounded  by  small  mangoe  tree 
on  the  clear  cold  waters  of  which  floated  multitude 
of  the  beautiful  red  lotus ;  while  at  a  distance  stoo 
the  ruins  of  a  strange  and  awful-looking  tower,  whic 
teemul  old  enough  to  have  been  the  temple  of  som 
religion  no  longer  known,  and  which  spoke  the  voic 
of  desolation  in  the  midst  of  all  that  bloom  and  love 
lines*.    This  singular  ruin  excited  the  wonder  an 
conjecture*  of  all.    LALLA  ROOKH  guessed  in  vain 
and  the  all-pretending  FADI.ADEEX,  who  had  neve 
nil  this  journey  been  beyond  the  precincts  of  Delh 
was  proceeding  most  learnedly  to  show  that  he  knc\ 
nothing  whatever  about  the  matter,  when  one  of  th 
Udie*   suggested,  that    perhaps   FERAMORZ    couk 
«atisfy  their  curiosity.    They  were  now  approaching 
his  native  mountains,  and  this  tower  might  be  a  relic 
of  some  of  those  dark  superstitions,  which  had  pre 
i    vailed  in  that  country  before  the  light  of  Islam  dawm>< 
upon  it    The  Chamberlain,  who  usually  preferred 
his  own  ignorance  to  the  best  knowledge  that  any  one 
else  could  give  him,  was  by  no  means  pleased  with 
this  officious  reference ;  and  the  Princess,  too,  was 
about  to  interpose  a  faint  word  of  objection ;  but,  be- 
fore either  of  them  could  speak,  a  slave  was  despatch- 
ed   for  FERAMORZ,  who,  in  a'  very  few  minutes, 
appeared  before  them, — looking  so  pale  and  unhappy 
m  I.VI.LA  ROOKII'S  eyes,  that  she  already  repented 
of  her  cruelty  in  having  so  long  excluded  him. 

That  venerable  tower,  he  told  them,  was  the  re- 
mauw  of  an  ancient   Fire-Temple,  built  by  those 
?r»  or  Persians  of  the  old  religion,  who,  many 
•«d»a  yean  since,  had  fled  hither  from  thrir  Aral. 
onquerors,  preferring  liberty  and  their  altars  in  a 
w«fn  land  to  the  alternative  of  apostacy  or  persecu- 
eir  own.    It  was  impossible,  he  added,  not 
»l  interested  in  the  many  glorious  but  unsucccss- 
««illea,  which  had  been  made  by  these  original 
*•  of  Persia  to  cart  off  the  yoke  of  their  bigoted 
ueron.    Uke  their  own  Fire  in  the  Burning 
l  Bakou,'  when  suppressed  in  one  place,  they 
ut  broken  out  with  fresh  flame  in  another;  and 
>'  that  fair  and  Holy  Val- 
d  in  the  same  manner  become  the  prey 
!*«,  and  seen  her  ancient  shrines  and  native 
wept  .way  before  the  march  of  her  intolerant 
2E^!?_fck  '  W"'>-  '"•  »« »' -1,  with  the  suf- 


almost  speechless  horror  of  the  Chamberlain,  pro- 
ceeded to  say  that  he  knew  a  melancholy  story,  con- 
nected with  the  events  of  one  of  those  brave  struggles 
of  the  Fire-worshippers  of  Persia  against  their  Arab 
masters,  which,  if  the  evening  was  not  too  far  ad- 
vanced, he  should  have  much  pleasure  in  being 
allowed  to  relate  to  the  Princess.  It  was  impossible 
for  LALLA  ROOKII  to  refuse; — he  had  never  before 
looked  half  so  animated,  and  when  he  spoke  of  the 
Holy  Valley  his  eyes  had  sparkled,  she  thought,  like 
the  talismanic  characters  on  the  scimitar  of  Solomon. 
Her  consent  was  therefore  readily  granted,  and  while 
FADLADEK.V  sat  in  unspeakable  dismay,  expecting 
treason  and  abomination  in  every  line,  the  poet  thut 
jegan  his  story  of — 

THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS; 


tsuc 
that  most 

'  for  some  mi- 

wSESySC 

•F""-°".  I»PPT  ..  »k.  ss;  ?f  ,„„ 


Tis  moonlight  over  OMAN'S  Sea  ;' 

Her  banks  of  pearl  and  palmy  isles 
3ask  in  the  night-beam  beauteously, 

And  her  blue  waters  sleep  in  smiles. 
Tis  moonlight  in  HARMOZiA's2  walls, 
\nd  through  her  EMIR'S  porphyry  halls, 
Vhere,  some  hours  since,  was  heard  the  swell 
Of  trumpet  and  the  clash  of  zel,3 
folding  the  bright-eyed  sun  farewell ; — 
"Tie  peaceful  sun,  whom  better  suits 
The  music  of  the  bulbul's  nest, 
Or  the  light  touch  of  lovers'  lutes, 
To  sing  him  to  his  golden  rest ! 
11  hush'd — there's  not  a  breeze  in  motion , 
'he  shore  is  silent  as  the  ocean. 
'  zephyrs  come,  so  light  they  come, 

Nor  leaf  is  stirr'd  nor  wave,  is  driven; 

'he  wind-tower  on  the  EMIH'S  dome4 
Can  hardly  win  a  breath  from  heaven, 
'en  he,  that  tyrant  Arab,  sleeps 
aim,  while  a  nation  round  him  weeps ; 
Vhile  curses  load  the  air  he  breathes, 
nd  falchions  from  unnumbnr'd  sheaths 
re  starting  to  avenge  the  shame 
is  race  had  brought  on  IRAN'S*  name, 
ard,  heartless  Chief,  unmov'd  alike 
id  eyes  that  weep  and  swords  that  strike  ;— 
ne  of  that  saintly,  murderous  brood, 
To  carnage  and  the  Koran  given, 
rho  think  through  unbelievers'  blood 
Lies  their  directest  path  to  heaven: 
ne,  who  will  pause  and  kneel  unshod 
In  the  warm  blood  his  hand  hath  pour'd, 
To  mutter  o'er  some  text  of  God 

^  Engraven  on  his  reeking  sword  ;G 

Nay,  who  can  coolly  note  the  line, 
The  letter  of  those  words  divine, 
To  which  his  blade,  with  searching  art, 
Had  sunk  into  its  victim's  heart ! 

• 

,  soinotinMfl  j 

ui'l  Arabia. 

ibnroon,  a  town  on  the  Persian  side  of 
.1  A  Mcimisli  iiislrnmriit  ,,f  music, 
lowers  fo7<S«Hlr00"  '•""'  '"'" T  I'I;"'PS  in  P'Tfia.  they  have 

"eralnarceofthe  empire  of  P,™.^ 
verse  from  th« 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


Just  ALI.A  !  what  must  be  thy  look, 

When  such  a  wretch  before  thee  stands 
Unblushing,  with  thy  Sacred  Book, 

Turning  the  leaves  with  blood-stuin'd  hands, 
And  wresting  from  its  page  sublime 
His  creed  of  lust  and  hate  and  crime  ? 
E'en  .is  those  bees  of  TRKBIZOND, — 

Which,  from  the  sunniest  hours  that  glad 
With  their  pure  smile  the  gardens  round, 

Draw  venom  forth  that  drives  men  mad !' 
Never  did  fierce  ARABIA  send 

A  satrap  forth  more  direly  great ; 
Never  was  IRAN  doom'd  to  bend 

Beneath  a  yoke  of  deadlier  weight. 
Her  throne  had  fall'n — her  pride  was  crush'd — 
Her  sons  were  willing  slaves,  nor  blush'd 
In  their  own  land — no  more  their  own, — 
To  crouch  beneath  a  stranger's  throne. 
Her  towers,  where  MITIIRA  once  had  burn'd, 
To  Moslem  shrines — oh  shame  !  were  tum'd, 
Where  slaves,  converted  by  the  sword, 
Their  mean,  apostate  worship  pour'd, 
And  curs'd  the  faith  their  sires  ador'd. 
Yet  has  she  hearts,  mid  all  this  ill, 
O'er  all  this  wreck  high  buoyant  still 
With  hope  and  vengeance : — hearts  that  yet, 

Like  gems,  in  darkness  issuing  rays 
They've  treasur'd  from  the  sun  that's  set, 

Beam  all  the  light  of  long-lost  days ! — 
And  swords  she  hath,  nor  weak  nor  slow 

To  second  all  such  hearts  can  dare  ; 
As  he  shall  know,  well,  dearly  know, 

Who  sleeps  in  moonlight  luxury  there, 
Tranquil  as  if  his  spirit  lay 
Becalrn'd  in  Heaven's  approving  ray  ! 
Sleep  on — for  purer  eyes  than  thine 
Those  waves  are  hush'd,  those  planets  shine. 
Sleep  on,  and  be  thy  rest  unmov'd 

By  the  white  moonbeam's  dazzling  power : 
None  but  the  loving  and  the  lov'd 

Should  be  awake  at  this  sweet  hour. 

And  see — where,  high  above  those  rocks 

That  o'er  the  deep  their  shadows  fling, 
\on  turret  stands  ;  where  ebon  locks, 

As  glossy  as  a  heron's  wing 

Upon  the  turban  of  a  King,2 
Hang  from  the  lattice,  long  and  wild. — 
"Tis  she,  that  EMIR'S  blooming  child, 
All  truth,  and  tenderness,  and  grace, 
Though  born  of  such  ungentle  race  ; 
An  image  of  Youth's  radiant  Fountain 
Springing  in  a  desolate  mountain  !3 
Oh  what  a  pure  and  sacred  thing 

Is  beauty,  curtain'd  from  the  sight 
Of  the  gross  world,  illumining 

One  only  mansion  with  her  light ! 
Unseen  by  man's  disturbing  eye, — 
(  The  flower,  that  blooms  beneath  the  sea 
Too  deep  for  sunbeams,  doth  not  lie 


1  "  There  is  a  kind  of  Rhododendros  about  Trebizond, 
wliosn  flowers  tin?  bee  feeds  upon,  and  tbe  honey  thence 
drives  pro;i]"'  mad." — Tournrfort. 

'2  "Their  kmf:<  wear  plumes  of  black  heron's  feathers 
upon  the  rit'lit  side,  as  a  liadpe  of  sovereignty." — Hanirmj. 

'A  "The  Fountain  of  Youth,  by  a  Mahometan  tradition, 
w  situalf  d  in  some,  dark  region  of  the  East." — Richardson. 
II 


Hid  in  more  chaste  obscurity  ! 
So,  HINDA,  have  thy  face  and  mind, 
Like  holy  mysteries,  lain  enshrin'd. 
And  oh  what  transport  for  a  lover 

To  lift  the  veil  that  shades  them  o'er ! — 
Like  those,  who,  all  at  once,  discover 

In  the  lone  deep  some  fairy  shore, 

Where  mortal  never  trod  before, 
And  sleep  and  wake  in  scented  aira 
No  lip  had  ever  breath'd  but  theirs ! 

Beautiful  are  the  maids  that  glide 

On  summer-eves,  through  YEMEN'S'  dales; 
And  bright  the  glancing  looks  they  hide 

Behind  their  litters'  roseate  veils ; — 
And  brides,  as  delicate  and  fair 
As  the  white  jasmin'd  flowers  they  wear, 
Hath  YEMEN  in  her  blissful  clime, 

Who,  lull'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower, 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time, 

And  grow  still  lovelier  every  hour. 
But  never  yet  hath  bride  or  maid 

In  ARABY'S  gay  Harams  smil'd, 
Whose  boasted  brightness  would  not  fade 

Before  AL  HASSAN'S  blooming  child. 

Light  as  the  angel  shapes  that  bless 
An  infant's  dream,  yet  not  the  less 
Rich  in  all  woman's  loveliness  ; — 
With  eyes  so  pure,  that  from  their  ray 
Dark  Vice  would  turn  abash'd  away, 
Blinded,  like  serpents  when  they  gaze 
Upon  the  emerald's  virgin  blaze  P — 
Yet,  fill'd  with  all  youth's  sweet  desires, 
Mingling  the  meek  and  vestal  fires 
Of  other  worlds  with  all  the  bliss, 
The  fond,  weak  tenderness  of  this  ! 
A  soul,  too,  more  than  half  divine,  * 

Where,  through  some  shades  of  earthly  feeling, 
Religion's  soflen'd  glories  shine, 

Like  light  through  summer  foliage  stealing, 
Shedding  a  glow  of  such  mild  hue, 
So  warm,  and  yet  so  shadowy  too, 
As  makes  the  very  darkness  there 
More  beautiful  than  light  elsewhere  ! 
Such  ia  the  maid,  who,  at  this  hour, 

Hath  risen  from  her  restless  sleep, 
And  sits  alone  in  that  high  bower, 

Watching  the  still  and  shining  deep. 
Ah  !  'twas  not  thus, — with  tearful  eyes 

And  beating  heart, — she  us'd  to  gaze 
On  the  magnificent  earth  and  skies, 

In  her  own  land,  in  happier  days. 
Why  looks  she  now  so  anxious  down 
Among  those  rocks,  whose  rugged  frown 

Blackens  the  mirror  of  the  deep  ? 
Whom  waits  she  all  this  lonely  night  ? 

Too  rough  the  rocks,  too  bold  the  steep, 
For  man  to  scale  that  turret's  height ! — 
So  deem'd  at  least  her  thoughtful  sire, 

When  high,  to  catch  the  cool  night  air 
After  the  day-beam's  withering  fire,3 


1  Ar.bia  Felix. 

2  "  They  say  that  if  a  snako  or  serpent  fix  bin  eyes  on  tn« 
bistro  of  those  stones  (I'Niernld-i,)    be  immediately  bocomui 
blind." — Sihmrtl  ben  Jiittlalmiz,  Treatise  on  Jewels. 

3  "  At  Gombaroon  and  the  Isle  of  Ormus  it  \»  §oinetimei 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


He  built  her  bower  ef  (fc-tae*.  there, 
AM!  had  it  deek'd  with  costliest  skill, 

And  foodly  thought  «  ••*  "J^*-.. 
Think,  reverend  drew !  d>"»k  «°  8""' 

Nor  wake  to  leani  what  Love  can  dare- 
Love,  all-defying  Lore,  who  MM 
N        an*  in  trophies  wo*  with  ea»e  ;— 
Who*  rare*,  deere*  fruit*  of  MM 
Are  phick'd  on  Danger's  precipice  ! 
Bolder  ihaa  they,  who  dare  not  dive 

For  pearl*,  but  when  the  tea  'a  at  rest, 
Lot*,  m  the  tempest  most  alive, 

Hath  ever  held  that  pearl  the  beat 
He  find*  beneath  the  stormiest  water ! 
Ye*— AKABT'S  unrivaU'd  daughter, 
Though  high  that  tower,  that  rock-way  rude, 

There's  one  who,  but  to  kiss  thy  cheek, 
Would  climb  th\  untrodden  solitude 

Of  ARARAT'S  tremendous  peak,1 
And  think  its  steeps,  though  dark  and  dread, 
HeavV*  path-ways,  if  to  thee  they  led ! 
E'en  now  tnou  seert  the  flashing  spray, 
That  lights  his  oar's  impatient  way : 
E'en  now  thou  hear'st  the  sudden  shock 
Of  his  swift  bark  against  the  rock, 
And  stretches!  down  thy  arms  of  snow, 
As  if  to  lift  him  from  below ! 
Like  her  to  whom,  at  dead  of  night, 
The  bridegroom,  with  his  locks  of  light,* 
Came,  in  the  flush  of  love  and  pride, 
And  scal'd  the  terrace  of  his  bride ; — 
When,  as  she  saw  him  rashly  spring, 
And  mid-way  up  in  danger  cling, 
She  fang  him  down  her  long  black  hair, 
Exclaiming,  breathless,  "There,  love,  there !" 
And  scarce  did  manlier  nerve  uphold 

The  hero  ZAL  in  thai  fond  hour, 
Than  wings  the  youth,  who,  fleet  and  bold 
Now  climbs  the  rocks  to  HINUA'S  bower. 
See— light  a*  up  their  granite  steeps 

The  rock-goau  of  ARABIA  clamber.1 
Fearless  from  crag  to  crag  he  leaps, 
And  now  Is  in  the  maiden's  chamber. 

She  love*— but  know*  not  whom  she  loves, 

Nor  what  his  race,  nor  whence  he  came ; — 
Like  one  who  meets,  in  Indian  groves, 

Some  beauteous  bird,  without  a  name, 
Brought  by  the  last  ambrosial  breeze, 
From  isle*  in  the  unducover'd  seas, 
To  show  hi*  plumage  for  a  day 
To  wondering  eye*,  and  wing  away ! 
Will  *«  thus  fly— her  nameless  lover  ? 

Alia  forbid !  'twas  by  a  moon 
A*  fair  a*  this,  while  singing  over 

Some  ditty  to  her  soft  Kanoon,4 


•o  hot,  that  the  people  an  obliged  to  lie  all  day  in  the  w 

•eeaUisj  I*  (•netalljr  Mppoeed  to  be  taacceuib 
*  of  Uw  books  of  tie  Bhab  Nameh,  when  Zal 
her*  of  Panic,  remarkable  for  hii  whit«  Im 


Fma.  I 
n  of  his 


ITkie 

t  In  o 

•MMiri 

eoaaee  to  Ow  terrace  of  his  mietrea.  Rodahvrr  at  night,  . 
fa.  down  her  loaf  treeae.  to  awM  him  in  >„.  aicent  ;-h 
•owetrer,  auoafes  it  in  a  lew  romantic  way,  1 

^      ^f^f       ^^^M  '  Vw»l*Wpl4tll  4    rCTdost. 

i  of  Arabia  Petn»  are  rock-goau." 


lone,  at  this  same  watching  hour, 

She  first  beheld  his  radiant  eyes 
learn  through  the  lattice  of  the  bower, 

Where  nightly  now  they  mis  their  sigha ; 
nd  thought  some  spirit  of  the  air 

or  what  could  waft  a  mortal  there  ?) 

as  pausing  on  his  moonlight  way 
o  listen  to  her  lonely  lay ! 
"his  fancy  ne'er  hath  left  her  mind : 

And  though,  when  terror's  swoon  had  pasrt, 
he  saw  a  youth,  of  mortal  kind, 

Before  her  in  obeisance  cast, — 

et  often  since,  when  he  hath  spoken 

trange,  awful  words,— and  gleams  have  broken 

rom  his  dark  eyes,  too  bright  to  bear, 

Oh !  she  hath  fear'd  her  soul  was  given 
'o  some  unhallow'd  child  of  air, 

Some  erring  Spirit,  cast  from  Heaven, 
Jke  those  angelic  youths  of  old, 
Vho  burn'd  for  maids  of  mortal  mould, 

wilder'd  left  the  glorious  skies, 
\.nd  lost  their  Heaven  for  woman's  eyes ! 

•"ond  girl !  nor  fiend,  nor  angel  he, 
Vho  woos  thy  young  simplicity ; 
lut  one  of  earth's  impassion'd  sons, 
As  warm  in  love,  as  fierce  in  ire, 
^s  the  best  heart  whose  current  runs 
Full  of  the  Day-God's  living  fire ! 

lut  quench'd  to-night  that  ardour  seems, 

And  pale  his  cheek,  and  sunk  his  brow  : 
^ever  before,  but  in  her  dreams, 

Had  she  beheld  him  pale  as  now : 
And  those  were  dreams  of  troubled  sleep, 
•Yom  which  'twas  joy  to  wake  and  weep 
Visions  that  will  not  be  forgot, 

But  sadden  every  waking  scene, 
Jke  warning  ghosts,  that  leave  the  spot 
All  wither'd  where  they  once  have  been ! 

'  How  sweetly,"  said  the  trembling  maid, 
)f  her  own  gentle  voice  afraid, 
So  long  had  they  in  silence  stood, 
looking  upon  that  tranquil  flood — 
"  How  sweetly  does  the  moonbeam  smile 
To-night  upon  yon  leafy  isle ! 
3ft,  in  my  fancy's  wanderings, 
I've  wish'd  that  little  isle  had  wings, 
And  we,  within  its  fairy  bowers, 

Were  wafted  off  to  seas  unknown, 
Where  not  a  pulse  should  beat  but  ours, 

And  we  might  live,  love,  die  alone 
Far  from  the  cruel  and  the  cold — 

Where  the  bright  eyes  of  angels  only 
Should  come  around  us  to  behold 

A  paradise  so  pure  and  lonely  ! 
Would  this  be  world  enough  for  thee  ?" — 
Playful  she  turn'd,  that  he  might  see 

The  passing  smile  her  cheek  put  on  ; 
But  when  she  mark'd  how  mournfully 

His  eyes  met  hers,  that  smile  was  gone ; 
And  bursting  into  heart-felt  tears, 
"  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  my  hourly  fears, 


4  «C*M*n,**pcc«  de  [xalurioo,  avec  det  wxdei  de  boya 


let  dames  en  tmchent  dans  le  serrail,  avec  Aea  d^caillea 
armeci  de  poiuleg  de  coco."—  Todcrini,  translated  by  De 
Cournan. 


LALLA  KOOKH. 


My  dreams  have  boded  all  too  right — 
We  part — for  ever  part — to-night ! 
I  knew,  I  knew  it  could  not  last — 
'Tvvas  bright,  'twas  heavenly,  but  'tis  past ! 
Oh  !  ever  thus,  from  childhood's  hour, 

I've  seen  my  fondest  hopes  decay  ; 
I  never  lov'd  a  tree  or  flower, 

But  'twas  the  first  to  fade  away. 
I  never  nurs'd  a  dear  gazelle, 

To  glad  me  with  its  soft  black  eye, 
But  when  it  came  to  know  me  well, 

And  love  me,  it  was  sure  to  die ! 
Now  too — the  joy  most  like  divine, 

Of  all  I  ever  dreamt  or  knew, 
To  see  thee,  hear  thee,  call  thee  mine — 

Oh  misery  !  must  I  lose  that  too  ? 
Yet  go — on  peril's  brink  we  meet ; — 

Those  frightful  rocks — that  treacherous  sea- 
No,  never  come  again — though  sweet, 

Though  heaven — it  may  be  death  to  thee. 
Farewell — and  blessings  on  thy  way, 

Where'er  thou  goest,  beloved  stranger ! 
Better  to  sit  and  watch  that  ray, 
And  think  thee  safe,  though  far  away, 

Than  have  thee  near  me,  and  in  danger !" 

"Danger! — oh,  tempt  me  not  to  boast," 
The  youth  exclaim' d — "thou  litile  know'st 
What  he  can  brave,  who,  born  and  nurst 
In  Danger's  paths,  has  dar'd  her  worst ! 
Upon  whose  ear  the  signal-word 

Of  strife  and  death  is  hourly  breaking ; 
Who  sleeps  with  head  upon  the  sword 

His  fever'd  had  must  grasp  in  waking ! 
Danger ! — " 

"  Say  on — thou  fear'st  not  then, 
And  we  may  meet — oft  meet  again  ?" 

"  Oh  !  look  not  so — beneath  the  skies 

I  now  fear  nothing  but  those  eyes. 

If  aught  on  earth  could  charm  or  force 

My  spirit  from  its  destin'd  course, — 

If  aught  could  make  this  soul  forget 

The  bond  to  which  its  seal  is  set, 

'Twould  be  those  eyes ; — they,  only  they, 

Could  melt  that  sacred  seal  away ! 

But  no — 'tis  fix'd — my  awful  doom 

Is  fix'd — -on  this  side  of  the  tomb 

We  meet  no  more — why,  why  did  Heaven 

Mingle  two  souls  that  earth  has  riven, 

Has  rent  asunder  wide  as  ours  ? 

Oil,  Arab  maid !  as  soon  the  Powers 

Of  Light  and  Darkness  may  combine, 

As  I  be  link'd  with  thee  or  thine ! 

Thy  father " 

"  Holy  ALI.A  save 

His  gray-head  from  that  lightning  glance ! 
Thou  know'sl  him  not — he  loves  the  brave 

Nor  lives  there  under  heaven's  expanse 
One  who  would  prize,  would  worship  thee, 
And  thy  bold  spirit,  more  than  he. 
Oil  when,  in  childhood,  I  have  play'd 

With  the  bright  falchion  by  his  side, 
T've  heard  him  swear  his  lisping  maid 

In  time  should  be  a  warrior's  bride. 


And  still,  whene'er,  at  Haram  hours, 
I  take  him  cool  sherbets  and  flowers, 
He  tells  me,  when  in  playful  mood, 

A  hero  shall  my  bridegroom  be, 
Since  maids  are  best  in  battle  woo'd, 

And  won  with  shouts  of  victory  I 
Nay,  turn  not  from  me — thou  alone 
Art  form'd  to  make  both  hearts  thy  own. 
Go — join  his  sacred  ranks — thou  know'st  ' 

Th'  unholy  strife  these  Persians  wage : — 
Good  Heav'n  that  frown ! — e'en  now  thou  glow  it 
With  more  than  mortal  warrior's  rage. 
Haste  to  the  camp  by  morning's  light, 
And,  when  that  sword  is  rais'd  in  fight, 
Oh,  still  remember  Love  and  I 
Beneath  its  shadow  trembling  lie ! 
One  victory  o'er  those  Slaves  of  Fire, 
Those  impious  Ghebers,  whom  my  sire 

Abhors " 

"  Hold,  hold — thy  words  are  death — " 

The  stranger  cried,  as  wild  he  flung 
His  mantle  back,  and  show'd  beneath 

The  Gheber  belt  that  round  him  clung.1 
"  Here,  maiden  look — weep — blush  to  see 
All  that  thy  sire  abhors  in  me ! 
Yes — /  am  of  that  impious  race, 

Those  Slaves  of  Fire,  who,  morn  and  even, 
Hail  their  Creator's  dwelling-place 

Among  the  living  lights  of  heaven  !2 
Yes — I  am  of  that  outcast  few, 
To  IRAN  and  to  vengeance  true, 
Who  curse  the  hour  your  Arabs  came 
To  desolate  our  shrines  of  flame, 
And  swear,  before  God's  burning  eye, 
To  break  our  country's  chains,  or  die 
Thy  bigot  sire — nay,  tremble  not — 

He  who  gave  birth  to  those  dear  eyes, 
With  me  is  sacred  as  the  spot 

From  which  our  fires  of  worship  rise ! 
But  know — 'twas  he  I  sought  that  night, 

When,  from  my  watch-boat  on  the  sea, 
I  caught  this  turret's  glimmering  light, 

And  up  the  rude  rocks  desperately 
Rush'd  to  my  prey — thou  know'st  the  rest— 
I  climb'd  the  gory  vulture's  nest, 
And  found  a  trembling  dove  within ; — 
Thine,  thine  the  victory — thine  the  sin — 
If  Love  hath  made  one  thought  his  own, 
That  Vengeance  claims  first — last — alone ! 
Oh !  had  we  never,  never  met, 
Or  could  this  heart  e'en  now  forget 
How  link'd,  how  bless'd  we  might  have  been, 
Had  Fate  not  frown'd  so  dark  between, 
Hadst  thou  been  born  a  Persian  maid, 

In  neighbouring  valleys  had  we  dwelt, 
Through  the  same  fields  in  childhood  play'd, 

At  the  same  kindling  altar  knelt, — 
Then,  then,  while  all  those  nameless  ties, 


1  "They  [the  Ghebers]  lay  so  much  stress  on  the  cushee 
or  girdle,  as  not  to  dare  to  ho  an  instant  without  it." — 
Grose's  Voyage.    "  Le  jeune  homine  nia  d'abord  la  chose ; 
mais,  ayant  ete  depouille  de  sa  robe,  et  la  lur^o  ccinlure 
qu'il  portaitcommeGhebr,"  etc.  etc. — D'llcrbdot,  art.  Ag 
duani. 

2  "  They  suppose  the  Throne  of  thu  Almighty  is  sealed  in 
the  sun,  and  hence  their  worship  of  that  luminary." — //a» 
way. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  which  the  charm  of  Country  lies, 
Had  round  our  hearts  been  hourly  spun, 
Till  UAH'S  cause  and  thine  were  one;— 
While  in  thy  lute's  awakening  sigh 
I  heard  the  voice  of  days  gone  by, 
Awl  saw  in  every  smile  of  thine 

Kmufnim  ho*"*  of  K'°7  *hine !~~ 
White  the  wrong'd  Spirit  of  our  Land 

Liv'd,  look'd,  and  spoke  her  wrongs  through  thee— 
God !  who  could  then  this  sword  withstand  ? 

It*  tery  flash  were  victory ! 
Dot  now— estrang'd,  divorc'd  for  ever, 
Far  as  the  grasp  of  Fate  can  sever ; 
Our  only  ties  what  Love  has  wove, — 

Faith,  friends,  u<d  country,  sunder'd  wide  ;— 
And  then,  then  only,  true  to  love, 

When  false  to  all  that's  dear  beside ! 
Thy  father  UAN'B  deadliest  foe— 
Thyself,  perhaps,  e'en  now— but  no— 
Hate  never  look'd  so  lovely  yet ! 

No— sacred  to  thy  soul  will  be 
The  land  of  him  who  could  forget 

All  but  that  bleeding  land  for  thee ! 
When  other  eyes  shall  see,  unmov'd, 

Her  widows  mourn,  her  warriors  fall, 
Thou'lt  think  how  well  one  Gheber  lov'd, 

And  for  hi*  sake  tbou'lt  weep  for  all ! 

But  look " 

With  sudden  start  he  turn'd 

And  pointed  to  the  distant  wave, 
Where  lights,  like  charnel  meteors,  burn'd 

Blurly,  as  o'er  some  seaman's  grave : 
And  fiery  darts,  at  intervals,1 

Flew  op  all  sparkling  from  the  main, 
As  if  each  star  that  nightly  falls, 

Were  shooting  back  to  heaven  again. 

*  My  signal-lights ! — I  must  away — 

Both,  both  are  ruin'd,  if  I  stay. 

Farewell— sweet  life !  thou  cling'st  in  vain — 

flow — Vengeance ! — I  am  thine  again." 

Fiercely  he  broke  away,  nor  stopp'd 

Nor  look'd — but  from  the  lattice  dropp'd 

Down  mid  the  pointed  crags  beneath, 

As  if  he  fled  from  love  to  d«-;ith. 

While  pate  and  mute  young  HINDA  stood, 

Nor  mov'd,  till  in  the  silent  flood 

A  momentary  plunge  below 

Startled  her  from  her  trance  of  woe ; 

Shrieking  she  to  the  lattice  flew,— 
"  I  come— I  come— if  in  that  lidft 

Thou  steep'st  to-night— I'll  sleep  there  too, 

In  death's  cold  wedlock  by  thy  si.!.-. 

Oh !  I  would  ask  no  happier  bed 
Thta  the  chill  wave  my  love  lies  under  ;— 

Sweeter  to  net  together  dead. 
Far  sweeter,  than  to  live  asunder !" 

But  no— their  hour  is  not  yet  come- 
Again  she  sees  his  pinnace  fly, 

Wafting  him  fleetly  to  his  home, 
Where'er  that  ill-starrM  home  may  lie; 


And  calm  and  smooth  it  seem'd  to  win 
Its  moonlight  way  before  the  wind, 

As  if  it  bore  all  peace  within, 
Nor  left  one  breaking  heart  behind. 


Tire  Princess,  whose  heart  was  sad  enough  already 
could  have  wished  that  FERAMORZ  had  chosen  a  less 
melancholy  story ;  as  it  is  only  to  the  happy  that  teara 
are  a  luxury.  Her  ladies,  however,  were  by  no 
means  sorry  that  love  was  once  more  the  Poet's 
heme ;  for,  when  he  spoke  of  love,  they  said,  his 
voice  was  as  sweet  as  if  he  had  chewed  the  leaves  of 
hat  enchanted  tree,  which  grows  over  the  tomb  of 
he  musician,  Tan-Sein. 

Their  road  all  the  morning  had  lain  through  a  very 
dreary  country  ;— through  valleys,  covered  with  a  low 
mshy  jungle,  where,  in  more  than  one  place,  the 
awful  signal  of  the  bamboo  staff,  with  the  white  flag 
at  its  top,  reminded  the  traveller  that  in  that  very 
spot  the  tiger  had  made  some  human  creature  his  vic- 
tim. It  was  therefore  with  much  pleasure  that  they 
arrived  at  sunset  in  a  safe  and  lovely  glen,  and  en- 
camped under  one  of  those  holy  trees,  whose  smooth 
:olumns  and  spreading  roofs  seem  to  destine  them 
for  natural  temples  of  religion.  Beneath  the  shade, 
some  pious  hands  had  erected  pillars  ornamented 
with  the  most  beautiful  porcelain,  which  now  sup- 
plied the  use  of  mirrors  to  the  young  maidens,  as  they 
adjusted  their  hair  in  descending  from  the  palankeens. 
Here  while,  as  usual,  the  Princess  sat  listening 
anxiously,  with  FADLADEE.V  in  one  of  his  loftiest 
moods  of  criticism  by  her  side,  the  young  Poet,  lean- 
ing against  a  branch  of  the  tre«  thus  continued  his 
story : — 

THE  morn  hath  risen  clear  and  calm, 

And  o'er  the  Green  Sea1  palely  shines, 
Revealing  BAHREIN'S  groves  of  palm, 

And  lighting  KiSHMA's2  amber  vines. 
Fresh  smell  the  shores  of  ARABY, 
While  breezes  from  the  Indian  sea 
Blow  round  SELAMA'S*  sainted  cape, 

And  curl  the  shining  flood  beneath, — 
Whose  waves  are  rich  with  many  a  grape, 

And  cocoa-nut  and  flowery  wreath, 
Which  pious  seamen,  as  they  pass'd, 
Had  tow'rd  that  holy  headland  cast — 
Oblations  to  the  Genii  there 
For  gentle  skies  and  breezes  fair ! 
The  nightingale  now  bends  her  flight 
From  the  high  trees,  where  all  the  night 

She  sung  so  sweet,  with  none  to  listen ; 
And  hides  her  from  the  morning  star 

Where  thickets  of  pomegranate  glisten 
In  the  clear  dawn, — bespangled  o'er 

With  dew,  whose  night-drops  would  not  stain 


A Tt6^*,m'lqlr  U"1  W<fe  «  lh«  "">"'  h"»«,  when 
*   °*rH  to  U>°°1  "  '•".,»•«  in,,,  , I, 


1  The  Persian  Gulf.— "To  dive  for  pearls  in  the  Green 
>i  a,  or  Partial!  Giilt'."— .*«>  W.  Jones. 

•2  Island,  in  iho  Gulf. 

3  Or  Scl.Mii.-li.  tin-  £.-nut!iR  name  of  tho  hoadlaml  at  <h« 
onirnnrc  „(  ,|,,>  c;,,]^  r.,mm()n|v  C:i\\e,\  capc  Mussddom 

Ihij  Indians,  wli.'ii  they  pass  the  promontory,  throw 
i  iirun-iiiii*,  fruits,  or  flowers  into  the  sea  to  secure  a  pro 
pitiouj  voyage."— Morier. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


61 


The  test  and  brightest  scimetar1 
That  ever  youthful  Sultan  wore 
On  the  first  morning  of  his  reign ! 

And  see — the  Sun  himself! — on  wings 
Of  glory  up  the  East  he  springs. 
Angel  of  Light !  who,  from  the  time 
Those  heavens  began  their  march  sublime, 
Hath  first  of  all  the  starry  choir 
Trod  in  his  Maker's  steps  of  fire  ! 

Where  are  the  days,  thou  wondrous  sphere, 
When  IRAN,  like  a  sun-flower,  turn'd 
To  meet  that  eye  where'er  it  burn'd  ? — 

When,  from  the  banks  of  BENDEMKKR. 
To  the  nut-groves  o.'  SAMARCAND 
Thy  temples  flam'd  o'er  all  the  land  ? 
Where  are  they  ?  ask  the  shades  of  them 

Who,  on  CADESSIA'S*  bloody  plains, 
Saw  fierce  invaders  pluck  the  gem 
From  IRAN'S  broken  diadem, 

And  bind  her  ancient  faith  in  chains : — 
Ask  the  poor  exile,  cast  alone 
On  foreign  shores,  unlov'd,  unknown, 
Beyond  the  Caspian's  Iron  Gates,3 

Or  on  the  snowy  Mossian  mountains, 
Far  from  his  beauteous  land  of  dates, 

Her  jasmine  bowers  and  sunny  fountains  ! 
Yet  happier  so  than  if  he  trod 
His  own  belov'd  but  blighted  sod, 
Beneath  a  despot  stranger's  nod  ! — 
Oh !  he  would  rather  houseless  roam 

Where  Freedom  and  his  God  may  lead, 
Than  be  the  sleekest  slave  at  home 

That  crouches  to  the  conqueror's  creed ! 
Is  IRAN'S  pride  then  gone  for  ever, 

Quench'd  with  the  flame  in  MITHRA'S  caves? 
No — she  has  sons  that  never — never — 

Will  stoop  to  be  the  Moslem's  slaves, 

While  heaven  has  light  or  earth  has  graves. 
Spirits  of  fire,  that  brood  not  long, 
But  flash  resentment  back  for  wrong ; 
And  hearts,  where,  slow  but  deep,  the  seeds 
Of  vengeance  ripen  into  deeds ; 
Till,  in  some  treacherous  hour  of  calm, 
They  burst,  like  ZEILAN'S  giant  palm,4 
Whose  buds  fly  open  with  a  sound 
That  shakes  the  pigmy  forests  round ! 

Yes,  EMIR  !  he,  who  scal'd  that  tower, 

And,  had  he  reach'd  thy  slumbering  breast, 
Had  taught  thee,  in  a  Gheber's  power 

How  safe  e'en  tyrants  heads  may  rest- 
Is  one  of  many,  brave  as  he, 
Who  loathe  thy  haughty  race  and  thee ; 


1  In  speaking  of  the  climate  of  Shiraz,  Francklin  Rays, 
"  the  dew  is  of  such  a  pure  nature,  that,  if  the  brightest 
•cimitar  should  be  exposed  to  it  all  night,  it  would  not  re- 
ceive tl»'  Irai-t  rust." 

2  The  place  where  the  Persians  were  finally  defeated  by 
Jie  Arabs,  anil  their  ancient  monarchy  destroyed. 

3  Derln-ud. — "  I.esTurcsappellent  cette  ville  DemirCapi, 
Porte  dci  Fer ;  ce  sent  les  Caspire  Portie  des  anciens." — U' 
Uerbdot. 

4  The  Talpot  or  Talipot  tree. — "This  beautiful  palm- 
tree,  which  grows  in  the  heart  of  the  forests,  may  be  chased 
among  the  loftiest  tree?,  and  becomes  still  higher  when  on 
the  point  of  bursting  fortii  from  its  leafy  summit.  The  sheath 
which  then  envelopes  the  flower  is  very  large,  and,  wlicn  it 
bursts,  makes  an  explosion  like  the  report  of  a  cannon." — 
Tkunberg. 


Who,  though  they  know  the  strife  is  vain — 

Who,  though  they  know  the  riven  chain 

Snaps  but  to  enter  in  the  heart 

Of  him  who  rends  its  links  apart, 

Yet  dare  the  issue — blest  to  be 

E'en  for  one  bleeding  moment  free, 

And  die  in  pangs  of  liberty ! 

Thou  know'st  them  well — 'tis  some  moons  since 

Thy  turban'd  troops  and  blood-red  flags, 
Thou  satrap  of -a  bigot  Prince  ! 

Have  swarm'd  among  these  Green  Sea  cragp ; 
Yet  here,  e'en  here,  a  sacred  band, 
Ay,  in  the  portal  of  that  land  \ 

Thou,  Arab,  dar'st  to  call  thy  own, 
Their  spears  across  thy  path  have  thrown  \ 
Here — ere  the  winds  half  wing'd  thee  o'er- 
Rebellion  brav'd  thee  from  the  shore. 

Rebellion  !  foul,  dishonouring  word, 

Whose  wrongful  blight  so  oft  has  stain'd 
The  holiest  cause  that  tongue  or  sword 

Of  mortal  ever  lest  or  gain'd. 
How  many  a  spiri',  born  to  bless, 

Hath  sunk  beneath  that  withering  name, 
Whom  but  a  day's,  an  hour's,  success 

Had  wafted  to  eternal  fame  ! 
As  exhalations  when  they  burst 
From  the  warm  earth,  if  chill'd  at  first, 
If  check'd  in  soaring  from  the  plain, 
Darken  to  fogs  and  sink  again  ; — 
But  if  they  once  triumphant  spread 
Their  wings  above  the  mountain-head, 
Become  enthron'd  in  upper  air, 
And  turn  to  sun-bright  glories  there  ! 

And  who  is  he,  that  wields  the  might 

Of  Freedom  on  the  Green  Sea  brink, 
Before  whose  sabre's  dazzling  light 

The  eyes  of  YEMEN'S  warriors  wink? 
Who  comes  embower'd  in  the  spears 
Of  HERMAN'S  hardy  mountaineers? — 
Those  mountaineers,  that,  truest,  last, 

Cling  to  their  country's  ancient  rites, 
As  if  that  God  whose  eyelids  cast 

Their  closing  gleam  on  IRAN'S  heights, 
Among  her  snowy  mountains  threw 
The  last  light  of  his  worship  too  ! 

'Tis  HAFED — name  of  fear,  whose  sound 
Chills  like  the  muttering  of  a  charm ; — 

Shout  but  that  awful  name  around, 
And  palsy  shakes  the  manliest  arm. 

'Tis  HAFED,  most  accurst  and  dire 

(So  rank'd  by  Moslem  hate  and  ire) 

Of  all  the  rebel  Sons  of  Fire  ! 

Of  whose  malign,  tremendous  power 

The  Arabs,  at  their  mid-watch  hour 

Such  tales  of  fearful  wonder  tell. 

That  each  affrighted  sentinel 

Pulls  down  his  cowl  upon  his  eyes, 

Lest  HAFED  in  the  midst  should  rise ! 

A  man,  they  say,  of  monstrous  birth, 

A  mingled  race  of  flame  and  earth, 

Sprung  from  those  old,  enchanted  kings,1 
Who  in  their  fairy  helms,  of  yore, 


1  Tahmuras,  and  other  ancient  kinga  of  Persia,  who*- 
adventures  in  Fairy  Land  among  the  Peris  and  Dive*  inaj 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  the  Simootfh  resistless  wore , 
And  girted  by  the  Fiends  of  Fire, 
Wbogro"  *o  see  their  shrine,  expire. 
With  charms  that,  all  in  vain  withstood, 
Would  drown  the  Koran's  light  in  blood . 
Book  were  the  tales  that  won  belief, 

And  such  the  colouring  Fancy  gave 
To  a  young,  warm,  and  dauntless  Guef,- 

One  who,  »o  more  than  mortal  brave, 
Fooght  for  the  land  his  soul  ador'd, 

For  happy  homes,  and  altars  free,— 
His  only  lahsman,  the  sword, 

His  only  spell-word.  Liberty ! 
One  of  that  ancient  hero  line, 
Along  whose  glorious  current  shine 
Names  that  have  sanctified  their  blood ; 
As  LEBANON'S  small  mountain  flood 
Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 
Of  sainted  cedars  on  its  banks  *> 
Twas  not  for  him  to  crouch  the  knee 
Tamely  to  Moslem  tyranny;— 
Twas  not  for  him,  whose  soul  was  cast 
In  the  bright  mould  of  ages  past, 
Whose  melancholy  spirit,  fed 
With  all  the  glories  of  the  dead. 
Though  fram'd  for  IRAN'S  happiest  years, 
Was  bora  among  her  chains  and  tears ! 
Twas  not  for  him  to  swell  the  crowd 
Of  slavish  heads,  that,  shrinking,  bow'd 
Before  the  Moslem,  as  he  paas'd, 
Like  shrubs  beneath  the  poison  blast- 
No— far  be  fled,  indignant  fled 

The  pageant  of  his  country's  shame ; 
While  every  tear  her  children  shed 

Fell  on  his  soul  like  drops  of  flame ; 
And  as  a  lover  hails  the  dawn 

Of  a  first  smile,  so  welcom'd  he 
The  sparkle  of  the  first  sword  drawn 
For  vengeance  and  for  liberty ! 

Bat  vain  was  valour — vain  the  flower 
Of  KCEMAN,  in  that  deathful  hour, 
Against  At.  HASSAN'S  whelming  power 
IB  vain  they  met  him,  helm  to  helm, 
Upon  the  threshold  of  that  realm 
He  came  in  bigot  pomp  to  sway, 
And  with  their  corpses  block'd  his  way- 
la  vain— for  every  lance  they  rais'd, 
Thousands  around  the  conqueror  blaz'd ; 
For  every  arm  that  lin'd  their  shore, 
Mynadf  of  slaves  were  wafted  o'er — 
A  bloody,  bold,  and  countless  crowd, 
Before  whose  swarms  ss  fast  they  bow'd 
As  dates  beneath  the  locust  cloud  ! 

Than  stood — but  one  short  league  away 
From  old  HARMOXIA'*  sultry  nay — 
A  rocky  mountain,  o'er  the  Sea 
Of  Oman  beetling  awfully : 


_        1 — 

A  last  and  solitary  link 

Of  those  stupendous  chains  that  reach 
From  the  broad  Caspian's  reedy  brink 

Down  winding  to  the  Green  Sea  bead 
Around  its  base  the  bare  rocks  stood, 
Like  naked  giants,  in  the  flood, 

As  if  to  guard  the  Gulf  across ; 
While,  on  its  peak,  that  brav  d  the  sky, 
A  ruin'd  temple  tower'd,  so  high 

That  oft  the  sleeping  albatross1 
Struck  the  wild  ruins  with  her  wing, 
And  from  her  cloud-rock'd  slumbering 
Started— to  find  man's  dwelling  there 
In  her  own  silent  fields  of  air  \ 
Beneath,  terrific  caverns  gave 
Dark  welcome  to  each  stormy  wave 
That  dash'd,  like  midnight  revellers,  in ;  -  - 
And  such  the  strange,  mysterious  din 
At  times  throughout  those  cavern^  roll  d  ;- 
And  such  the  fearful  wonders  told 
Of  restless  sprites  imprison'd  there, 
That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare, 
At  twilight  hour,  to  steer  his  skiff 
Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff. 
On  the  land  side,  those  towers  sublime, 
That  seem'd  above  the  grasp  of  Time, 
Were  sever'd  from  the  haunts  of  men 
By  a  wide,  deep,  and  wizard  glen, 
So  fathomless,  so  full  of  gloom, 

No  eye  could  pierce  the  void  between ; 
It  seem'd  a  place  where  Gholes  might  come 
With  their  foul  banquets  from  the  tomb, 
And  in  its  caverns  feed  unseen. 

Like  distant  thunder,  from  below, 
The  sound  of  many  torrents  came ; 

Too  deep  for  eye  or  ear  to  know 

If  'twere  the  sea's  imprison'd  flow, 
Or  floods  of  ever-restless  flame. 

For  each  ravine,  each  rocky  spire 

Of  that  vast  mountain  stood  on  fire  ;* 

And,  though  for  ever  past  the  days 

When  God  was  worshipp'd  i"  the  blaze 

That  from  its  lofty  altar  shone, — 

Though  fled  the  Priests,  the  votaries  gone, 

Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on 

Through  chance  and  change,  through  good  and  ill 

Like  its  own  God's  eternal  will, 

Deep,  constant,  bright,  unquenchable  I 

Thither  the  vanquish'd  HAFED  led 

His  little  army's  last  remains ; —  ^ 
"  Welcome,  terrific  glen !"  he  said, 
"  Thy  gloom,  that  Eblis'  self  might  dread. 

Is  heaven  to  him  who  flies  from  chains '." 
O'er  a  dark,  narrow  bridge-way,  known 
To  him  and  to  his  Chiefs  alone, 
They  cross'd  the  chasm  and  gain'd  the  towers ; — 
"  Tins  home,"  he  cried,  "  at  least  is  ours — 
Here  we  may  bleed,  unmock'd  by  hymns 

Of  Moslem  triumph  o'er  our  head  ; 
Here  we  may  fall,  nor  leave  our  limbs 

To  quiver  to  the  Moslem's  tread  ; 


be  tumd  ID  Ejehardnft's  curious  Dissertation.  The  griffin 
••Worth,  thct  «»».  look  son*  (eathrts  from  her  breast  Tor 
ral«ut»«.  with  which  b«  adorned  his  helmet,  and  Uans- 
annid  them  afterward*  to  hi*  descendants.  •  I  about  the  Cape  ot  Good- Hope. 

1  Taw  rmdM,  surs  Dsadini,  it  called  the  Holy  River,       2  The  fihebers  generally  built  their  temples  orersubter- 
*•«  «fc«  «  e«rf«T-s*inu,"  .moot  which  it  rbe*,  I  raneoui  fires. 


1  These  birds  sleep  in  the  air.    They  are  moat  common 
about  tin-  Cape  of  Good-Hope. 

- 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


63 


Stretch'd  on  this  rock,  while  vulture's  beaks 
Are  whetted  on  our  yet  warm  cheeks, 
Here, — happy  that  no  tyrant's  eye 
Gloats  on  our  torments — we  may  die !' 

Twas  night  when  to  those  towers  they  came ; 
And  gloomily  the  fitful  flame, 
That  from  the  ruin'd  altar  broke, 
Glar'd  on  his  features,  as  he  spoke : — 
"  'Tis  o'er — what  men  could  do,  we've  done : 
If  IRAN  will  look  tamely  on, 
And  see  her  priests,  her  warriors  driven 

Before  a  sensual  bigot's  nod, 
A  wretch,  who  takes  his  lusts  to  heaven, 

And  makes  a  pander  of  his  God ! 
If  her  proud  sons,  her  high-born  souls, 

Men,  in  whose  veins — oh  last  disgrace  ! 
The  blood  of  ZAL,  and  RUSTAM,'  rolls, — 

If  they  will  court  this  upstart  race, 
And  turn  from  MITHRA'S  ancient  ray, 
To  kneel  at  shrines  of  yesterday  ! 
If  they  will  crouch  to  IRAN'S  foes, 

Why,  let  them — till  the  land's  despair 
Cries  out  to  Heav'n,  and  bondage  grows 

Too  vile  for  e'en  the  vile  to  bear ! 
Till  shame  at  last,  long  hidden,  burns 
Their  inmost  core,  and  conscience  turns 
Each  coward  tear  the  slave  lets  fall 
Back  on  his  heart  in  drops  of  gall ! 
But  here,  at  least,  are  arms  unchain'd, 
And  souls  that  thraldom  never  stain'd ; — 

This  spot,  at  least,  no  foot  of  slave 
Or  satrap  ever  yet  profan'd ; 

And,  though  but  few — though  fast  the  wave 
Of  life  is  ebbing  from  our  veins, 
Enough  for  vengeance  still  remains. 
As  panthers,  after  set  of  sun, 
Rush  from  the  roots  of  LEBANON 
Across  the  dark  sea-robber's  way,4 
We'll  bound  upon  our  startled  prey ; — 
And  when  some  hearts  that  proudest  swell 
Have  felt  our  falchion  s  last  farewell ; 
When  Hope's  expiring  throb  is  o'er, 
And  e'en  Despair  can  prompt  no  more, 
This  spot  shall  be  the  sacred  grave 
Of  the  last  few  who,  vainly  brave, 
Die  for  the  land  they  cannot  save  !" 
His  Chiefs  stood  round — each  shining  blade 
Upon  the  broken  altar  laid — 
And  though  so  wild  and  desolate 
Those  courts,  where  once  the  Mighty  sate  ; 
Nor  longer  on  those  mouldering  towers 
Was  seen  the  feast  of  fruits  and  flowers, 
With  which  of  old  the  Magi  fed 
The  wandering  spirits  of  their  dead  ;3 
Though  neither  priests  nor  rites  were  there, 

Nor  cnarmed  leaf  of  pure  pomegranate,* 


^or  hymn,  nor  censer's  fragrant  air, 

Nor  symbol  of  their  worshipp'd  planet;1 
Yet  the  same  God  that  heard  their  sires 
Fleard  them ;  while  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore  the  latest,  holiest  deed 
Of  the  few  hearts,  still  left  to  bleed, 
Should  be,  in  IRAN'S  injur'd  name, 
To  die  upon  that  Mount  of  Flame — 
The  last  of  all  her  patriot  line, 
Before  her  last  untrampled  Shrine  ! 

Brave,  suffering  souls !  they  little  knew 
How  many  a  tear  their  injuries  drew 
From  one  meek  maid,  one  gentle  foe, 
Whom  Love  first  touch'd  with  others'  woe-- 
Whose  life,  as  free  from  thought  as  sin, 
Slept  like  a  lake,  till  Love  threw  in 
His  talisman,.and  woke  the  tide, 
And  spread  its  trembling  circles  wide. 
Once,  EMIR  !  thy  unheeding  child, 
Mid  all  this  havoc,  bloom'd  and  smil'd, — 
Tranquil  as  on  some  battle-plain 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers, 
Before  the  combat's  reddening  stain 

Hath  fall'n  upon  her  golden  flowers. 
Light-hearted  maid,  unaw'd,  unmov'd, 
While  heav'n  but  spar'd  the  sire  she  lov'd, 
Once  at  thy  evening  tales  of  blood 
Unlistening  and  aloof  she  stood — 
And  oft,  when  thou  hast  pac'd  along 

Thy  Haram  halls  with  furious  heat, 
Hast  thou  not  curs'd  her  cheerful  song, 

That  came  across  thee,  calm  and  sweet, 
Like  lutes  of  angels,  touch'd  so  near 
Hell's  confines,  that  the  damn'd  can  hear 
Far  other  feelings  Love  hath  brought — 

Her  soul  all  flame,  her  brow  all  sadness 
She  now  has  but  the  one  dear  thought, 

And  thinks  that  o'er,  almost  to  madness ' 
Oft  doth  her  sinking  heart  recall 
His  words — "  for  my  sake  weep  for  all ;" 
And  bitterly,  as  day  on  day 

Of  rebel  carnage  fast  succeeds, 
She  weeps  a  lover  snatch'd  away 

In  every  Gheber  wretch  that  bleeds. 
There's  not  a  sabre  meets  her  eye, 

But  with  his  life-blood  seems  to  swim 
There 's  not  an  arrow  wings  the  sky, 

But  fancy  turns  its  point  to  him. 
No  more  she  brings  with  footstep  light 
AL  HASSAN'S  falchion  for  the  fight ; 
And — had  he  look'd  with  clearer  sight — 
Had  not  the  mists,  that  ever  rise 
From  a  foul  spirit,  dimm'd  his  eyes — 
He  would  have  mark'd  her  shuddering  frame. 
When  from  the  field  of  blood  he  came; 


1  Ancient  heroes  of  Persia.  "  Among  the  Ghcbers  there 
are  some  wtio  boast  their  descent  from  Rustam." — Strphen', 
Persia. 

'liK-d's  aeeountof  the  panthers  attacking  travellers 
W  the  night  on  the  sen-shore  about  the  roots  of  Lebanon. 

3  Among  other  ceremonies,  the  Magi  used  to  place  upon 
the  tops  of  ln«li  towers  various  kinds  of  rich  viands,  upon 
<rhicli  it  was  supposed  tlie  Peris  and  the  spirits  of  their  de- 
parted heroes  regaleo  themselves." — Riehanlxim. 

4  In  the  ceremonies  of  the  Ghebere  round  their  Fire,  as 


described  by  Lord,  "  the  Daroo,"  he  savs,  "  giveth  them 
water  to  drink,  and  a  pomegranate  leaf  to  chew  in  in* 
mouth,  to  cleanse  them  from  inward  uncleanness." 

1  "Early  in  the  morning,  they  (the  Parsnes  or  (ihehcra  at 
Oulam)  go  in  crowds  to  pay  their  devotions  to  the  Sun,  to 
whom  upon  all  the  altars  there  are  spheres  consecrated, 
made  by  miigic,  resembling  the  circles  of  the  sun;  ami  whi  n 
the  sun  rises,  these  orbs  seem  to  be  inflamed,  anil  to  turn 
round  with  a  great  noise.  They  have  every  orn-  a 
,their  hands,  and  ofter  inconso  to  the  sun." — Rabbi  Bcnja 


MOORE'S  WORKS.^ 

.  Yes— spite  of  his  ravines  and  towers. 


Such  cl«nge  »  wrought  by  Love  alone ! 
Ahl  »ot  the  love,  that  should  have  bless'd 
So  young,  so  innocent  a  breast ; 
Not  the  pure,  open,  prosperous  love, 
Thsl,  pledg'd  on  earth  and  seal'd  above, 
Grows  in  the  world's  approving  eyes, 

In  friendship's  smile  and  home  s  caress, 
Collecting  all  the  heart's  sweet  ties 

Into  one  knot  of  happiness ! 
No,  HINOA,  no— thy  fatal  flame 
b  nurs'd  in  silence,  sorrow,  shame. — 

A  passion,  without  hope  or  pleasure, 
In  thy  soul's  darkness  buried  deep, 

It  lies,  like  some  ill-gotten  treasure,— 
Some  idol,  without  shrine  or  name, 
O'er  which  its  pale-ey'd  votaries  keep 
Unholy  watch,  while  others  sleep ! 

Seven  mights  have  darken'd  OMAN'S  Sea, 
Since  last,  beneath  the  moonlight  ray, 
She  s*.w  his  light  oar  rapidly 

Hurry  her  Gheber's  bark  away,— 
And  still  she  goes,  at  midnight  hour, 
To  weep  alone  in  that  high  bower, 
And  watch,  and  look  along  the  deep 
For  him  whose  smiles  first  made  her  weep. 
But  watching,  weeping,  all  was  vain, 
She  never  saw  his  bark  again. 
The  owlet's  solitary  cry, 
The  night-hawk,  flitting  darkly  by, 
And  oft  the  hateful  carrion  bird, 
Heavily  flapping  his  clogged  wing, 
Which  reek'd  with  that  day's  banqueting, 
Was  all  she  saw,  was  all  she  heard. 

Tis  the  eighth  mom — AL  HASSAN'S  brow 

b  brighten'd  with  unusual  joy — 
What  mighty  mischief  glads  him  now, 

Who  never  smiles  but  to  destroy  ? 
The  sparkle  upon  HERKEND'S  Sea, 
When  tost  at  midnight  furiously,1 
Tells  not  a  wreck  and  ruin  nigh, 
More  surely  than  that  smiling  eye ! 
"  Up,  daughter  up — the  KernaV  breath 
Has  blown  a  blast  would  waken  death, 
And  yet  thou  sleep'st — up,  child,  and  see 
This  blessed  day  for  Heaven  and  me, 
A  day  more  rich  in  Pagan  blood 
Than  ever  flash'd  o'er  OMAN'S  flood. 
Before  another  dawn  shall  shine, 
His  bead,  heart,  limbs— will  all  be  mine , 
This  very  night  his  blood  shall  steep 
These  hands  all  over  ere  I  sloop  !" 
"  liu  blood  !"  she  faintly  scream'd— her  mind 
Still  dagling  one  from  all  mankind— 


1  "It  i. 


, 
with 


tf»l  WSM  U  i.  toMd  by  a-m 

of  im.  Mukam 


Mukammtd. 


the  Sea  of  Hprkcn.!, 
windi  it  sparkles  like 


HAFED,  my  child,  this  night  .s  our 
Thanks  to  all-conquering  treachery, 

Without  whose  aid  the  links  accurst, 
That  bind  these  impious  slaves,  would  b 

To  strong  for  ALLA'S  self  to  burst . 
That  rebel  fiend,  whose  blade  has  spread 
My  path  with  piles  of  Moslem  dead, 
Whose  baffling  spells  had  almost  driven 
Back  from  their  course  the  Swords  of  Heaven, 
This  night,  with  all  his  band,  shall  know 
How  deep  an  Arab's  steel  can  go, 
When  GOD  and  Vengeance  speed  the  blow, 
And— Prophet!— by  that  holy  wreath 
Thou  wor'st  on  OHOD'S  field  of  death,' 
I  swear,  for  every  sob  that  parts 
In  anguish  from  these  heathen  hearts, 
A  gem  from  Persia's  plunder'd  mines 
Shall  glitter  on  thy  Shrine  of  Shrines. 
But  ha  '.—she  sinks— that  look  so  wild— 
Those  livid  lips— my  child,  my  child, 
This  life  of  blood  befits  not  thee, 
And  thou  must  back  to  ARABY. 

Ne'er  had  I  risk'd  thy  timid  sex 
In  scenes  that  man  himself  might  dread, 
Had  I  not  hop'd  our  every  tread 

Would  be  on  prostrate  Persian  necks — 
Curst  race,  they  offer  swords  instead  ! 
But  cheer  thee,  maid — the  wind  that  no 
Is  blowing  o'er  thy  feverish  brow, 
To-day  shall  waft  thee  from  the  shore ; 
And,  ere  a  drop  of  this  night's  gore 
Have  time  to  chill  in  yonder  towers, 
Thou'lt  see  thy  own  sweet  Arab  bowers !" 

His  bloody  boast  was  all  too  true — 
There  lurk'd  one  wretch  among  the  few 
Whom  HAFEU'S  eagle  eye  could  count 
Around  him  on  that  Fiery  Mount. 
One  miscreant,  who  for  gold  betray'd 
The  path-way  through  the  valley's  shade 
To  those  high  towers  where  Freedom  stood 
In  her  last  hold  of  flame  and  blood. 
I^ft  on  the  field  last  dreadful  night, 
When,  sallying  from  their  Sacred  Height, 
The  Ghebers  fought  hope's  farewell  fight, 
1  He  lay — but  died  not  with  the  brave  ; 
That  sun,  which  should  have  gilt  his  grave, 
]  Saw  him  a  traitor  and  a  slave ; — 
And,  while  the  few,  who  thence  retum'd 
I  To  their  high  rocky  fortress,  mourn'd 
I  For  him  among  the  matchless  dead 
They  left  behind  on  glory's  bed, 
He  liv'd,  and,  in  the  face  of  mom, 
|  Laugh'd  them  and  Faith  and  Heaven  to  scorn 

Oh  for  a  tongue  to  curse  the  slaVe, 
Whose  treason,  like  a  deadly  blight, 

Comes  o'er  the  councils  of  the  brave, 
And  blasts  them  in  their  hour  of  might ! 

May  life's  unblessed  cup,  for  him, 

with  treacheries  to  the  brim — 


•ras  that  used  by  Tamerlane,       1  "Mohammed  hnd  two  helmeU,  an  interior  and  f»!en« 
as  uncommonly  dreadful,   one  ;  the  Inn,  -i  of  which,  railed  Al  Mawashuh,  the  fillet,  m 
irt  at  Ibc  distance  ofseveral  miles."   wreathed  garland,  he  wore  at  the  batUe  of  Ohod."—  Uni 
tenal  History 


LALIA  ROOK  II. 


tVith  hopes,  that  but  allure  to  fly, 

With  joys  that  vanish  while  he  sips, 
Like  Dead-Sea  fruits,  that  tempt  the  eye, 

But  turn  to  ashes  on  the  lips  ! 
His  country's  curse,  his  children's  shame, 
Outcast  of  virtue,  peace,  and  fame, 
May  he,  at  last,  with  lips  of  flame 
On  the  parch'd  desert  thirsting  die, — 
While  lakes  that  shone  in  mockery  nigh 
Are  fading  off,  untouch'd,  untasted 
Like  the  once  glorious  hopes  he  blasted ! 
And,  when  from  earth  his  spirit  flies, 

Just  Prophet,  lot  the  damn'd-one  dwell 
Full  in  the  sight  of  Paradise, 

Beholding  Heaven  and  feeling  Hell ! 


LALLA  ROOKH  had  had  a  dream  the  night  before, 
which,  in  spite  of  the  impending  fate  of  poor  HAFED, 
made  her  heart  more  than  usually  cheerful  during 
the  morning,  and  gave  her  cheeks  all  the  freshened 
animation  of  a  flower  that  the  Bidmusk  has  just 
passed  over.  She  fancied  that  she  was  sailing  on 
that  Eastern  Ocean,  where  the  sea-gipsies  who  live 
for  ever  on  the  water,  enjoy  a  perpetual  summer  in 
wandering  from  isle  to  isle,  when  she  saw  a  small 
gilded  bark  approaching  her.  It  was  like  one  of 
those  boats  which  the  Maldivian  islanders  annually 
send  adrift,  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  loaded 
with  perfumes,  flowers,  and  odoriferous  wood,  as  an 
offering  to  the  Spirit  whom  they  call  King  of  the 
Sea.  At  first,  this  little  bark  appeared  to  be  empty, 
but  on  coming  nearer 

She  had  proceeded  thus  far  in  relating  the  dream 
to  her  Ladies,  whpuFERAMORz  appeared  at  the  door 
of  the  pavilion.  In  his  presence,  of  course,  every 
thing  else  was  forgotten,  and  the  continuance  of  the 
story  was  instantly  requested  by  all.  Fresh  wood  of 
aloes  was  set  to  burn  in  the  cassolets ; — the  violet 
sherbets  were  hastily  handed  round,  and,  after  a  short 
prelude  on  his  lute,  in  the  pathetic  measure  of  Nava, 
which  is  always  used  to  express  the  lamentations  of 
absent  lovers,  the  Poet  thus  continued : — 

THE  day  is  lowering — stilly  black 
Sleeps  the  grim  wave,  while  heaven's  rack, 
Dispers'd  and  wild,  'twixt  eartli  and  sky 
Hangs  like  a  shattered  canopy ! 
There's  not  a  cloud  in  that  blue  plain, 

But  tells  of  storm  to  come  or  past ; — 
Here,  flying  loosely  as  the  mane 

Of  a  young  war-horse  in  the  blast ; — 
There,  roll'd  in  masses  dark  and  swelling, 
As  proud  to  be  the  thunder's  dwelling ! 
While  some,  already  burst  and  riven, 
Seem  melting  down  the  verge  of  heaven ; 
As  though  the  infant  storm  had  rent 

The  mighty  womb  that  gave  him  birth, 
And,  having  swept  the  firmament, 

Was  now  in  fierce  career  for  earth. 
On  earth,  'twas  yet  all  calm  around, 
A  pulseless  silence,  dread,  profound, 
More  awful  than  the  tempest's  sound. 
The  diver  steer'd  for  ORMUS'  bowers, 
And  moor'd  his  skiff  till  calmer  hours ; 


The  sea-birds,  with  portentous  screech, 
Flew  fast  to  land  : — upon  the  beach 
The  pilot  oft  had  paus'd,  with  glance 
Turn'd  upward  to  that  wild  expanse ; 
And  all  was  boding,  drear  and  dark 
As  her  own  soul,  when  HINDA'S  bark 
Went  slowly  from  the  Persian  shore. — 
No  music  tim'd  her  parting  oar,1 
Nor  friends,  upon  the  lessening  strand 
Linger'd,  to  wave  the  unseen  hand, 
Or  speak  the  farewell,  heard  no  more. 
But  lone,  unheeded,  from  the  bay 
The  vessel  takes  its  mournful  way, 
Like  some  ill-destin'd  bark  that  steers 
In  silence  through  the  Gate  of  Tears.* 

And  where  was  stern  AL  HASSAN  then? 
Could  not  that  saintly  scourge  of  men 
From  bloodshed  and  devotion  spare 
One  minute  for  a  farewell  there  ? 
No — close  within,  in  changeful  fits 
Of  cursing  and  of  prayer,  he  sits 
In  savage  loneliness  to  brood 
Upon  the  coming  night  of  blood, 

With  that  keen,  second-scent  of  death, 
By  which  the  vulture  snuffs  his  food 

In  the  still  warm  and  living  breath !' 
While  o'er  the  wave  his  weeping  daughter 
Is  wafted  from  the  scenes  of  slaughter, 
As  a  young  bird  of  BABYLON,* 
Let  loose  to  tell  of  victory  won, 
Flies  home,  with  wing,  ah  !  not  unstain'd 
By  the  red  hands  that  held  her  chain' d. 

And  does  the  long-left  home  she  seeks 

Light  up  no  gladness  on  her  cheeks  ? 

The  flowers  she  nurs'd — the  well-known  grove*, 

Where  oft  in  dreams  her  spirit  roves — 

Once  more  to  see  her  dear  gazelles 

Come  bounding  with  their  silver  bells  ; 

Her  birds'  new  plumage  to  behold, 

And  the  gay,  gleaming  fishes  count, 
She  left,  all  filletted  with  gold, 

Shooting  around  their  jasper  fount.5 — 
Her  little  garden  mosque  to  see, 

And  once  again,  at  evening  hour, 
To  tell  her  ruby  rosary 

In  her  own  sweet  acacia  bower. 
Can  these  delights,  that  wait  her  now, 
Call  up  no  sunshine  on  her  brow  ? 
No — silent,  from  her  train  apart, — 
As  if  e'en  now  she  felt  at  heart 


1  "  The  Easterns  used  to  set  out  on  their  Jonger  voyage* 
with  music." — JJunin-r. 

2  "  The  Gate  of  Tears,  (lie  straits  or  passage  into  the  Reo 
Soa,  commonly  called  J!abelmaiidi-l.    ll  recenrwj  lliie  nam« 
from  the  old  Arabians,  on  account  of  the  danger  of  the  navi- 
gation, and  the  number  of  shipwrecks  by  which  it  was  dis- 
tinguished;  which  induced  them  to  consider  as  dead,  and 
to  wear  mourning  tor,  all  who  had  the  boldness  to  ha/aril 

he  passage  through  it  into  the  Ethiopic  ocean." — Richard- 
son. 

3  "  I  have  been  told  that  whensoever  an  animal  falls 
down  dead,  one  or  more  vultures,  unseen  before,  instantly 
appear." — Pennant. 

4  "  They  tdsten  some  writing  to  the  wings  of  a  Basda* 
or  Babylonian  pigeon." — Travels  of  certain  Knglislime* 

5  "The  Empress  of  Jehan-Guire  used  to  divert  herself 
with  feeding  tame  fish  in  her  canals,  some  of  which  were 
nany  years  afterwards  known  by  fillets  of  gold,  which  glw 
caused  V>  be  put  round  them." — Harris. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  dull  of  her  approaching  doom,- 

8ba  sits,  all  lovely  "» •>«  gloom, 

At  a  pale  Angel  of  the  Grave; 

AM!  o'er  the  wide,  tempestuous  ware, 

Look*  with  a  thudder,  to  those  towers, 

When,  In  a  few  abort  awful  hours, 

Blood,  blood,  in  attaining  tidea  shall  run, 

Fool  iacense  for  to-roorrow'i  aun ! 

•  Where  ait  tbou,  glorious  stranger !  thou, 

So  lov'd,  M  lost,  where  art  thou  now  ? 

Foe-Gbeber— infidel— whate'er 

IV  unhallow'd  name  thou'rt  doom'd  to  bear, 
Mil  glorious— «till  to  this  fond  heart 
Dear  a*  iu  blood,  whate'er  thou  art! 

Yet— ALLA,  dreadful  ALLA  !  yes— 

If  there  be  wrong,  be  crime  in  this, 

Let  the  black  wave*  that  round  us  roll, 

Whelm  me  this  instant,  ere  my  soul, 

Forgetting  faith,  home,  father,  ail- 
Before  its  earthly  idol  fall, 

Nor  worship  e'en  Thyself  above  him— 

For  oh !  so  wildly  do  1  love  him, 

Thy  Paradise  itself  were  dim 

And  joyless,  if  not  ahar'd  with  him !" 

Her  bands  were  clasp'd— her  eyes  uptum'd, 
popping  their  tears  like  moonlight  rain ; 
And,  though  her  lip,  fond  raver !  burn'd 
With  words  of  passion,  bold,  profane, 
Yet  was  there  light  around  her  brow, 

A  holiness  in  those  dark  eyes. 
Which  show'd— though  wandering  earthward  now,  - 

Her  spirit's  home  was  in  the  skies. 
Tea— for  a  spirit,  pure  as  hers, 
Is  always  pure,  e'en  while  it  errs ; 
As  sunshine,  broken  in  the  rill, 
Though  turn'd  astray,  is  sunshine  still ! 

So  wholly  had  her  mind  forgot 

All  thoughts  but  one,  she  heeded  not 

The  rising  storm — the  wave  that  cast 

A  moment's  midnight,  as  it  pass'd ; 

Nor  beard  the  frequent  shout,  the  tread 

Of  gathering  tumult  o'er  her  head — 

Clash'd  swords,  and  tongues  that  seem'd  to  vie 

With  the  rode  riot  of  the  sky. 

Bat  hark !— that  war-whoop  on  the  deck- 
That  crash,  as  if  each  engine  there. 

Mast,  sails,  and  all,  were  gone  to  wreck, 

'Mid  yells  and  stampings  of  despair  1 
Merciful  heav'n !  what  CON  it  be? 
Tis  not  the  storm,  though  fearfully 
The  ship  has  shuddered  as  she  rode 
O'er  mountain  waves — "  Forgive  me,  God ! 
Forgive  me"— shriek' d  the  maid  and  knelt, 
Trembling  all  over — for  she  felt, 
Aa  if  her  judgment  hour  was  near; 
While  crouching  round,  half  dead  with  fear, 
Bar  lamdmaiih  clung,  nor  breath'd,  nor  stirr'd— 
When,  bark !— a  second  crash— a  third— 
And  MOW,  as  if  a  bolt  ot  thunder 
Had  riv'n  the  labouring  planks  asunder, 
The  deck  falls  in — what  horrors  then  ! 
Blood,  waves,  and  tackle,  swords  and  men 
COSBI  mii'd  together  through  the  chasm ; — 
in  their  dying  spasm 


Still  fighting  on— and  some  that  call 

«  For  God  and  IRAN  !"  as  they  fall ! 

Whose  was  the  hand  that  turn'd  away 

The  perils  of  th'  infuriate  fray, 

And  snatch'd  her,  breathless,  from  beneath 

Tliis  wilderment  of  wreck  and  death  ? 

She  knew  not— for  a  faintness  came 

Chill  o'er  her,  and  her  sinking  frame, 

Amid  the  ruins  of  that  hour, 

Lay,  like  a  pale  and  scorched  flower, 

Beneath  the  red  volcano's  shower ! 

But  oh !  the  sights  and  sounds  of  dread 

That  shock'd  her,  ere  her  senses  fled ! 

The  yawning  deck— the  crowd  that  strove 

Upon  the  tottering  planks  above— 

The  sail,  whose  fragments,  shivering  o'er 

The  strugglers'   heads,  all  dash'd  with  gore, 

Flutter'd  like  bloody  flags— the  clash 

Of  sabres,  and  the  lightning's  flash 

Upon  their  blades,  high  toss'd  about 

Like  meteor  brands' — as  if  throughout 

The  elements  one  fury  ran, 
One  general  rage,  that  left  a  doubt 

Which  was  the  fiercer,  Heav  n  or  Man ' 

Once  too — but  no — it  could  not  be — 

'Twas  fancy  all— yet  once  she  thought, 
While  yet  her  fading  eyes  could  see, 
High  on  the  ruin'd  deck  she  caught 
A  glimpse  of  that  unearthly  form, 
That  glory  of  her  soul — e'en^hen, 
jnid  the  whirl  of  wreck  and  storm, 
Shining  above  his  fellow  men, 
As,  on  some  black  and  troublous  night, 
'he  Star  of  EGYPT,*  whose  proud  light 
fever  hath  beam'd  on  those  who  rest 
n  the  White  Islands  of  the  West,3 
Jurns  through  the  storm  with  looks  \f  flame 
That  put  heaven's  cloudier  eyes  to  shame ! 
Jut  no — 'twas  but  the  minute's  dream — 
A  fantasy — and  ere  the  scream 
lad  half-way  pass'd  her  pallid  lips, 
\  death-like  swoon,  a  chill  eclipse 
Of  soul  and  sense  its  darkness  spread 
Around  her,  and  she  sunk,  as  dead ! 

[low  calm,  how  beautiful  comes  on 
The  stilly  hour,  when  storms  are  gone ; 
When  warring  winds  have  died  away, 
And  clouds,  beneath  the  glancing  ray, 
Melt  off,  and  leave  the  land  and  sea 
Sleeping  in  bright  tranquillity, — 
Fresh  as  if  Day  again  were  born, 
Again  upon  the  lap  of  Morn ! 
When  the  light  blossoms,  rudely  torn 
And  scattcr'd  at  the  whirlwind's  will, 
Hang  floating  in  the  pure  air  still, 
Filling  it  all  with  precious  balm, 
In  gratitude  for  this  sweet  calm  ; 
And  every  drop  the  thunder-showers 
Have  led  upon  the  grass  and  flowers 


1  The  meteors  that  Pliny  calls  "  faces." 

2  "  The  bfiUiautCaaopus,  unseen  in  European  climate*.  ' 
— Broicn. 

3  See  Wilford's  learned  Essajg  on  the  Sacred  Isles  in 
the  West. 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


Sparkles,  as  'twere  that  lightning-gem' 
Whose  liquid  flame  is  born  of  them  ! 

When,  'stead  of  one  unchanging  breeze, 
There  blow  a  thousand  gentle  airs, 
And  each  a  different  perfume  bears,— 

As  if  the  loveliest  plants  and  trees 
Had  vassal  breezes  of  their  own 
To  watch  and  wait  on  them  alone, 
And  waft  no  other  breath  than  theirs! 
When  the  blue  waters  rise  and  fall, 
In  sleepy  sunshine  mantling  all ; 
And  e'en  that  swell  the  tempest  leaves 
Is  like  the  full  and  silent  heaves 
Of  lovers'  hearts,  when  newly  blest, 
Too  newly  to  be  quite  at  rest ! 

Such  was  the  golden  hour  that  broke 
Upon  the  world  when  HINDA  woke 
From  her  long  trance,  and  heard  around 
No  motion  but  the  water's  sound 
Rippling  against  the  vessel's  side, 
As  slow  it  mounted  o'er  the  tide. — 
But  where  is  she  ? — her  eyes  are  dark, 
Are  wilder'd  still — is  this  the  bark, 
The  same,  that  from  HARMOZIA'S  bay 
Bore  her  at  morn — whose  bloody  way 
The  sea-dog  track'd  ? — no— strange  and  new 
Is  all  that  meets  her  wondering  view. 
Upon  a  galliot's  deck  she  lies, 

Beneath  no  rich  pavilion's  shade, 
No  plumes  to  fan  her  sleeping  eyes. 

Nor  jasmine  on  her  pillow  laid. 
But  the  rude  litter,  roughly  spread 
With  war-cloaks,  is  her  homely  bed, 
And  shawl  and  sash,  on  javelins  hung, 
For  awning  o'er  her  head  are  flung. 
Shuddering  she  look'd  around — there  lay 

A  group  of  warriors  in  the  sun 
Resting  their  limbs,  as  for  that  day 

Their  ministry  of  death  were  done. 
Some  gazing  on  the  drowsy  sea, 
Lost  in  unconscious  reverie; 
And  some,  who  seem'd  but  ill  to  brook 
That  sluggish  calm,  with  many  a  look 
To  the  slack  sail  impatient  cast, 
As  loose  it  flagg'd  around  the  mast. 

Blest  ALLA  !  who  shall  save  her  now  ? 

There's  not  in  all  that  warrior-band 
One  Arab  sword,  one  turban'd  brow 

From  her  own  Faithful  3Ioslem  land. 
Their  garb — the  leathern  belt*  that  wraps 

Each  yellow  vest3 — that  rebel  hue — 
The  Tartar  fleece  upon  their  caps4 — 

Yes — yes — her  fears  are  all  too  true, 
And  Heav'n  hath,  in  this  dreadful  hour, 
Abandon'd  her  to  HAFKD'S  power ; — 


1  A  precious  stone  of  the  Indies,  called  by  tlie  ancients  Ce- 
rauniiiin,  bociuise  it  was  supposed  to  be  found  in  places 
where  thunder  had  fallen.     Tirtullian  says  it  has  a  glitter- 
ing appearance,  as  if  there  had  been  lire  in  it;  and  the  au- 
thor of  ihi:  Dissertation  in  Hums' n  Voyages  supposes  it  to 
be  the  onal. 

2  ir  Hrrbrlot,  Art.  Agdnani. 

3  ''The  Guebrcs  are  known  by  a  dark  yellow  colour, 
rhich  the  men  affect  in  their  clothes."—  The n  nut. 

4  "The  Koliih,  or  cap,  worn  by  the  IVrsmns,  is  made  of 
die  skill  of  the  sheep  of  Tortury." — H'arinff 


HAFED,  the  Gheber ! — at  the  thought 

Her  very  heart's  blood  chills  within , 
He,  whom  her  soul  was  hourly  taught 

To  loathe,  as  some  foul  fiend  of  sin. 
Some  minister,  whom  Hell  had  sent 
To  spread  its  blast,  where'er  he  went, 
And  fling,  as  o'er  our  earth  he  trod, 
His  shadow  betwixt  man  and  God ! 
And  she  is  now  his  captive — thrown 
In  his  fierce  hands,  alive,  alone ; 
His  the  infuriate  band  she  sees, 
All  infidels — all  enemies  ! 
What  was  the  daring  hope  that  then 
Cross'd  her  like  lightning,  as  again, 
With  boldness  that  despair  had  lent, 

She  darted  through  that  armed  crowd 
A  look  so  searching,  so  intent, 

That  e'en  the  sternest  warrior  bow'd, 
Abash'd,  when  he  her  glances  caught, 
As  if  he  guess'd  whose  form  they  sought, 
But  no — she  sees  him  not — 'tis  gone, — 
The  vision,  that  before  her  shone 
Through  all  the  maze  of  blood  and  storm, 
Is  fled — 'twas  but  a  phantom  form — 
One  of  those  passing,  rainbow  dreams, 
Half  light,  half  shade,  which  Fancy's  beams 
Paint  on  the  fleeting  mists  that  roll 
In  trance  or  slumber  round  the  soul ! 

But  now  the  bark,  with  livelier  bound, 
Scales  the  blue  wave — the  crew's  in  motion—* 

The  oars  are  out,  and  with  light  sound 
Break  the  bright  mirror  of  the  ocean, 

Scattering  its  brilliant  fragments  round. 

And  now  she  sees — with  horror  sees 
Their  course  is  tow'rd  that  mountain  hold,— 

Those  towers,  that  make  her  life-blood  freeze, 

Where  MECCA'S  godless  enemies 
Lie,  likebeleaguer'dscorpions,  roll'd 
In  their  last  deadly,  venomous  fold ! 

Amid  th'  illumin'd  land  and  flood, 
Sunless  that  mighty  mountain  stood  ; 
Save  where,  above  its  awful  head, 
There  shone  a  flaming  cloud,  blood-red, 
\s  'twere  the  flag  of  destiny 
Hung  out  to  mark  where  death  would  be ! 
[lad  her  bewilder'd  mind  the  power 
Of  thought  in  this  terrific  hour, 
She  well  might  marvel  where  or  how 
3Ian's  foot  could  scale  that  mountain's  brow , 

ince  ne'er  had  Arab  heard  or  known 
Of  path  but  through  the  glen  alone. 
3ut  every  thought  was  lost  in  fear, 
When,  as  their  bounding  bark  drew  near 
The  craggy  base,  she  felt  the  waves 
lurry  them  tow'rd  those  dismal  caves 
That  from  the  Deep  in  windings  pass 
Beneath  that  Mount's  volcanic  mass : 
Vnd  loud  a  Voice  on  deck  commands 
To  lower  the  mast  and  light  the  brands  !— 
nstuntly  o'er  the  dashing  tide 
Within  a  cavern's  mouth  they  glide, 

loomy  as  that  eternal  Porch, 

Through  which  departed  spirits  go  ;— 

ot  e'en  the  flare  of  brand  and  torch 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ha  flickering  light  could  further  throw 

Than  the  thick  flood  that  boil'd  below. 
fJQnBi  they  floated — aa  if  each 
Sat  breathless,  and  too  aw'd  for  speech 
IB  that  dark  tr— r— .  where  even  sound 
SeeoTd  dark,— ao  sullenly  around 
The  goblin  cchoea  of  the  care 
Matter'd  k  o'er  the  long  black  ware, 
As 'twere  some  secret  of  the  grave! 
Bat  soft— they  panse— the  current  turns 

Bca^fh  them  from  ita  onward  track  ;— 
Some  mighty,  onaeen  barrier  spurns 

The  vexed  tide,  all  foaming,  back, 
And  acarce  the  oav-'a  redoubled  force 
Can  stem  the  eddjr'a  whirling  course ; 
When,  hark !— tome  desperate  foot  has  sprung 
A"">-g  the  rocks— the  chain  is  flung — 
The  oars  are  up— the  grapple  clings, 
And  the  toaa'd  bark  in  moorings  swings. 

Just  then  a  day-beam,  through  the  shade, 
Broke  tremulous — but,  ere  the  maid 
Can  see  from  whence  the  brightness  steak, 
Upon  her  brow  she  shuddering  feels 
A  Tiewleas  hand,  that  promptly  tie* 
A  bandage  round  her  burning  eyea ; 
While  the  rude  litter  where  she  lies, 
.Uplifted  by  the  warrior  throng, 
O'er  the  steep  rocks  is  borne  along. 
Bleat  power  of  sunshine  !  genial  day, 
Whit  balm,  what  life  is  in  thy  ray ! 
To  feel  thee  is  such  real  bliss, 
That  bad  the  world  no  joy  but  this, 
To  ait  in  sunshine  calm  and  sweet,— 
It  were  a  world  too  exquisite  / 

For  nan  to  leave  it  for  the  gloom, 
The  deep,  cold  shadow  of  the  tomb ! 
E'en  HINDA,  though  she  saw  not  where 

Or  whither  wound  the  perilous  road, 
Yet  knew  by  that  awakening  air, 

Which  suddenly  around  her  glow'd, 
That  they  had  ris'n  from  darkness  then, 
And  breath'd  the  sunny  world  again ! 

Bat  soon  this  balmy  freshness  fled : 

For  BOW  the  ateepy  labyrinth  led 

Through  damp  and  gloom— 'mid  crash  of  boughs, 

And  (all  of  looten'd  crags  that  rouse 

The  leopard  from  his  hungry  sleep, 

Who,  starting,  thinks  each  crag  a  prey, 
And  loaf  ia  heard  from  steep  to  steep, 

Chasing  them  down  their  thundering  way. 
The  jackal's  cry— the  distant  moan 
Of  the  kyna,  fierce  and  lone  ;— 

A        '         .••:•..!,.„        -.  :   •         :,1 

Of  toman  hi  the  (lea  beneath, 
As  'twere  the  ever-dark  Profound 

That  rolls  rmnalh  the  Bridge  of  Death ! 
AH,  all  is  fcarful— e'en  to  see, 

To  gaxe  on  those  terrific  things 
8hs)  ROW  bat  bfisjdrj  near*,  would  be 

I  ••'•'.T         -' 

•Jbee  surer  yet  was  shape  so  dread, 
Aft  fancy,  Urns  in  darkness  thrown, 

And  by  such  sounds  of  horror  f.  •<!, 
r-ould  frame  man  dreadful  of  her  own 


But  does  she  dream  ?  has  Fear  again 

Perplex'd  the  workings  of  her  brain, 

Or  did  a  voice,  all  music,  then 

Come  from  the  gloom,  low  whispering  near— 

"Tremble  not,  love,  thy  Gheber  's  here  !" 

She  doe*  not  dream— all  sense— all  ear, 

She  drinks  the  words,  "Thy  Gheber's  here." 

'Twos  his  own  voice — she  could  not  err — 

Throughout  the  breathing  world's  extent 
There  was  but  one  such  voice  for  her, 

So  kind,  so  soft,  so  eloquent ! 
Oh !  sooner  shall  the  rose  of  May 

Mistake  her  own  sweet  nightingale, 
And  to  some  meaner  minstrel's  lay 

Open  her  bosom's  glowing  veil,1 
Than  Love  shall  ever  doubt  a  tone, 
A  breath  of  the  beloved  one ! 
Though  blest,  'mid  all  her  ills,  to  think 

She  has  that  one  beloved  near, 
Whose  smile,  though  met  on  ruin's  brink, 

Hath  power  to  make  e'en  ruin  dear, — 
Yet  soon  this  gleam  of  rapture,  crost 
By  fears  for  him,  is  chill'd  and  lost. 
How  shall  the  ruthless  HAFED  brook 
That  one  of  Gheber  blood  should  look, 
With  aught  but  curses  in  his  eye, 
On  her — a  maid  of  ARABY- 
A  Moslem  maid — the  child  of  him, 

Whose  bloody  banner'*  dire  success 
Hath  left  their  altars  cold  and  dim, 

And  their  fair  land  a  wilderness  ! 
And,  worse  than  all,  that  night  of  blood 

Which  comes  so  fast— oh  !  who  shall  stay 
The  sword,  that  once  hath  tasted  food 

Of  Persian  hearts,  or  turn  its  way  ? 
What  arm  shall  then  the  victim  cover, 
Or  from  her  father  shield  her  lover  ? 
"  Save  him,  my  God !"  she  inly  cries — 
"Save  him  this  night — and  if  thine  eyes 

Have  ever  welcom'd  with  delight 
The  sinner's  tears,  the  sacrifice 

Of  sinners'  hearts — guard  him  this  night, 
And  here,  before  thy  throne,  I  swear 
From  my  heart's  inmost  core  to  tear 

Love,  hope,  remembrance,  though  they  be 
Link'd  with  each  quivering  life-string  there, 

And  give  it  bleeding  all  to  Thee  ! 
Let  him  but  live,  the  burning  tear, 
The  sighs,  so  sinful,  yet  so  dear, 
Which  have  been  all  too  much  his  own, 
Shall  from  this  hour  be  Heaven's  alone. 
Youth  pass'd  in  penitence,  and  age 
In  long  and  painful  pilgrimage, 
Shall  leave  no  traces  of  the  flame 
That  wastes  me  now — nor  shall  his  name 
E'er  bless  my  lips,  but  when  I  pray 
For  his  dear  spirit  that  away 
Casting  from  its  angelic  ray 
TV  eclipse  of  earth,  he  too  may  shine 
Redeem'd,  all  glorious  and  all  Thine ! 
Think — think  what  victory  to  win 
One  radiant  soul  like  his  from  sin ; — 


1  A  frequent  imnge  amonsr  the  oriental  ports.    "The 
••liantiruj  notes,  nnd  rent  th«- 
thin  veil*  of  the  rose-bud  and  the  rose." — Jauti 


LALLA  ROOKH 


H 


One  wandering  star  of  virtue  back 
To  its  own  native,  he;iven-w;ird  track ! 
Let  him  but  live,  and  both  are  Thine, 

Together  Thine — for,  blest  or  crost, 
Laving  or  dead,  his  doom  is  mine ; 

And  if  he  perish,  both  are  lost !" 


THE  next  evening  LALLA  ROOKH  was  entreated 
by  her  ladies  to  continue  the  relation  of  her  won- 
derful dream  ;  but  the  fearful  interest  that  hung  round 
the  late  of  Hi. MM  and  her  lover  had  completely  re- 
moved every  trace  of  it  from  her  mind ; — much  to 
the  disappointment  of  a  fair  seer  or  two  in  her  train, 
who  prided  themselves  on  their  skill  in  interpreting 
visions,  and  who  had  already  remarked,  as  an  un- 
lucky omen,  that  the  Princess,  on  the  very  morning 
after  the  dream,  had  worn  a  silk  dyed  with  the  blos- 
soms of  the  sorrowful  tree,  iS'ilica. 

FADI.ADKKN,'  whose  wrath  had  more  than  once 
broken  out  during  the  recital  of  some  parts  of  this 
most  heterodox  poem,  seemed  at  length  to  have  made 
up  his  mind  to  the  infliction ;  and  took  his  seat  for 
the  evening  with  all  the  patience  of  a  martyr,  while  the 
Poet  continued  his  profane  and  seditious  story  thus : — 

To  tearless  eyes  and  hearts  at  ease 

The  leafy  shores  and  sun-bright  seas, 

That  lay  beneath  that  mountain's  height, 

Had  been  a  fair,  enchanting  sight. 

'Twas  one  of  those  ambrosial  eves 

A  day  of  storm  so  often  leaves 

At  its  calm  setting — when  the  West 

Opens  her  golden  bowers  of  rest, 

And  a  moist  radiance  from  the  skies 

Shoots  trembling  down,  as  from  the  eyes 

Of  some  meek  penitent,  whose  last, 

Bright  hours  atone  for  dark  ones  past, 

And  whose  sweet  tears  o'er  wrong  forgiven, 

Shine,  as  they  fall,  with  light  from  heaven  ! 

Twas  stillness  all — the  winds  that  late 

Had  rush'd  through  HERMAN'S  almond  groves, 
And  shaken  from  her  bowers  of  date 

That  cooling  feast  the  traveller  loves,1 
Now,  lull'd  to  languor,  scarcely  curl 

The  Green  Sea  wave,  whose  waters  gleam 
Limpid,  as  if  her  mines  of  pearl 

Were  melted  all  to  form  the  stream. 
And  her  fair  islets,  small  and  bright, 

With  their  green  shores  reflected  there, 
Look  like  those  Peri  isles  of  light, 

That  hang  by  spell-work  in  the  air. 
But  vainly  did  those  glories  burst 
On  HINDA'S  dazzled  eyes,  when  first 
The  bandage  from  her  brow  was  taken, 
And  pale  and  aw'd  as  those  who  waken 
In  theii  dark  tombs — when,  scowling  near, 
The  Searchers  of  the  Grave2  appear, — 
She  shuddering  turn'd  to  read  her  fate 

In  the  fierce  eyes  that  fiash'd  around  ; 


1  "  In  parts  of  Herman,  whatever  dates  are  shaken  from 
the  trees  by  the  wind  they  do  not  touch,  but  leave  them  for 
those  who  have  not  any,  or  for  travellers." — K/>n  Hnukel. 

'2  The  two  terrible  angels,  Monkir  and  Nakir;  who  are 
called  "the  Searchers  of  the  Giave"  in  the  "Creed  of  the 
Mthodox  Mahometans"  given  by  Ockley,  vol.  ii. 


And  saw  tTiose  towers,  all  desolate, 

That  o'er  her  head  terrific  frown'd, 
As  if  defying  e'en  the  smile 
Of  that  soft  heaven  to  g'ld  their  pile. 
In  vain,  with  mingled  hope  and  fear, 
She  looks  for  him  whose  voice  so  dear 
Had  come,  like  music,  to  her  ear — 
Strange,  mocking  dream !  again  'tis  fled. 
And  oh  !  the  shoots,  the  pangs  of  dread 
That  through  her  inmost  bosom  run, 

When  voices  from  without  proclaim 
"  HAFED,  the  Chief!" — and,  one  by  one, 

The  warriors  shout  that  fearful  name ' 
He  comes — the  rock  resounds  his  treao. — 
How  shall  she  dare  to  lift  her  nead, 
Or  meet  those  eyes,  whose  scorching  glaie 
Not  YEMEN'S  boldest  sons  can  bear? 
In  whose  red  beam,  the  Moslem  tells, 
Such  rank  and  deadly  lustre  dwells, 
As  in  those  hellish  fires  that  light 
The  mandrake's  charnel  leaves  at  night !' 
How  shall  she  bear  that  voice's  tone, 
At  whose  loud  battle-cry  alone 
Whole  squadrons  oft  in  panic  ran, 
Scattered,  like  some  vast  caravan, 
When,  strctch'd  at  evening,  round  the  well, 
They  h^r  the  thirsting  tiger's  yell  ? 
Breathless  she  stands,  with  eyes  cast  down, 
Shrinking  beneath  the  fiery  frown, 
Which,  fancy  tells  her,  from  that  brow 
Is  flashing  o'er  her  fiercely  now  ; 
And  shuddering,  as  she  hears  the  tread 

Of  his  retiring  warrior  band. — 
Never  was  pause  so  full  of  dread ; 

Till  HAFED  with  a  trembling  hand 
Took  hers,  and,  leaning  o'er  her,  said, 
"  HINDA  !" — that  word  was  all  he  spoke, 
And  'twas  enough — the  shriek  that  broke 

From  her  full  bosom  told  the  rest. — 
Panting  with  terror,  joy,  surprise, 
The  maid  but  lifts  her  wondering  eyes 

To  hide  them  on  her  Gheber's  breast ! 
'Tis  he,  'tis  he — the  man  of  blood, 
The  fellest  of  the  fire-fiends  brood, 
HAFED,  the  demon  qf  the  fight, 
Whose  voice  unnerves,  whose  glances  bnght,— 
Is  her  own  loved  Gheber,  mild 
And  glorious  as  when  first  he  smil'd 
In  her  lone  tower,  and  left  such  beams 
Of  his  pure  eye  to  light  her  dreams, 
That  she  believ'd  her  bower  had  given 
Rest  to  some  wanderer  from  heaven ! 
Moments  there  are,  and  this  was  one, 
Snatch'd  like  a  minute's  gleam  of  sun 
Amid  the  black  Simoom's  eclipse — 

Or  like  those  verdant  spots  that  bloom 
Around  the  crater's  burning  lips, 

Sweetening  the  very  edge  of  doom  ' 
The  past — the  future — all  that  Fate 
Can  bring  of  dark  or  desperate 
Around  such  hours,  but  makes  them  cast 
Intenser  radiance  while  they  last ! 


1  'Vriie  Arabians  call  the  mandrake  '  the  Devil's  cnmllii, 
on  account  of  itg  chining  appearance  in  the  night." — hick 
ardson. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Fen  be,  thi»  youth—  though  dirom'd  and  gone 

Each  Mar  of  Hope  that  cheer'd  him  on- 

Hit  glories  lost—  his  cause  betray  'd— 

UAH,  hit  dear-lored  country,  made 

A  land  of  carcase*  and  glares, 

One  dreary  waste  of  chains  and  graves  ! 

Himself  bat  lingering,  dead  at  heart, 

To  see  the  last,  long-struggling  breath 
Of  Liberty's  great  soul  depart, 

Then  lay  him  down,  and  share  her  death— 
E'en  he,  so  sunk  in  wretchedness, 

With  doom  still  darker  gathering  o'er  him, 
Yet,  in  this  moment's  pure  caress, 

In  the  mild  eyes  that  shone  before  him, 
Beaming  that  blest  assurance,  worth 
All  other  transports  known  on  earth, 
That  he  was  lov'd—  well,  warmly  lov'd— 
Oh  !  in  this  precious  hour  he  prov'd 
How  deep,  how  thorough-felt  the  glow 
Of  rapture,  kindling  out  of  woe  ;  — 
How  exquisite  one  single  drop 
Of  bliss,  thus  sparkling  to  the  top 
Of  misery's  cup—  how  keenly  quafTd, 
Though  death  must  follow  on  the  draught  ! 
She  too,  while  gazing  on  those  eyes 

That  sink  into  her  soul  so  deep, 
Forgets  all  fears,  all  miseries, 

Or  feels  them  like  the  wretch  in  sleep, 
Whom  Fancy  cheats  into  a  smile, 
Who  dreams  of  joy,  and  sobs  the  while  ! 
The  mighty  ruins  where  they  stood, 

Upon  the  mount's  high,  rocky  verge, 
Lay  open  tow'rds  the  ocean  flood, 

Wnere  lightly  o'er  th'  illumin'd  surge 
Many  a  fair  bark,  that,  all  the  day, 
Had  lurk'd  in  sheltering  creek  or  bay, 
Now  bounded  on  and  gave  their  sails, 
Yet  dripping,  to  the  evening  gales  ; 
Like  eagles,  when  the  storm  is  done, 
Spreading  their  wet  wings  in  the  sun. 
The  beauteous  clouds,  though  daylight's  Star 
Had  sunk  behind  the  hills  of  LAR, 
Were  still  with  lingering  glories  bright^- 
As  if  to  grace  the  gorgeous  West, 

The  Spirit  of  departing  Light 
That  ere  had  left  its  sunny  vest 
B«*ind  him,  ere  he  wing'd  his  flight 

*  was  scene  so  form'd  for  love  ! 

weath  them  wares  of  crystal  move 

Hint  swell—  Heav'n  glows  above, 

A«      eb  -pure  heart*,  to  transport  given. 

e  the  wave,  and  glow  like  heav'n. 

B«  ah!  too  soon  that  dream  is  past— 
Again,  again  her  fear  returns  ;— 
M    d'Tdful  n'8»«.  »  gathering  fast. 
*  faintly  the  horiion  burns, 

A»d  every  rosy  tint  that  lay 

On  the  smooth  sea  hath  .hed.  way. 

H««>l7  to  the  darkening  skies 

A  i  Ij 


ov'st  me,  fl._ 

will  his  murderous  band  be  here. 
AIM  I  shall  sec  thee  Meed  and  die  - 


Hush  ! — lieard'st  thou  not  the  tramp  of  men 
Sounding  from  yonder  fearful  glen  ? — 
Perhaps  e'en  now  they  climb  the  wood — 
Fly,  fly — though  still  the  West  is  bright, 
He'll  come — oh  !  yes — he  wants  thy  blooa— 

J  know  him — he'll  not  wait  for  night !" 
In  terrors  e'en  to  agony 
She  clings  around  the  wondering  Chief:— 
Alas,  poor  wilder'd  maid  !  to  me 
Thou  ow'st  this  raving  trance  of  grief. 
Lost  as  I  am,  nought  ever  grew 
Beneath  my  shade  but  perish'd  too — 
My  doom  is  like  the  Dead  Sea  air, 
And  nothing  lives  that  enters  there  ! 
Why  were  our  barks  together  driven 
Beneath  this  morning's  furious  heaven  ? 
Why,  when  I  saw  the  prize  that  chance 

Had  thrown  into  my  desperate  arms, — 
When,  casting  but  a  single  glance 

Upon  thy  pale  and  prostrate  charms, 
I  vow'd  (though  watching  viewless  o'er 
Thy  safety  through  that  hour's  alarms^ 
To  meet  th'  unmanning  sight  no  more — 
Why  have  I  broke  that  heart-wrung  vow  ? 
Why  weakly,  madly  met  thee  now  ? — 
Start  not — that  noise  is  but  the  shock 

Of  torrents  through  yon  valley  hurl'd — 
Dread  nothing  here — upon  this  rock 
We  stand  above  the  jarring  world, 
Alike  beyond  its  hope — its  dread — 
n  gloomy  safety,  like  the  Dead  ! 
)r,  could  e'en  earth  and  hell  unite 
n  league  to  storm  this  sacred  height, 
rear  nothing  thou— myself,  to-night, 
Vnd  each  o'erlooking  star  that  dwells 
Near  God,  will  be  thy  sentinels ; 
tnd,  ere  to-morrow's  dawn  shall  glow, 

Jack  to  thy  sire " 

"  To-morrow  ! — no — " 
Tie  maiden  scream'd — "  thou'lt  never  see 
'o-morrow's  sun — death,  death  will  be 
Tie  night-cry  through  each  reeking  tqwer, 
nless  we  fly,  ay,  fly  this  hour ! 
'hou  art  betray'd— some  wretch  who  knew 
'hat  dreadful  glen's  mysterious  clew- 
ay,  doubt  not— by  yon  stars  'tis  true— 
ath  sold  thee  to  my  vengeful  sire ; 
Tu's  morning,  with  that  smile  so  dire 
Ie  wears  in  joy,  he  told  me  all, 
And  stamp'd  in  triumph  through  our  hall 
As  though  thy  heart  already  beat 
Its  last  life-throb  beneath  his  feet ! 
Good  heav'n,  how  little  dream'd  I  then 

His  victim  was  my  own  lov'd  youth  !— 
Fly— send— let  some  one  watch  the  glen— 

By  all  my  hopes  of  heaven  'tis  truth !" 
Oh  !  colder  than  the  wind  that  freezes 

Founts,  that  but  now  in  sunshine  play'd, 
Is  that  congealing  pang  which  seizes 

The  trusting  bosom,  when  betray'd. 
He  felt  it— deeply  felt— and  stood, 
As  if  the  tale  had  froz'n  his  blood, 

So  amaz'd  and  motionless  was  he  ;— 
Like  one  whom  sudden  spells  enchant, 
Ur  some  mute,  marble  habitant 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


7] 


Of  the  still  halls  of  ISHMONIE  !l 
But  soon  the  painful  chill  was  o'er, 

.nd  his  great  soul,  herself  once  more 
i^ook'd  from  b's  b'ow  in  all  the  rays 
Of  her  best,  happiest,  grandest  days  ! 
Never,  in  moment  most  elate, 

Did  that  high  spirit  loftier  rise  ; — 
While  bright,  serene,  determinate, 

His  looks  are  lifted  to  the  skies, 
As  if  the  signal  lights  of  Fate 

Were  shining  in  those  awful  eyes  ! 
Tis  come — his  hour  of  martyrdom 
In  IRAN'S  sacred  cause  is  come ; 
And  though  his  life  hath  pass'd  away 
Like  lightning  on  a  stormy  day, 
Yet  shall  his  death-hour  leave  a  track 

Of  glory,  permanent  and  bright, 
To  which  the  brave  of  aftertimes, 
The  suffering  brave  shall  long  look  back 

With  proud  regret, — and  by  its  light 

Watch  through  the  hours  of  slavery's  night 
For  vengeance  pn  th'  oppressor's  crimes  ! 
This  rock,  his  monument  aloft, 

Shall  speak  the  tale  to  many  an  age ; 
And  hither  bards  and  heroes  oft 

Shall  come  in  secret  pilgrimage, 
And  bring  their  warrior  sons,  and  tell 
The  wondering  boys  where  HAFED  fell, 
And  swear  them  on  those  lone  remains 
Of  their  lost  country's  ancient  fanes, 
Never — while  breath  of  life  shall  live 
Within  them — never  to  forgive 
Th'  accursed  race,  whose  ruthless  chain 
Hath  left  on  IRAN'S  neck  a  stain, 
Blood,  blood  alone  can  cleanse  again ! 

Such  are  the  swelling  thoughts  that  now 
Enthrone  themselves  on  HAFED'S  brow : 
And  ne'er  did  Saint  of  IssA2  gaze 

On  the  red  wreath,  for  martyrs  twin'd, 
More  proudly  than  the  youth  surveys 

That  pile,  which  through  the  gloom  behind, 
Half  lighted  by  the  altar's  fire, 
Glimme-s, — his  destin'd  funeral  pyre ! 
Ilenp'd  by  his  own,  his  comrade's  hands, 

Of  every  wood  of  odorous  breath, 
Then*,  by  the  Fire-god's  shrine  it  stands, 

Ready  to  fold  in  radiant  death 
The  few  still  left  of  those  who  swore 
To  perish  there,  when  hope  was  o'er — 
The  few,  to  whom  that  couch  of  flame, 
Which  rescues  them  from  bonds  and  shame, 
Is  sweet  and  welcome  as  the  bed 
For  their  own  infant  Prophet  spread, 
When  pitying  Heav'n  to  roses  ttirn'd 
The  death-flames  that  beneath  him  burn'd  !3 

With  watchfulness  the  maid  attends 
His  rapid  glance,  where'er  it  bends — 


i  For  an  account  of  Tshmonie,  the  petrified  city  in  I'ppnr 
Egypt,  where  it  is  said  there  are  many  slaturs  of  mrn, 
woinrM,  etc.  to  be  seen  lo  this  day,  sue  ferry' s  ^'ielc  of  t  lie 
Levant. 

Z  Jt-sus. 

3  "The  Ohrbors  say,  that  when  Abraham,  thoir  great 
Propli  •!,  was  iliniwn  into  the  fire  by  order  of  Nimrod,  the 
flame  turned  instantly  into  a  !>ed  of  roues,  where  the  child 
wec-tlv  ~««wl_" — 'J'avernier. 


Why  shoots  his  eyes  such  awful  beams  ? 
What  plans  he  now  ?  what  thinks  or  dreams  ? 
Alas  !  why  stands  he  musing  here, 
When  every  moment  teams  with  fear  t 
"  HAFED,  my  own  beloved  lord," 
She  kneeling  cries — "  first,  last  ador'd ! 
If  in  that  soul  thou'st  ever  felt 

Half  what  thy  lips  impassion'd  swore, 
Here,  on  my  knees,  that  never  knelt 

To  any  but  their  God  before, 
I  pray  thee,  as  thou  lov'st  me,  fly — 
Now,  now — ere  yet  their  blades  are  nigh. 
Oh  haste — the  bark  that  bore  me  hither 

Can  waft  us  o'er  yon  darkening  sea 
East — west — alas,  I  care  not  whither, 
So  thou  art  safe,  and  I  with  thee  ! 
Go  where  we  will,  this  hand  in  thine, 

Those  eyes  before  me  smiling  thus, 
Through  good  and  ill,  through  storm  and  shine 

The  world  's  a  world  of  love  for  us  ! 
On  some  calm,  blessed  shore  we'll  dwell, 
Where  'tis  no  crime  to  love  too  well  ;— 
Where  thus  to  worship  tenderly 
An  erring  child  of  light  like  thee 
Will  not  be  sin — or,  if  it  be, 
Where  we  may  weep  our  faults  away, 
Together  kneeling,  night  and  day, 
Thou,  for  my  sake,  at  ALLA'S  shrine, 
And  I — at  any  God's  for  thine !" 

Wildly  those  passionate  words  she  spoke — 

Then  hung  her  head,  and  wept  for  shame 
Sobbing,  as  if  a  heart-string  broke 

With  every  deep-heav'd  sob  that  came. 

While  he,  young,  warm — oh !  wonder  not 
If,  for  a  moment,  pride  and  fame, 
His  oath — his  cause — that  shrine  of  flame, 

And  IRAN'S  self  are  all  forgot 
For  her  whom  at  his  feet  he  sees, 
Kneeling  in  speechless  agonies. 
No,  blame  him  not,  if  Hope  awhile 
Dawn'd  in  his  soul,  and  threw  her  smile 
O'er  hours  to  come — o'er  days  and  nights 
Wing'd  with  those  precious,  pure  delights 
Which  she,  who  bends  all  beauteous  there, 
Was  born  to  kindle  and  to  share  ! 
A  tear  or  two,  which,  as  he  bow'd 

To  raise  the  suppliant,  trembling  stole, 
First  warn'd  him  of  this  dangerous  cloud 

Of  softness  passing  o'er  his  soul. 
Starting,  he  brush'd  the  drops  away, 
Unworthy  o'er  that  cheek  to  stray ; — 
Like  one  who,  on  the  morn  of  fight, 
Shakos  from  his  sword  the  dews  of  night, 
That  had  but  dimm'd,  not  stain'd  its  light. 

Yet,  though  subdued  th'  unnerving  thrill, 
•is  warmth,  its  weakness  hnger'd  still 

So  touching  in  each  look  and  tone, 
Pliat  the  fond,  fearing,  hoping  maid 
rlalf  counted  on  the  flight  she  pray'd, 

Half  thought  the  hero's  soul  was  grown 

As  soft,  as  yielding  as  her  own  ; 
\nd  smil'd  and  bless'd  him,  while  he  said, 
'  Yes — if  there  be  some  happier  sphere, 
ero  fadeless  truth  bke  ours  k  dear- 


7.' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


If  there  be  any  land  of  rest 

For  those  who  love  and  ne'er  forget, 
Oh !  comfort  thee— for  safe  and  West 

We'll  meet  in  that  calm  region  yet !" 
Scarce  had  she  time  to  ask  her  bean 
If  food  or  ill  these  words  impart, 
When  the  rous'd  youth  impatient  flew 
To  the  tower-wall,  w,.«re,  high  in  view, 
A  ponderous  sea-bora'  hung,  and  blew 
A  signal,  deep  and  dread  as  those 
The  storm-fiend  at  his  rising  blows.— 
Full  well  his  Chieftains,  sworn  and  true 
Through  life  and  death,  that  signal  knew ; 
For  'twas  th'  appointed  warning-blast, 
Th'  alarm  to  tell  when  hope  was  past, 
And  the  tremendous  death-die  cast ! 
And  there,  upon  the  mouldering  tower, 
Hath  hung  this  sea-horn  many  an  hour, 
Rrady  to  sound  o'er  land  and  sea 
That  dirge-note  of  the  brave  and  free 
They  came — his  Chieftains  at  the  call 
Came  firmly  round,  and  with  them  all — 
Ala*,  how  few ! — the  worn  remains 
Of  those  who  late  o'er  KKRMAN'S  plain* 
Went  gaily  prancing  to  the  clash 
Of  Moorish  zel  and  tymbalon, 
Catching  new  hope  from  every  flash 
Of  their  long  lances  in  the  sun — 
And,  as  their  coursers  cbarg'd  the  wind, 
And  the  wide  ox-tails  stream'd  behind,* 
Looking,  as  if  the  steeds  they  rode 
Were  wing'd,  and  every  Chief  a  God ! 

How  fall'n,  how  alter'd  now !  how  waa 
Each  scarr'd  and  faded  visage  shone, 
A*  round  the  burning  shrine  they  came  ;— 

How  deadly  was  the  glare  it  cast, 
As  mute  they  paus'd  before  the  flame 

To  light  their  torches  as  they  pass'd ! 
Twas  silence  all— the  youth  had  plann'd 
The  duties  of  his  soldier-band ; 
And  each  determin'd  brow  declare* 
His  faithful  Chieftains  well  know  theirs. 
Bat  minute*  speed — night  gems  the  skies— 
And  oh  how  soon,  ye  blessed  eyes, 
That  look  from  heaven,  ye  may  behold 
Sights  that  will  turn  your  star-fires  cold ! 
BretthJes*  with  awe,  impatience,  hope, 
The  maiden  sees  the  veteran  group 
Her  litter  silently  prepare, 

And  lay  it  at  her  trembling  feet  ;— 
And  now  the  youth,  with  gentle  care, 
Hath  pUc'd  her  in  the  shelter'd  seat, 
lad  prew'd  her  hand-Mhat  lingering  press 
Of  hand*,  that  for  the  U*  time  ^everT 
Ofbearu,  whow  pube  of  happine** 

When  that  hold  break*,  i,  dead  for  ever. 
And  yet  to  ktr  this  sad  cares* 
Give*  hope-so  fondly  hope  can  rrr ! 

1  uil*h*i  •  II 


'Twas  joy,  she  thought,  joy's  mute  excess — 
Their  happy  flight's  dear  harbinger; 

'Twas  warmth — assurance — tenderness — 
'Twas  any  thing  but  leaving  her. 

"  Haste,  haste !"  she  cried  "  the  clouds  grow  dark 
But  still,  ere  night,  we'll  reach  the  bark ; 
And,  by  to-morrow's  dawn— oh  bliss ! 
With  thee  upon  the  sun-bright  deep, 
Far  off,  I'll  but  remember  this, 

As  some  dark  vanish'd  dreasa  <>f  sleep ! 
And  thou "  but  ah  ! — he  answers  no»— 

Good  Heav'n ! — and  does  she  go  alone  ? 
She  now  has  reach'd  that  dismal  spot, 

Where,  some  hours  since,  his  voice's  tone 
Had  come  to  soothe  her  fears  and  ills, 
Sweet  as  the  Angel  ISRAFIL'S,' 
When  every  leaf  on  Eden's  tree 
Is  trembling  to  his  minstrelsy — 
Yet  now — oh  now,  he  is  not  nigh — 

HAFED  !  my  HAFED  ! — if  it  be 
Thy  will,  thy  doom  this  night  to  die, 

Let  me  but  stay  to  die  with  thee, 
And  I  will  bless  thy  loved  name, 
'Till  the  last  life-breath  leave  this  frame. 
Oh !  let  our  lips,  our  cheeks  be  laid 
But  near  each  other  while  they  fade ; 
Let  us  but  mix  our  parting  breaths, 
And  1  can  die  ten  thousand  deaths ! 
You  too,  who  hurry  me  away 
So  cruelly,  one  moment  stay— 

Oh !  stay — one  moment  is  not  much ; 
He  yet  may  come — for  him  I  pray — 
HAFED  !  dear  HAFED  !" — All  the  way 

In  wild  lamentmgs,  that  would  touch 
A  heart  of  stone,  she  shriek'd  his  name 
To  the  dark  woods — no  HAFED  came : — 
Vo — hapless  pair — you've  look'd  your  last ; 

Your  hearts  should  both  have  broken  then : 
The  dream  is  o'er — your  doom  is  cast — 

\  ou'll  never  meet  on  earth  again ! 

Alas  for  him,  who  hears  her  cries ! — 

Still  half-way  down  the  steep  he  stands, 
Watching  with  fix'd  and  feverish  eyes 

The  glimmer  of  those  burning  brands, 
That  down  the  rocks,  with  mournful  ray 

Light  all  he  loves  on  earth  away ! 

hopeless  as  they  who,  far  at  sea, 
By  the  cold  moon  have  just  consign'd 

Phe  corse  of  one,  lov'd  tenderly, 

To  the  bleak  flood  they  leave  behind  ; 
And  or  viie  deck  still  lingering  stay, 
And  long  look  back,  with  sad  delay, 

To  watch  the  moonlight  on  the  wave, 
That  ripples  o'er  that  cheerless  grave. 

Jut  see— he  starts— what  heard  he  then  ? 

Phat  dreadful  shout !— across  the  glen 

'rom  the  land  side  it  comes,  and  loud 

lings  through  the  chasm ;  as  if  the  crowd 

>f  fearful  things,  that  haunt  that  dell, 

ts  Gholes  and  Dives  and  shapes  of  hell 

lad  all  in  one  dread  howl  broke  out, 
So  loud,  so  terrible  that  shout ! 


•ofth.    riie.."-        1  "  The  Angel  hrafil,  who  haa 
fall  God'g  features."— Safe. 


most  melodious  voice 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


They  come — the  Moslems  come !" — he  cries, 
His  proud  soul  mounting  to  his  eyes — 
'Now,  Spirits  of  the  Brave,  who  roam 
Infranchis'd  through  yon  starry  dome, 
Rejoice — for  souls  of  kindred  lire 
A;e  on  the  wing  to  join  your  choir !" 
He  said — and,  light  as  bridegrooms  bound 

To  their  young  loves,  reclimb'd  the  steep 
An  J  gain'd  the  shrine — his  Chiefs  stood  round — 

Their  swords,  as  with  instinctive  leap, 
Together,  at  that  cry  accurst, 
Had  from  their  sheaths,  like  sunbeams,  burst. 
And  hark  ! — again — again  it  rings  ; 
Near  and  more  near  its  echoings 
Peal  through  the  chasm — oh  !  who  that  then 
Had  seen  those  listening  warrior-men, 
With  their  swords  grasp'd,  their  eyes  of  flame 
Turn'd  on  their  Chief — could  doubt  the  shame, 
Th'  indignant  shame  with  which  they  thrill 
To  hear  those  shouts  and  yet  stand  still  ? 
He  read  their  thoughts — they  were  his  own — 

"  What !  while  our  arms  can  wield  these  blades, 
Shall  we  die  tamely  ?  die  alone  ? 

Without  one  victim  to  our  shades, 
One  Moslem  heart  where,  buried  deep, 
The  sabre  from  its  toil  may  sleep  ? 
No — God  of  IRAN'S  burning  skies  ! 
Thou  scorn' st  th'  inglorious  sacrifice. 
No — though  of  all  earth's  hope  bereft, 
Life,  swords,  and  vengeance  still  are  left. 
We'll  make  yon  valley's  reeking  caves 

Live  in  the  awe-struck  minds  of  men, 
Till  tyrants  shudder,  when  their  slaves 

Tell  of  the  Gheber's  bloody  glen. 
Follow,  brave  hearts  ! — this  pile  remains 
Our  refuge  still  from  life  and  chains  , 
But  his  the  best,  the  holiest  bed, 
Who  sinks  entomb'd  in  Moslem  dead  !" 
Down  the  precipitous  rocks  they  sprung, 
While  vigour,  more  than  human,  strung 
Each  arm  and  heart. — Th'  exulting  foe 
Still  through  the  dark  defiles  below, 
Track'd  by  his  torches'  lurid  fire, 

Wound  slow,  as  through  GOLCONDA'S  vale1 
The  mighty  serpent,  in  his  ire, 

Glides  on  with  glittering,  deadly  trail. 
No  torch  the  Ghebors  need — so  well 
They  know  each  mystery  of  the  dell, 

So  oft  have,  in  their  wanderings, 
Cross'd  the  wild  race  that  round  them  dwell, 
The  very  tigers  from  their  delves 

Look  out,  and  let  them  pass,  as  things 
Untam'd  and  fearless  as  themselves  ! 
There  was  a  deep  ravine,  that  lay 
Yet  darkling  in  the  Moslem's  way  ;— 
Fit  spot  to  make  invaders  rue 
The  many  fall'n  before  the  few. 
The  torrents  from  that  morning's  sky 
Had  fill'd  the  narrow  chasm  breast-high, 
And,  on  each  side,  aloft  and  wild, 
Huge  cliffs  and  toppling  crags  were  pil'd, 
The  guards,  with  which  young  Freedom  lines 
The  pathways  to  her  mountain  shrines. 


Here,  at  this  pass,  the  scanty  band 
Of  IRAN'S  last  avengers  stand — 
Here  wait,  in  silence  like  the  dead, 
And  listen  for  the  Moslem's  tread 
So  anxiously,  the  carrion-bird 
Above  them  flaps  his  wings  unheard  ! 

They  come — that  plunge  into  the  water 
Gives  signal  for  the  work  of  slaughter. 
Now,  Ghebers,  now — if  ere  your  blades 

Had  point  or  prowess,  prove  them  now — 
Woe  to  the  file  that  foremost  wades ! 

They  come — a  falchion  greets  each  brow. 
And,  as  they  tumble,  trunk  on  trunk, 
Beneath  the  gory  waters  sunk, 
Still  o'er  their  drowning  bodies  press 
New  victims  quick  and  numberless ; 
Till  scarce  an  arm  in  HAFED'S  band, 

So  fierce  their  toil,  hath  power  to  stir, 
But  listless  from  each  crimson  hand 

The  sword  hangs,  clogg'd  with  massacre. 

Never  was  horde  of  tyrants  met 
With  bloodier  welcome — never  yet 
To  patriot  vengeance  hath  the  sword 
More  terrible  libations  pour'd ! 
All  up  the  dreary,  long  ravine, 
By  the  red,  murky  glimmer  seen 
Of  half-quench'd  brands,  that  o'er  the  flood 
Lie  scatter'd  round  and  burn  in  blood, 
What  ruin  glares !  what  carnage  swims  ! 
Heads,  blazing  turbans,  quivering  limbs, 
Lost  swords  that,  dropp'd  from  many  a  hand. 
In  that  thick  pool  of  slaughter  stand ; — 
Wretches  who  wading,  half  on  fire 

From  the  toss'd  brands  that  round  them  flj 
'Twixt  flood  and  flame  in  shrieks  expire : 

And  some  who,  grasp'd  by  those  that  die, 
Sink  woundless  with  them,  smother'd  o'er 
In  their  dead  brethren's  gushing  gore ! 

But  vainly  hundreds,  thousands  bleed, 
Still  hundreds,  thousands  more  succeed , 
Countless  as  tow'rds  some  flame  at  night 
The  North's  dark  insects  wing  their  flight, 
And  quench  or  perish  in  its  light, 
To  this  terrific  spot  they  pour — 
Till,  bridg'd  with  Moslem  bodies  o'er, 
It  bears  aloft  their  slippery  tread, 
And  o'er  the  dying  and  the  dead, 
Tremendous  causeway !  on  they  pass. — 
Then,  hapless  Ghebers,  then,  alas, 

What  hope  was  left  for  you  ?  for  you, 
Whose  yet  warm  pile  of  sacrifice 
Is  smoking  in  their  vengeful  eyes — 

Whose  swords  how  keen,  how  fierce  they  knev» 

And  burn  with  shame  to  find  how  few. 
Crush'd  down  by  that  vast  multitude, 
Some  found  their  graves  where  first  they  stood , 
While  some  with  hardier  struggle  died, 
And  still  fought  on  by  HAFED'S  side, 
Who,  fronting  to  the  foe,  trod  back 
Tow'rds  the  high  towers  his  gory  track ; 
And,  as  a  lion,  swept  away 

By  sudden  swell  of  Jordan's  pride1 


1  See  1 1  (Kilo  i! [urn  the  Story  of  Sinbad. 

K 


1  "  In  tliis  thicket,  upon  the  banks  of  the  Jordan,  severs- 


74 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


From  the  wild  covert  where  he  lay, 

Long  batik*  with  the  overwhelming  tide, 
So  fought  be  back  with  fierce  <!• 
Ana  kept  both  foe*  and  fate  at  bay. 

But  whither  now  7  their  track  i*  lost, 

Their  prey  escap'd— guide,  torches  gone— 
By  torrent  -bed*  and  labyrinths  crost, 

The  •catter'd  crowd  rush  blindly  on — 
"Curse  on  those  tardy  lights  that  wind," 
They  panting  cry,  "so  far  behind — 
Oh  for  a  bloodhound's  precious  scent, 
To  track  the  way  the  Gheber  went !" 
Vain  wish— confusedly  along 
They  rush,  more  desperate  as  more  wrong : 
Till,  wilder'd  by  the  far-off  lights, 
Yet  glittering  up  those  gloomy  heights, 
Their  footing,  maz'd  and  lost,  they  miss, 
And  down  the  darkling  precipice 
Are  dash'd  into  the  deep  abyss : 
Or  midway  hang,  impal'd  on  rocks, 
A  banquet,  yet  alive,  for  flocks 
Of  ravening  vultures — while  the  dell 
Re-echoes  with  each  horrid  yell. 

Those  sounds — the  last,  to  vengeance  dear, 
That  e'er  shall  ring  in  HAFED'S  ear, — 
Now  reach  him,  as  aloft,  alone, 
I'pon  the  steep  way  breathless  thrown, 
He  lay  beside  his  reeking  blade, 

Reaign'd,  as  if  life's  task  were  o'er, 
Its  last  blood-offering  amply  paid, 

And  IRAN'S  self  could  claim  no  more. 
One  only  thought,  one  lingering  beam 
Now  broke  across  his  dizzy  dream 
Of  pain  and  weariness — 'twas  she 

His  bean's  pure  planet,  shining  yet 
Above  the  waste  of  memory, 

When  all  life's  other  lights  were  set. 
And  never  to  his  mind  before          > 
Her  image  such  enchantment  wore. 
It  Mem'd  as  if  each  thought  that  stain'd, 

Each  fear  that  chill'd  their  loves  was  past, 
And  not  one  doud  of  earth  remain'd 

Between  him  and  her  glory  cast ; — 
A*  if  to  charms,  before  so  bright, 

New  grace  from  other  worlds  was  given, 
And  his  soul  saw  her  by  the  light 

Now  breaking  o'er  itself  from  heaven ! 

A  voice  spoke  near  him — 'twas  the  tone 

Of  a  lov'd  friend,  the  only  one 

Of  all  his  warriors  left  with  life 

From  that  short  night's  tremendous  strifr. — 

"And  mint  we  ihf-n,  my  Chief,  die  here  ?— 

Foes  round  as,  and  the  Shrine  so  near  ?" 

These  words  have  rous'd  the  last  remains 

<  >f  lilc  within  him — "  what !  not  yet 
Beyond  the  reach  of  Moslem  chains  ?"— 

The  thought  could  make  e'en  Death  forget 
Hii  icy  bondage— with  a  bound 
He  springs,  all  bleeding,  from  the  ground, 


•art*  of  wild  be**!  an  wont  to  harboor  thennelvo.,  who.e 
rcl  out  of  tn«  cm  tlowmea  of  the 

MOMion  tu  thm  nil,,. ,.  A,  fhnl 

the  tiotlling  of  Jordan."— Maun 


And  grasps  his  comrade's  arm,  now  grown 

E'en  feebler,  heavier  than  his  own, 

And  faintly  up  the  pathway  leads, 

Dcntli  (raining  on  earh  step  he  treads 

Speed  them,  tliou  God,  who  heard'st  their  vow  ' 

They  mount — they  bleed — oh  save  them  now — 

The  crags  are  red  they've  clamber'd  o'er, 

The  rock-weeds  dripping  with  their  gore— 

Thy  blade  too,  HAFED,  false  at  length, 

Now  breaks  beneath  thy  tottering  strength — 

Haste,  haste — the  voices  of  the  foe 

Come  near  and  nearer  from  below — 

One  effort  more — thank  Heav'n !  'tis  past, 

They've  gain'd  the  topmost  steep  at  last. 

And  now  they  touch  the  temple's  walls, 

Now  HAFED  sees  the  Fire  divine — 
When,  lo  ! — his  weak,  worn  comrade  falls 

Dead  on  the  threshold  of  the  Shrine. 

Alas,  brave  soul,  too  quickly  fled  ! 

And  must  I  leave  thee  withering  here, 
The  sport  of  every  ruffian's  tread, 

The  mark  for  every  coward's  spear  ? 
No,  by  yon  altar's  sacred  beams  !" 
He  cries,  and  with  a  strength  that  seems 
Not  of  this  world,  uplifts  the  frame 
Of  the  fhll'n  Chief,  and  tow'rds  the  flame 
Bears  him  along ; — with  death-damp  hand 

The  corpse  upon  the  pyre  he  lays, 
Then  lights  the  consecrated  brand, 

And  fires  the  pile,  whose  sudden  blaze, 
Like  lightning  bursts  o'er  OMAN'S  Sea. — 

Now,  Freedom's  God  !  I  come  to  Thee," 
The  youth  exclaims,  and  with  a  smile 
Of  triumph  vaulting  on  the  pile, 
In  that  last  effort,  ere  the  fires 
Have  harm'd  one  glorious  limb,  expires  \ 

What  shriek  was  that  on  OMAN'S  tide? 

It  came  from  yonder  drifting  bark, 
That  just  has  caught  upon  her  side 

The  death-light — and  again  is  dark. 
It  is  the  boat — ah,  why  delay'd  ? — 
That  bears  the  wretched  Moslem  maid 
Confided  to  the  watchful  care 

Of  a  small  veteran  band,  with  whom 
Their  generous  Chieftain  would  not  share 

The  secret  of  his  final  doom  ; 
Rut  hop'd  when  HINDA,  safe  and  free,         — 

Was  render'd  to  her  father's  eyos, 
Their  pardon,  full  and  prompt,  would  be 

The  ransom  of  so  dear  a  prize. 
Unconscious,  thus,  of  HAFEU'S  fate, 
And  proud  to  guard  their  beauteous  freight, 
Scarce  had  they  clear'd  the  surfy  waves 
That  foam  around  those  frightful  caves, 
When  the  curst  war-whoops,  known  so  wett, 
Come  echoing  from  the  distant  dell — 
Sudden  each  oar,  upheld  and  still, 

Hung  dripping  o'er  the  vessel's  side 
And,  driving  at  the  current's  will, 

They  rock'd  along  the  whispering  tide, 
While  every  eye,  in  rnute  dismay, 

Was  tow'nl  that  fatal  mountain  turn'd, 
Where  the  dim  altar's  quivering  ray 

As  vet  all  lone  and  tranquil  burn'd 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


75 


Oh  !  'tis  not,  HINDA,  in  the  power 

Of  Fancy's  most  tern'lic  touch, 
To  paint  thy  pangs  in  that  dread  hour — 

Thy  silent  agony — 'twas  such 
As  those  who  feel  could  paint  too  well, 
But  none  e'er  felt  and  hv'd  to  tell ! 
"fwas  not  alone  the  dreary  state 
Of  a  lorn  spirit,  crush'd  by  fate, 
When,  though  no  more  remains  to  dread, 

The  panic  chill  will  not  depart ; — 
When,  though  the  inmate  Hope  be  dead, 

Her  ghost  still  haunts  the  mouldering  heart. 
No — pleasures,  hopes,  affections  gone, 
The  wretch  may  bear,  and  yet  live  on, 
Like  things  within  the  cold  rock  found 
Alive,  when  all 's  congeal'd  around. 
But  there  's  a  blank  repose  in  this, 
A.  calm  stagnation,  that  were  bliss 
To  the  keen,  burning,  harrowing  pain, 
Now  felt  through  all  thy  breast  and  brain — 
That  spasm  of  terror,  mute,  intense, 
That  breathless,  agoniz'd  suspense, 
From  whose  hot  throb,  whose  deadly  aching 
The  heart  hath  no  relief  but  breaking ! 

Calm  is  the  wave — heav'n's  brilliant  lights 

Reflected  dance  beneath  the  prow ; — 
Time  was  when,  on  such  lovely  nights, 

She  who  is  there,  so  desolate  now, 
Could  sit  all  cheerful,  though  alone, 

And  ask  no  happier  joy  than  seeing 
Fhat  star-light  o'er  the  waters  thrown — 
No  joy  but  that  to  make  her  blest, 

And  the  fresh,  buoyant  sense  of  Being 
That  bounds  in  youth's  yet  careless  breast — 
'tself  a  star,  not  borrowing  light, 
But  in  its  own  glad  essence  bright. 
How  different  now  ! — but,  hark,  again 
The  yell  of  havoc  rings — brave  men  ! 
In  vain,  with  beating  hearts,  ye  stand 
On  the  bark's  edge — in  vain  each  hand 
Half  draws  the  falchion  from  its  sheath  ; 

All's  o'er — in  mst  your  blades  may  lie  : 
He,  at  whose  word  they've  scatter'd  death, 

E'en  now,  this  night,  himself  must  die  ! 
Well  may  ye  look  to  yon  dim  tower, 

And  ask,  and  wondering  guess  what  means 
The  battle-cry  at  this  dead  hour — 

Ah  !  she  could  tell  you — she,  who  leans 
Unheeded  there,  pale,  sunk,  aghast, 
With  brow  against  the  dew-cold  mast — 

Too  well  she  knows — her  more  than  life, 
Her  soul's  first  idol  and  its  last, 

Lies  bleeding  in  that  murderous  strife. 
But  see — what  moves  upon  the  height  ? 
Some  signal ! — 'tis  a  torch's  light. 

What  bodes  its  solitary  glare  ? 
fn  gasping  silence  tow'rd  the  shrine 
A.11  eyes  are  turn'd — thine,  HINDA,  thine 

Pix  their  last  failing  life-beam  there. 
Tvvas  but  a  moment — fierce  and  high 
The  death-pile  blaz'd  into  the  sky, 
And  f;ir  away  o'er  rock  and  flood 

Tts  melancholy  radiance  sent ; 
While  HAFED,  like  a  vision,  stood 
Reveal'd  before  the  burning  pyre, 


Tall,  shadowy,  like  a  Spnit  of  Fire 
Shrin'd  in  its  own  grand  element ! 

"  'Tis  he  !" — the  shuddering  maid  exclaims,— 
But,  while  she  speaks,  he  's  seen  no  more ; 

High  burst  in  air  the  funeral  flames, 
And  IRAN'S  hopes  and  hers  are  o'er ! 

One  wild,  heart-broken  shriek  she  gave — 
Then  sprung,  as  if  to  reach  the  blaze, 
Where  siill  she  fix'd  her  dying  gaze, 
And,  gazing,  sunk  into  the  wave, — 
Deep,  deep, — where  never  care  or  pain 
Shall  reach  her  innocent  heart  again  ! 


Farewell — farewell  to  thee,  ARABY'S  daughter ! 

(Thus  warbled  a  PERI  beneath  the  dark  sea  :) 
No  pearl  ever  lay,  under  OMAN'S  green  water, 

More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 

Oh  !  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing, 
How  light  was  thy  heart  'till  Love's  witchery  came, 

Like  the  wind  of  the  south'  o'era  summer  lute  blowing 
And  hush'd  all  its  music  and  wilher'd  its  frame ! 

But  long,  upon  ARABY'S  green  sunny  highlands, 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 

Of  her,  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Islands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star2  to  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning, 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old,1 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning, 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 

The  young  village  maid,  when  with  flowers  she 
dresses 

Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 
Will  think  of  thy  fate  till,  neglecting  her  tresses, 

She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 

Nor  shall  IRAN,  belov'd  of  her  Hero  !  forget  thee, — 
Though  tyrants  watch  over  her  tears  as  they  start, 

Close,  close  by  the  side  of  that  Hero  she'll  set  thee, 
Embalm'd  in  the  innermost  shrine  of  her  heart. 

Farewell — be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 
With  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  the  deep; 

Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept  ;* 

With  many  a  shell,  in  whose  hollo  w-wreath'd  chambei 
We,  Peris  of  Ocean,  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling, 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head  ; 


1  "This  wind  (the  Samoor)  so  softens  the  strings  of  lutes, 
that  they  can  never  be  tuned  whib  it  lasts."—  Stij./ii  n's 
Persia. 

2  "Ono  of  the  greatest  curiositirs  found  in  the  Persian 
Gulf  IB  a  fish  which  the  English  call  Star-fish.     It  is  circu- 
lar, and  at  night  very  luminous,  res'-nihling  the  full  moon 
surrounded  by  rays." — Jl/i'rza  J)bu  Tnleb. 

3  For  a  description  of  the  merriment  of  the  date-time,  of 
their  work,  their  dances,  and  their  return  home  from  the 
palm-groves   at  the  end  of  autumn  with  the   fruits,  see 
Kem/ifer,  .finuenitat,  F.mt. 

4  Some  naturalists  have  imagined  that  amber  is  a  concre 
lion  of  the  tears  of  birds.— See  Trevuuz,  C/iamkcrt 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


sparkling, 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

FaieweU-fcrewell-antil  Pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 
They'll  weep  for  the  Chieftain  who  died  on  that 


They'll  weep  for  the  Maiden  who  deeps  in  tins  wave. 


THK  angular  placidity  with  which  FADLADKN 
had  listened,  during  the  latter  part  of  this  obnoxious 
story,  surprised  the  Princess  and  FERAMORZ  exceed- 
ingly ;  and  even  inclined  towards  him  the  hearts  of 


Abdaul,  which  had  always  been  a  favourite  resting- 
place  of  the  emperors  in  their  annual  migrations  to 
Cashmere.  Here  often  had  the  Light  of  the  Faith, 
Jehanguire,  wandered  will)  his  beloved  and  beautiful 
Nounnahal ,  and  here  would  LALLA  ROOKH  have 
been  happy  to  remain  for  ever,  giving  up  the  throne 
of  Bucharia  and  the  world,  for  FERAMORZ  and  love 
in  this  sweet  lonely  valley.  The  time  was  now  fas* 
approaching  when  she  must  see  him  no  longer — or 
see  him  with  eyes  whose  every  look  belonged  to 
another ;  and  there  was  a  melancholy  preciousness  in 
these  last  moments,  which  made  her  heart  cling  to 
them  as  it  would  to  life.  During  the  latter  part  of 


unsuspicious  young  persons,  who  little  knew!  the  journey,  indeed,  she  had  sunk  into  a  deep  sadness, 
the  source  of  a  complacency  so  marvellous.    The  from  which  nothing  but  the  presence  of  the  young 

minstrel  could  awake  her.     Lake  those  lamps  in 
tombs,  which  only  light  up  when  the  air  is  admitted, 


truth  was,  he  had  been  organizing,  for  the  last  few 
days,  a  mo*  notable  plan  of  persecution  against  the 
poet,  in  consequence  of  some  passages  that  had  fal- 


it  was  only  at  his  approach  that  her  eyes  became 


)e«  from  him  on  the  second  evening  of  recital,  which  |  smiling  and  animated.    But  here,  in  this  dear  valley, 


appeared  to  this  worthy  Chamberlain  to  contain  lan- 
guage and  principles,  for  which  nothing  short  of  the 
summary  criticism  of  the  Chabuk1  would  be  advisa- 
ble, k  was  his  intention,  therefore,  immediately  on 
their  arrival  at  Cashmere,  to  give  information  to  the 
king  of  Bucharia  of  the  very  dangerous  sentiments 


did  not  act  with  suitable  vigour  on  the  occasion,  (that 
is,  if  he  did  not  give  the  Chabuk  to  FERAMORZ,  and 
a  place  to  FADLAUEEN,)  there  would  be  an  end,  he 
Pssind.  of  all  legitimate  government  in  Bucharia.  He 


every  moment  was  an  age  of  pleasure ;  she  saw  him 
all  day,  and  was,  therefore,  all  day  happy — resem- 
bling, she  often  thought,  that  people  of  Ziuge,  who 
attribute  the  unfading  cheerfulness  they  enjoy  to  one 
genial  star  that  rises  nightly  over  their  heads.2 
The  whole  party,  indeed,  seemed  in  their  liveliest 


of  ius  minstrel ;  and  if,  unfortunately,  that  monarch  mood  during  the  few  days  they  passed  in  this  delight- 


ful solitude.  The  young  attendants  of  the  Princess, 
who  were  here  allowed  a  freer  range  than  they  could 
safely  be  indulged  with  in  a  less  sequestered  place, 
ran  wild  among  the  gardens,  and  bounded  through 


rould  not  help,  however,  auguring  better  both  for  [the  meadows,  lightly  as  young  roes  over  the  aromatic 
himself  and  the  cause  of  potentates  in  general ;  and :  plains  of  Tibet.  While  FADLADEEN,  beside  the  spi- 
lt was  the  pleasure  arising  from  these  mingled  antici- !  ritual  comfort  he  derived  from  a  pilgrimage  to  the 


pmtioM  that  diffused  such  unusual  satisfaction  through 
hit  features,  and  made  his  eyes  shine  out,  like  poppies 
of  the  desert,  over  the  wide  and  lifeless  wilderness 
of  that  countenance. 

Having  decided  upon  the  Poet's  chastisement  in 
T,  he  thought  it  but  humanity  to  spare  him 


tomb  of  the  Saint  from  whom  the  valley  is  named, 
had  opportunities  of  gratifying,  in  a  small  way,  his 
taste  for  victims,  by  putting  to  death  some  hundreds 
of  those  unfortunate  little  lizards,  which  all  pious 
Mussulmans  make  it  a  point  to  kill ; — taking  for 
granted,  that  the  manner  in  which  the  creature  hangs 


r  tortures  of  criticism.    Accordingly,  when  its  head  is  meant  as  a  mimicry  of  the  attitude  in 


evening  in  the  pavilion,  and 
LALLA  ROOKH  expected  to  see  all  the  beauties  of  her 
bard  melt  away,  one  by  one,  in  the  acidity  of  criti- 
cism, hke  pearls  in  the  cup  of  the  Egyptian  Queen — 
be  agreeably  disappointed  her  by  merely  saying,  with 
an  ironical  smile,  that  the  merits  of  such  a  poem  de- 
terred to  be  tried  at  a  much  higher  tribunal ;  and  then 
suddenly  passing  off  into  a  panegyric  upon  all  .Mus- 
sulman sovereigns,  more  particularly  his  august  and 
imperial  master,  Aurungzebe— the  wisest  and  best  of 
the  descendants  of  Timur — who,  among  other  great 
tluags  he  had  done  for  mankind,  had  given  to  him, 
FADLADKEH,  the  very  proBtable  posts  of  Betel-ear- 
ner «ad  Taster  of  Sherbets  to  the  Emperor,  Chief 
Holder  of  the  Girdle  of  Beautiful  Forms,'  and  Grand 
Natir,  or  Chamberlain  of  the  Haram. 
They  were  now  not  far  from  that  forbidden 


i^  called  the 


+^Mm^&*~*zszyifsz 


which  the  Faithful  say  their  prayers ! 

About  two  miles  from  Hussun  Abdaul  were  those 
Royal  Gardens,  which  had  grown  beautiful  under  the 
care  of  so  many  lovely  eyes,  and  were  beautiful  still, 
though  those  eyes  could  see  them  no  longer.  This 
place,  with  its  Mowers  and  its  holy  silence,  interrupted 
only  by  the  dipping  of  the  wings  of  birds  in  its  mar- 
ble basins  filled  with  the  pure  water  of  those  hills, 
was  to  LALLA  ROOKH  all  that  her  heart  could  fancy 
of  fragrance,  coolness,  and  almost  heavenly  tran- 
quillity. As  the  Prophet  said  of  Damascus,  "  it  was 
too  delicious ;" — and  here,  in  listening  to  the  sweei 
voice  of  FERAMORZ,  or  reading  in  his  eyes  what  yet 
he  never  dared  to  tell  her,  the  most  exquisite  momenta 
of  her  whole  life  were  passed.  One  evening,  when 
they  had  been  talking  of  the  Sultana  Nourmahal — 
the  Light  of  the  Haram,1  who  had  so  often  wandered 


limits  it  was  not  Un.uglit  graceful  to  exceed.  If  any  of 
them  outgrew  this  standard  of  shape,  they  were  reduced  bj 
abstinence  till  they  came  within  Us  bounds. 

1  The  AUock. 

2  The  star  Soheil,  or  Canopus. 

3  Nourmahal  sijnities  Light  of  the   Haram.     She  was 
after  wards  called  Nourjehan,  or  the  Lighl  of  the  World. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


7? 


among  these  flowers,  and  fed  with  her  own  hands,  in 
those  marble  basins,  the  small  shining  fishes  of  which 
she  was  so  fond,1 — the  youth,  in  order  to  delay  the 
moment  of  separation,  proposed  to  recite  a  short  story, 
or  rather  rhapsody,  of  which  this  adored  Sultana  was 
the  heroine.  It  related,  he  said,  to  the  reconcilement 
of  a  sort  of  lovers'  quarrel,  which  took  place  between 
her  and  the  Emperor  during  a  Feast  of  Hoses  at  Cash- 
mere; and  would  remind  the  Princess  of  that  differ- 
ence between  Haroun-al-llaschidand  his  fair  mistress 
Marida,  which  was  so  happily  made  up  by  the  soft 
strains  of  the  musician,  Moussali.  As  the  story  was 
chiefly  to  be  told  in  song,  and  FERAMORZ  had  un- 
luckily forgotten  his  own  lute  in  the  valley,  he  bor- 
rowed the  vina  of  LALLA  ROOKH'S  little  Persian 
slave  and  thus  began  : — 

THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  HARAM. 


WHO  has  not  heard  of  the  Vale  of  CASHMKRE, 

With  its  roses,  the  brightest  that  earth  ever  gave,2 
Its  temples  and  grottos,  and  fountains  as  clear 
As  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hang  over  their  wave  ? 

Oh  !  to  see  it  at  sunset, — when  warm  o'er  the  Lake 

Its  splendour  at  parting  a  summer  eve  throws, 
Like  ?  oride  full  of  blushes,  when  lingering  to  take 

A  last  look  of  her  mirror  at  night  ere  she  goes  ! — 
When  the  shrines  through  the  foliage  are  gleaming 

half  shown, 

And  each  hallows  the  hour  by  some  rites  of  its  own. 
Here  the  music  of  pray'r  from  a  minaret  swells, 

Here  the  magian  his  urn  full  of  perfume  is  swinging, 
And  here,  at  the  altar,  a  zone  of  sweet  bells 

Round  the  waist  of  some  fair  Indian  dancer  is 

ringing.3 

Or  to  see     by  moonlight, — when  mellowly  shines 
The  light  o'er  its  palaces,  gardens  and  shrines ; 
When  the  water-fails  gleam  like  a  quick  fall  of  stars, 
And  the  nightingale's  hymn  from  the  Isle  of  Chenars 
Is  broken  by  laughs  and  light  echoes  of  feet 
From  the  cool,  shining  walks  where  the  young  peo- 
ple meet : — 

Or  at  morn,  when  the  magic  of  daylight  awakes 
A  new  wonder  each  minute,  as  slowly  it  breaks, 
Hills,  cupolas,  fountains,  call'd  forth  every  one 
Out  of  darkness,  as  they  were  just  bom  of  the  Sun. 
When  the  Spirit  of  Fragrance  is  up  with  the  day, 
From  his  Haram  of  night-flowers  stealing  away ; 
And  the  wind,  full  of  wantonness,  woos,  like  a  lover, 
The  young  aspen-trees4  till  they  tremble  all  over. 
When  the  East  is  as  warm  as  the  light  of  first  hopes, 

And  Day,  with  his  banner  of  radiance  unfurl'd, 
Shines  in  through  the  mountainous5  portal  that  opes, 

Sublime,  from  that  valley  of  bliss  to  the  world  ! 


1  See  note,  p.  F<5. 

2  "  The  rose  of  Knshmire,  for  its  brilliancy  and  delicacy 
of  colour  has  Ion::  been  proverbial  in  the  East." — Furster. 

3  "  Tied  round  her  waist  the  zone  of  bells,  that  sounded 
with  ravishing  melody." — }<un^  of  Ji'ym 

4  "The  little  islrs  in  the  I.nke  of  Cachomire  are  set  with 
arb»urs  and  large-leaved  aspen-trees,  slender  and  tall." — 
liernirr. 

5  "The  Tut-kt  Pullman,  the  name  hfstowed  by  the  Ma- 
homt-tans  on  this  hi!',  forms  one  side  of  a  grand  portal  to 
the  Lake." — Punter 


But  never  yet,  by  night  or  day, 
In  dew  of  spring  or  summer's  ray, 
Did  the  sweet  Valley  shine  so  gay 
As  now  it  shines — all  love  and  light, 
Visions  by  day  and  feasts  by  night ! 
A  happier  smile  illumes  each  brow, 

With  quicker  spread  each  heart  uncloses, 
And  all  is  ecstasy, — for  now 

The  Valley  holds  its  Feast  of  Roses.' 
That  joyous  time,  when  pleasures  pour 
Profusely  round,  and  in  their  shower 
Hearts  open,  like  the  Season's  Rose, — 

The  flowret  of  a  hundred  leaves,2 
Expanding  while  the  dew-fall  flows, 

And  every  leaf  its  balm  receives ! 
'Twas  when  the  hour  of  evening  came 

Upon  the  Lake,  serene  and  cool, 
When  Day  had  hid  his  sultry  flame 

Behind  the  palms  of  BARAMOULE.* 
When  maids  began  to  lift  their  heads, 
Refresh'd,  from  their  embroider'd  beds, 
Where  they  had  slept  the  sun  away, 
And  wak'd  to  moonlight  and  to  play. 
All  were  abroad — the  busiest  hive 
On  BELA'S*  hills  is  less  alive 
When  saffron  beds  are  full  in  flower, 
Thau  look'd  the  Valley  at  that  hour. 
A  thousand  restless  torches  play'd 
Through  every  grove  and  island  shade ; 
A  thousand  sparkling  lamps  were  set 
On  every  dome  and  minaret ; 
And  fields  and  pathways,  far  and  near, 
Were  lighted  by  a  blaze  so  clear1, 
That  you  could  see,  in  wandering  round, 
The  smallest  rose-leaf  on  the  ground. 
Yet  did  the  maids  and  matrons  leave 
Their  veils  at  home,  that  brilliant  eve ; 
And  there  were  glancing  eyes  about, 
And  cheeks,  that  would  not  dare  shine  out 
In  open  day,  but  thought  they  might 
Look  lovely  then,  because  'twas  night ! 
And  all  were  free,  and  wandering, 

And  all  exclaim'd  to  all  they  met 
That  never  did  the  summer  bring 

So  gay  a  Feast  of  Roses  yet ; — 
The  moon  had  never  shed  a  light 

So  clear  as  that  which  bless'd  them  there ; 
The  roses  ne'er  shone  half  so  bright, 

Nor  they  themselves  look'd  half  so  fair 
And  what  a  wilderness  of  flowers ! 
It  seem'd  as  though  from  all  the  bowers 
And  fairest  fields  of  all  the  year, 
The  mingled  spoil  were  scatter'd  here. 
The  Lake,  too,  like  a  garden  breathes, 

With  the  rich  buds  that  o'er  it  lie, — 
As  if  a  shower  of  fairy  wreaths 

Had  fall'n  upon  it  from  the  sky ! 
And  then  the  sounds  of  joy — the  beat 
Of  tabors  and  of  dancing  feet ; — 


1  "The  Feast  of  Roses  continues  the  whole  time  of  theii 
remaining  in  bloom." — See  Pietro  de  la  Valle, 

2  i:  Gul  sad  berk,  the  Rose  of  a  hundred  leaves.  I  believn 
a  particular  species." — Ousclcy. 

3  Bernier. 

4  A  place  mentioned  in  the  Toozek  Jehangeery,  or  Me- 
moirs of  Jehangnire,  where  there  is  in  account  of  the  bedi 
of  saffron  flowers  about  Cashmere 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


- — 

The  minaret-cryer'i  chaunt  of  glee 

Bug  from  his  lighted  gallery,1 

And  snswer'd  by  .  liratoet 

From  neighbouring  Haram,  wild  and  sweet  ;— 

The  merry  laughter,  echoing 

From  gardens,  where  the  silken  swing 

Wafts  some  delighted  girl  above 

The  top  teeves  of  the  orange  grove ; 

Or,  from  those  infant  groups  at  play 

Among  the  tents'  that  line  the  way, 

Flinging,  unaw'd  by  slave  or  mother, 

Handful*  of  roses  at  each  other  !— 

And  the  sounds  from  the  Lake,— the  low  whisp'ring 

boats, 
As  they  shoot  through  the  moonlight ;— the  dipping 

of  oars, 

And  the  wild,  siry .warbling  that  every  where  floats, 
Through  the  groves,  round  the  islands,  as  if  all  the 

shores 

Like  those  of  KATHAT  utter'd  music,  and  gave 
An  answer  in  song  to  the  kiss  of  each  wave  !J 
But  the  gentlest  of  all  are  those  sounds,  full  of  feeling, 
That  soft  from  the  lute  of  some  lover  are  stealing,— 
Some  lover,  who  knows  all  the  heart-touching  power 
Of  a  lute  and  a  sigh  in  this  magical  hour. 
Oh !  best  of  delights,  as  it  every  where  is, 
To  be  near  the  lov'd  One, — what  a  rapture  is  his 
Who  in  moonlight  and  music  thus  sweetly  may  glide 
O'er  the  Lake  of  CASHMERE,  with  that  One  by  his  side ! 

•  .man  can  make  the  worst  wilderness  dear, 
Think,  think  what  a  heav'n  the  must  make  of  CASH- 
MERE! 

So  felt  the  magnificent  Son  of  ACBAR,* 

When  from  power  and  pomp  and  the  trophies  of  war 

He  flew  to  that  Valley,  forgetting  them  all 

With  the  I  jght  of  the  Haram,  his  young  NOURMAHAL. 

When  free  and  uncrown'd  as  the  Conqueror  rov'd 

By  the  banks  of  that  Lake,  with  his  only  belov'd, 

He  saw,  in  the  wreaths  she  would  playfully  snatch 

From  the  hedges,  a  glory  his  crown  could  not  match, 

And  preferr'd  in  his  heart  the  least  ringlet  that  curl'd 

Down  her  exquisite  neck  to  the  throne  of  the  world ! 

There  's  a  beauty,  for  ever  unchangingly  bright, 
Like  the  long,  sunny  lapse  of  a  summer-day's  light, 
Shining  on,  shining  on,  by  no  shadow  made  tender, 
Till  Love  fall*  asleep  in  its  sameness  of  splendour. 
This  too*  not  the  beauty— oh !  nothing  like  this, 
That  to  young  NOURMAHAL  gave  such  magic  of  bliss ; 
But  that  loveliness,  ever  in  motion,  which  plays 
Like  the  light  upon  Autumn's  soft  shadowy  days, 


1  "  It  »  UN  carton  amoaf  UN  women  to  employ  the 
M  aaiM*  to  cUoM  from  the  gallery  of  the  nearest  minaret 
•hick  oo  that  occasion  is  illuminated,  and  the  women  ai 
at  interval*  with  a  ziraleet  or 


•MOM  at  the  hooM  retpond 
lovoos  ehotrm**—  It*  •  - 

•  -  At  the  kemiBf  of  U* 
Ut.rw  cumber  of  MM    itch 


koawac  of  the  Feart  of  Roaes  we  beheld  an 
•r  of  MS*  pitched,  with  Mich  a  crowd  of  men 


woo.ro,  boys  tad  (vis,  with  BIMC,  dance*,"  etc.  etc.— 
Ua+trt. 

3  "  An  old  commentator  of  the  Chou-Kin?  taya,  the  an- 
emia harinj  remarked  that  a  current  of  water  made  torn 
•f  UM  Mom*  MM  to  bank*  Mod  forth  a  found,  the y  detacbe 

-'      '      '  "          ':.'..        v  :.  -,,,:,; 

*•"•  •»»»•»•.  auMtmetod  king  or  musical  inntrumeot*  c 


Now  here,  and  now  there,  giving  warmth  as  it  flies 
From  the  lips  to  the  cheeks,  from  the  cheek  to  th 

eyes, 

Now  melting  in  mist  and  now  breaking  in  gleams, 
Like  the  glimpses  a  saint  hath  of  Heav'n  in  his  dream* 
When  pensive  it  seem'd  as  if  that  very  grace, 
That  charm  of  all  others,  was  born  with  her  face ; 
\nd  when  angry,— for  e'en  in  the  tranquillest  climes 
Light  breezes  will  ruffle  the  blossoms  sometimes— 
The  short  passing  anger  but  seem'd  to  awaken 
New  beauty,  like  flowers  that  are  sweetest  when 

shaken. 

If  tenderness  touch'd  her,  the  dark  of  her  eye 
At  once  took  a  darker,  a  heavenlier  dye, 
From  the  depth  of  whose  shadow,  like  holy  revealings 
From  innermost  shrines,  came  the  light  of  her  feelings. 
Then  her  mirth— oh !  'twas  sportive  as  ever  took  wing 
From  the  heart  with  a  burst,  like  a  wild-bird  in  Spring : 
Illum'd  by  a  wit  that  would  fascinate  sages, 
Yet  playful  as  Peris  just  loos'd  from  their  cages.1 
While  her  laugh,  full  of  life,  without  any  controul 
But  the  sweet  one  of  gracefulness,  rung  from  her  soul ; 
And  where  it  most  sparkled  no  glance  could  discover 
In  lip,  cheek,  or  eyes,  for  she  brighten'd  all  over, — 
Like  any  fair  lake  that  the  breeze  is  upon, 
When  it  breaks  into  dimples  and  laughs  in  the  sun. 
Sucli,  such  were  the  peerless  enchantments  that  gave 
NouRM/  HAL  the  proud  Lord  of  the  East,  for  her  slave ; 
And  though  bright  was  his  Haram, — a  living  parterre 
Of  the  flowers2  of  this  planet— though  treasures  were 

there, 
For  which  SOLIMAN'S  self  might  have  given  all  the 

store 

That  the  navy  from  OPHIR  e'er  wing'd  to  his  shore, 
Yet  dim  before  her  were  the  smiles  of  them  all, 
And  the  Light  of  his  Haram  was  young  NOURMAHAJL! 

But  where  is  she  now,  this  night  of  joy, 

When  bliss  is  every  heart's  employ  ? — 

When  all  around  her  is  so  bright, 

So  like  the  visions  of  a  trance, 

That  one  might  think,  who  came  by  chance 

Into  the  vale  this  happy  night, 

He  saw  the  City  of  Delight3 

In  fairy-land,  whose  streets  and  towers 

Are  made  of  gems  and  light  and  tlowers ! 

Where  is  the  lov'd  Sultana?  where, 

When  mirth  brings  out  the  young  and  fair, 

Does  she,  the  fairest,  hide  her  brow, 

In  melancholy  stillness  now  ? 

Alas — how  light  a  cause  may  move 

Dissensions  between  hearts  that  love  ! 

Hearts  that  the  world  in  vain  had  tried ; 

And  sorrow  but  more  closely  tied ; 

That  stood  the  storm,  when  waves  were  rough, 

Yet  in  a  sunny  hour  fall  off, 

Like  ships  that  have  gone  down  at  sea, 

When  heav'n  was  all  tranquillity  ! 


4  MMBffuir*  wu  UM  eon  of  the  Great  Acbar. 


1  "  In  the  wars  of  the  Dives  with  the  Peris,  whenever  the 
former  took  tho  latter  prisoners,  they  shut  them  up  in  iron 
rages,  and  hung  them  on  the  highest  trees.  Here  they  wera 
visited  by  their  companions,  who  brought  them  the  choicest 

-  In  the  Malay  language  the  same  word  signifies  womer 
and  fli)-% 
3  The  capital  of  Shadukiam.    See  note,  p.  54 


LALLA  ROOKII. 


79 


A  something,  light  as  air — a  look, 

A  word  unkind,  or  wrongly  taken — 
Oh  !  love,  that  tempests  never  shook, 

A  breath,  a  touch  like  this  hath  shaken. 
And  ruder  words  will  soon  rush  in 
To  spread  the  breach  that  words  begin  : 
And  eyes  forget  the  gentle  ray 
They  wore  in  courtship's  smiling  day ; 
And  voices  lose  the  tone  that  shed 
A  tenderness  round  all  they  said ; 
Till  fast  declining,  one  by  one, 
The  sweetnesses  of  love  are  gone, 
And  hearts,  so  lately  mingled,  seem 
Like  broken  clouds, — or  like  the  stream, 
That  smiling  left  the  mountain's  brow, 

As  though  its  waters  ne'er  could  sever, 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  plain  below, 

Breaks  into  floods,  that  part  for  ever. 

Oh  you,  that  have  the  charge  of  Love, 

Keep  him  in  rosy  bondage  bound, 
As  in  the  Fields  of  Bliss  above 

He  sits,  with  flowrets  fetter'd  round ;' — 
Loose  not  a  tie  that  round  him  clings, 
Nor  ever  let  him  use  his  wings  ; 
For  ev'n  an  hour,  a  minute's  flight 
Will  rob  the  plumes  of  half  their  light. 
Lik^  that  celestial  bird, — whose  nest 

Is  found  beneath  far  Eastern  skies, — 
Whose  wings ;  though  radiant  when  at  rest, 

Lose  all  their  glory  when  he  flies  !2 
Some  difference,  of  this  dangerous  kind, — 
By  which,  though  light,  the  links  that  bind 
The  fondest  hearts  may  soon  be  riven ; 
Some  shaJow  in  love's  summer  heaven, 
Which,  though  a  fleecy  speck  at  first, 
31  IT  yrt  in  awful  thunder  burst ; — 
Such  cloud  it  is,  that  now  hangs  over 
The  heart  of  the  Imperial  Lover, 
And  far  hath  banish'd  from  his  sight 
His  XOURMAHAL,  his  Haram's  Light! 
Hence  is  it,  on  this  happy  night, 
When  Pleasure  through  the  fields  and  groves 
Has  let  loose  all  her  world  of  loves, 
And  every  heart  has  found  its  own, — 
He  wanders,  joyless  and  alone, 
And  weary  as  that  bird  of  Thrace, 
Whose  pinion  knows  no  resting-plufce.3 
In  vain  the  loveliest  cheeks  and  eyes 
This  Eden  of  the  earth  supplies 

Come  crowding  round — the  cheeks  are  pale, 
The  eyes  are  dim — though  rich  the  spot 
With  every  flower  this  earth  has  got, 

What  is  it  to  the  nightingale, 
If  there  his  darling  rose  is  not  ?4 


1  See  the  representation  of  the  Eastern  Cupid  pinioned 
closely  round  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  in  Heart's  Ceremonios 
•  ses. 

•-i  •'  Aiii'/iiir  the  birds  of  Tonquin  ig  a  species  of  goldfinch, 
which  sings  so  melodiously  that  it  is  calif  il  the  Celestinl  liird. 
Its  wings,  when  it  is  perched,  appear  variegated  with  beau- 
tiful colours,  but  when  it  flies  they  lose  all  their  splendour." — 
Grosier. 

3  "  As  these  birds  on  the  Bosphurus  are  never  known  to 
*>•*',  firy  nre  called  by  the  French  'les  araes  damnees." — 
l)al'.vtcay. 

4  "You  may  place  a  hundred  handfuls  of  fragrant  herbs 
and  flowers  before  the  nightingale,  yet  he  wishes  not,  ui  his 


In  vain  the  Valley's  smiling  throng 
Worship  him,  as  he  moves  along ; 
He  heeds  them  not — one  smile  of  hers 
Is  worth  a  world  of  worshippers  ; 
They  but  the  Star's  adorers  are, 
She  is  the  Heav'n  that  lights  the  Star! 

Hence  is  it  too,  that  NOURMAHAL, 

Amid  the  luxuries  of  this  hour, 
Far  from  the  joyous  festival, 

Sits  in  her  own  sequester'd  bower, 
With  no  one  near,  to  soothe  or  aid, 
But  that  inspir'd  and  wond'rous  maid, 
NAMOUNA,  the  Enchantress ; — one, 
O'er  whom  his  race  the  golden  sun 
For  unremember'd  years  has  run, 
Yet  never  saw  her  blooming  brow 
Younger  or  fairer  than  'tis  now. 
Nay,  rather,  as  the  west  wind's  sigh 
Freshens  the  flower  it  passes  by, 
Time's  wing  but  seem'd,  in  stealing  o'er, 
To  leave  her  lovelier  than  before. 
Yet  on  her  smiles  a  sadness  hung, 
And  when,  as  oft,  she  spoke  or  sung 
Of  other  worlds,  there  came  a  light 
From  her  dark  eyes  so  strangely  bright, 
That  all  believ'd  nor  man  nor  earth 
Were  conscious  of  NAMOUNA'S  birth  ! 
All  spells  and  talismans  she  knew, 

From  the  great  Mantra,1  which  around 
The  Air's  sublimer  Spirits  drew, 

To  the  gold  gems2  of  AFRIC,  bound 
Upon  the  wandering  Arab's  arm, 
To  keep  him  from  the  SiltimV  harm. 
And  she  had  pledg'd  her  powerful  art, 
Pledg'd  it  with  all  the  zeal  and  heart 
Of  one  who  knew,  though  high  her  sphere, 
What  'twas  to  lose  a  love  so  dear, 
To  find  some  spell  that  should  recall 
Her  SELIM'SG  smile  to  NOURMAHAL  ! 

'Twas  midnight — through  the  lattice,  wreath'd 
With  woodbine,  many  a  perfume  breath'd 
From  plants  that  wake  when  others  sleep, 
From  timid  jasmine  buds,  that  keep 
Their  odour  to  themselves  all  day, 
But,  when  the  sun-light  dies  away, 
Let  the  delicious  secret  out 
To  every  breeze  that  roams  about ; — 
When  thus  NAMOUNA  : — "  "Pis  the  hour 
That  scatters  spells  on  herb  and  flower, 
And  garlands  might  be  gather'd  now, 
That,  twin'd  around  the  sleeper's  brow, 
Would  make  him  dream  of  such  delights, 
Such  miracles  and  dazzling  sights, 


constant  In-art,  for  more  than  the  sweet  breath  of  his  be- 
loved rose." — ./ami. 

1  "  He  is  said  to  have  found  the  great  Mantra,  spell  01 
taliMii;in.  throiiL'h  which  he  nik-.l   over  the  elements  aiid 
spirits  of  all  denominations." — H ilfurd. 

2  "The  gulii  jewels  of  Jinnie,  which  are  called  by  the 
Arabs  El  Hurrez,  from  the  supposed  charm  they  contain." — 
Jackson. 

3  "  A  demon,  supposed  to  haunt  woods,  &c.  in  a  human 
shape." — Riehnrilson. 

4  "  The  name  of  Jehanguire  before  his  accession  to  th» 
throne. 


AaGeaii  of  the  Sun  behold, 

v,,.,:    ,  .-..  :!1.;,.r  !.-:,.>  nf-,.,1 

Upon  »•  horiaw-^trheie  they  play 
Till  twilight  comes,  and,  ray  by  ray, 
Their  sunny  mansions  mete  away ! 
Now,  too,  a  chaplet  might  be  wreath'd 
Of  buds  o'er  which  the  moon  has  breath  d. 
Which  worn  by  her,  whose  love  has  stray'd, 

Might  bring  some  Peri  from  the  skies, 
Some  sprite,  whose  very  soul  is  made 

Of  flowrets'  breaths,  and  lovers'  sighs, 
And  who  might  tell '1 


«  For  me,  for  me,1 
Cried  NOUMUHAL  impatiently,— 
"  Oh !  twine  that  wreath  for  me  to-night." 
TV  n  rapidly,  with  foot  aa  light 
At  the  young  mnak-roe'a,  out  she  flew 
To  cull  each  ahining  leaf  that  grew 
Beneath  the  moonlight's  hallowing  beama 
For  this  enchanted  Wreath  of  Dreams. 
Anemones  and  Seas  of  Gold,1 

And  new-blown  liliea  of  the  river, 
And  those  sweet  flowrets,  that  unfold 

Their  buda  on  CAMIDITA'S  quiver  ;*— 
The  tube-rose,  with  her  ailvery  light, 

That  in  the  Gardens  of  MALAY 
Is  calTd  the  Mistress  of  the  Night,1 
So  like  a  bride,  scented  and  bright, 

She  cornea  oat.  when  the  sun's  away,— 
Amaranths,  such  as  crown  the  maids 
That  wander  through  ZAMARA'S  shades  ;* — 
And  the  white  moon-flower,  aa  it  showa 
On  SERENDIB'S  high  crags  to  those 
Who  near  the  isle  at  evening  sail, 
Scenting  her  clove-trees  in  the  gale  ;— 
In  short,  all  flowrets  and  all  plants, 

From  the  divine  Amrita  tree,* 
That  Messes  heaven's  inhabitants 

With  fruits  of  immortality, 
Down  to*  the  basil*  tuft,  that  waves 
Its  fragrant  bloaaom  over  graves, 
And  to  the  bumble  rosemary, 
Whose  sweets  so  thanklessly  are  shed 
To  scent  the  desert7 — and  the  dead,— 
All  in  that  garden  bloom,  and  all 
An  gather' d  by  young  NODRMAIIAL, 


MOORE'S  WORKS 

Who  heaps  her  baskets  with  the  flowc 

And  leaves,  till  they  can  hold  no  more, 
Then  to  NAMOUNA  flies,  and  showers 

Upon  her  lap  the  shining  store. 
With  what  delight  th'  Enchantress  views 
So  many  buds,  bath'd  with  the  dews 
And  beams  of  that  Wess'd  hour !— her  glance 

Spoke  something,  past  all  mortal  pleasures, 
As,  in  a  kind  of  holy  trance, 

She  hung  above  those  fragrant  treasures, 
Bending  to  drink  their  balmy  airs, 
As  if  she  mix'd  her  soul  with  theirs. 
And  'twas,  indeed,  the  perfume  shed 
From  flow're  and  scented  flame  that  fed 
Her  charmed  life— for  none  had  e'er 
Beheld  her  taste  of  mortal  fare, 
Nor  ever  in  aught  earthly  dip, 
But  the  morn's  dew,  her  roseate  lip. 
Fill'd  with  the  cool,  inspiring  smell, 
Th'  Enchantress  now  begins  her  spell, 
Thus  singing,  as  she  winds  and  weaves 
In  mystic  form  the  glittering  leaves  — 


1  ••  llmtacagar*,  or  the  Sea  of  Gold,  with  flowen  of  th 
W.«tn««  gold  colour."— Sir  W.  Jonet. 

I  *  Tint  tree  (the  Nagaeecara)  u  one  of  the  most  de 
kfbtful  en  rarth,  and  the  delicious  odour  of  its  blueson 
juMly  gives  them  •  place  in  the  quiver  of  Camadcva,  or  U 

..  !    I. 

3  "  The  Malayans  style  the  tube-rose  (Polianlhe*  tube 
»ea)  Saadal  Malam,  or  taw  MisUes*  of  the  Night."-  / 
mmml. 

4  The  people  of  the  Batta  coontry  in  Pamatra  (of  whic 
Tamara  H  one  of  the  ancient  names)  "when  not  engaged  i 
war,  land  an  idle,  inactive  Me,  passing  the  day  in  playing  e 
a  kind  of  late,  crowned  with  garlands  of  flowers,  "amor, 
which  Ik*  gjone  aasaraotJius,  a  native  of  the  country,  mos 
ly  prevail*."— jtfoW™. 

i-The  laifeet  and  riekeat  sort  (of  the  Jambu  or  rose- 
is  esJM  Asarita  er  immortal,  and  the  mythologis 

"itt^^.^!0  •  —  "•.»— 


6  Bwwi-bejMl,  railed  Bayban  in  Penia,  and   general 
fcond  in  cborch-yanb. 

7  "  tn  the  Great  Drtett  are  found  many  ttalki  of  lavend 
Ml  rosemary  ."—jfttat.  Rtt. 


I  know  where  the  winged  visions  dwell 

That  around  the  night-bed  play ; 
I  know  each  herb  and  flowret's  bell, 
Where  they  hide  their  wings  by  day. 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 

The  image  of  love,  that  nightly  flies 

•  To  visit  the  bashful  maid, 

Steals  from  the  jasmine  flower,  that  sighs 

Its  soul,  like  her,  in  the  shade. 
The  hope,  in  dreams,  of  a  happier  hour 

That  alights  on  misery's  brow, 
Springs  out  of  the  silvery  almond-flower, 
That  blooms  on  a  leafless  bough,1 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 

To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 
The  visions  that  oft  to  worldly  eyes 

The  glitter  of  mines  unfold, 
Inhabit  the  molintain-herb,J  that  dyes 

The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
The  phantom  shapes — oh  touch  not  them — 

That  appal  the  murderer's  sight, 
Lurk  in  the  fleshy  mandrake's  stem, 
That  shrieks,  when  torn  at  night ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade 

The  dream  of  the  injur'd,  patient  mind, 

That  smiles  at  the  wrongs  of  men, 
Is  found  in  the  bruis'd  and  wounded  rind 
Of  the  cinnamon,  sweetest  then ! 
Then  hasten  we,  maid, 
To  twine  our  braid, 
To-morrow  the  dreams  and  flowers  will  fade. 


1  "The  almond-tron.  with  white  flowers,  blossoms  on  the 
bare  branche«." — Hatisrlijwist. 

2  An  herb  on  Mount  Libanus,  which  is  said  to  commi- 
nicate  n  yi-llow  golden  hue  to  the  teeth  of  the  goats  and 
oilier  animals  that  graze  upon  it. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


81 


No  sooner  was  the  flowery  crown 

Plac'd  on  her  head,  than  sleep  came  down, 

Gently  as  nights  of  summer  fall, 

Upon  the  lids  of  NOURMAHAL.  ; — 

And,  suddenly,  a  tuneful  breeze, 

As  full  of  small,  rich  harmonies 

As  ever  wind,  that  o'er  the  tents 

Of  AZAB'  blew,  was  full  of  scents, 

Steals  on  her  ear  and  floats  and  swells, 

Like  the  first  air  of  morning  creeping 
Into  those  wreathy,  Red-Sea  shells, 

Where  Love  himself,  of  old,  lay  sleeping;5— 
And  now  a  spirit  form'd,  'twould  seem, 

Of  music  and  of  light,  so  fair, 
So  brilliantly  his  features  beam, 

And  such  a  sound  is  in  the  air 
Of  sweetness,  when  he  waves  his  wings, 
Hovers  around  her,  and  thus  sings : — 

From  CIUNDARA'S*  warbling  fount  I  come, 
Call'd  by  that  moonlight  garland's  spell ; 
From  CHINDARA'S  (bunt,  my  fairy  home, 

Where  in  music  morn  and  night,  I  dwell; 
Where  lutes  in  the  air  are  heard  about, 

And  voices  are  singing  the  whole  day  long, 
And  every  sigh  the  heart  breathes  out 
Is  turn'd,  as  it  leaves  the  lips,  to  song  I 
Hither  I  come, 
From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there  's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  Lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 

For  mine  is  the  lay  that  lightly  floats, 
And  mine  are  murmuring,  dying  notes, 
That  fidl  as  soft  as  snow  on  the  sea, 
And  melt  in  the  heart  as  instantly  ! 
And  the  passionate  strain  that,  deeply  going, 

Refines  the  bosom  it  trembles  through, 
As  the  musk-wind,  over  the  water  blowing, 

Ruffles  the  wave,  but  sweetens  it  too! 

Mine  is  the  charm,  whose  mystic  sway 
The  Spirits  of  past  Delight  obey: 
Let  but  the  tuneful  talisman  sound, 
And  they  come,  like  Genii,  hovering  round. 
As  mine  is  the  gentle  song,  that  bears 

From  soul  to  soul,  the  wishes  of  love, 
As  a  bird,  that  wafts  through  genial  airs 

The  cinnamon  seed  from  grove  to  grove.4 
'Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure 
The  past,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure ; 
When  Memory  links  the  tone  that  is  gone 

With  the  blissful  tone  that's  still  in  the  ear; 


1  The  myrrh  country. 

2  "  This  idea  (of  deities  living  in  shells;  was  not  unknown 
to  tho  (ircoks,  who  n-present  the  young  Nerites,  one  of  the 
Cupids,  as  living  in  shells  on  the  shores  of  the  Red  Sea." — 
Wilford. 

3  ••  A  fabulous  fountain,  where  instruments  are  said  to  be 
constantly  pliiying." — Richardson. 

4  •'  The   Pinnpadour   pigeon  a  the  species,  which,  by 
carrying  tho  fruil  of  the  cinnamon  to  different  places,  is  a 
prea't  disseminator  of  this  valuable  tree."— See  Brown.'* 
liltuitr.  Tab.  19. 


And  Hope  from  a  heavenly  note  flies  on, 

To  a  note  more  heavenly  still  that  is  near ! 
The  warrior's  heart,  when  touch'd  by  me, 
Can  as  downy  soft  and  as  yielding  be, 
As  his  own  white  plume,  that  high  amid  death 
Through  the  field  has  shone — yet  moves   w.th  a 

breath. 
And,  oh,  how  the  eyes  of  beauty  glisten, 

When  Music  has  reach'd  her  inward  soul, 
Like  th'  silent  stars,  that  wink  and  listen 
While  Heav'n's  eternal  melodies  roll ! 
So,  hither  I  come, 
From  my  fairy  home, 
And  if  there's  a  magic  in  Music's  strain, 
I  swear  by  the  breath 
Of  that  moonlight  wreath, 
Thy  lover  shall  sigh  at  thy  feet  again. 


'Tis  dawn — at  least  that  earlier  dawn, 
Whose  glimpses  are  again  withdrawn,1 
As  if  the  morn  had  wak'd,  and  then 
Shut  close  her  lids  of  light  again. 
And  NOURMAHAL  is  up,  and  trying 

The  wonders  of  her  lute,  whose  strings — 
Oh  bliss ! — now  murmur  like  the  sighing 

From  that  ambrosial  Spirit's  wings  ! 
And  then,  her  voice — 'tis  more  than  human — 
Never,  till  now,  had  it  been  given 
To  lips  of  any  mortal  woman 

To  utter  notes  so  fresh  from  heaven ; 
Sweet  as  the  breath  of  angel  sighs, 

When  angel  sighs  are  most  divine. — 
"  Oh !  let  it  last  till  night,"  she  cries, 

"  And  he  is  more  than  ever  mine." 
And  hourly  she  renews  the  lay, 

So  fearful  lest  its  heavenly  sweetness 
Should,  ere  the  evening,  fade  away, — 

For  things  so  heavenly  have  such  fleetness  ! 
But,  far  from  fading,  it  but  grows 
Richer,  diviner  as  it  flows ; 
Till  rapt  she  dwells  on  every  string, 
And  pours  again  each  sound  along, 
Like  Echo,  lost  and  languishing 

In  love  with  her  own  wondrous  song. 
That  evening,  (trusting  that  his  soul 

Might  be  from  haunting  love  releaa'd 
By  mirth,  by  music,  and  the  bowl) 

Th'  Imperial  SELIM  held  a  Feast 
In  his  magnificent  Shalimar; 
In  whose  Saloons,  when  the  first  star 
Of  evening  o'er  the  waters  trembled, 
The  Valley's  loveliest  all  assembled ; 
All  the  bright  creatures  that,  like  dreams. 
Glide  through  its  foliage,  and  drink  beams 
Of  beauty  from  its  founts  and  streams,2 
And  all  those  wandering  minstrel-maids, 
Who  leave — how  can  they  leave  ? — the  shades 
Of  that  dear  Valley,  and  are  found 


1  "  They  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobhi  Kazim,  and  the 
Soobhi  Sadig,  the  falsK  and  the  real  day-break."—  H'aring. 

2  "  The  waters  of  Cachemir  are  the  more  renowned  from 
its  being  supposed  thai  the  Cachemirians  are  indebted  for 
their  beauty  to  them." — Mi  Yeidi. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Sintinf  in  pideM  of  the  South' 
Tkose  MM,  that  ne'er  so  sweetly  »°and 

A.  from  •  you*  Cwhrnermn'.  mouth ; 
There  too  the  Haram's  inmate*  .mile  :   - 

Maid*  from  the  West,  with  win-bright  hair, 
And  from  the  Garden  of  the  NILE, 

Delicate  a.  the  rows-  there;1 
*  UMtton  of  Low  from  Ctr*o»  rock*, 
With  Piphian  diamonds  in  their  locks  f 
l«ht  P*ri  form*,  such  as  there  are 
On  the  gold  mead,  of  CANDAHAR  f 
And  they,  before  whose  sleepy  eyes, 

In  their  own  bright  Kathaian  bowers, 
Sparkle  such  rainbow  butterflies,1 

That  they  might  fancy  the  rich  flowers, 
That  round  them  in  the  sun  lay  sighing, 
Hmd  been  by  magic  all  set  flying ! 

Every  thing  young,  every  thing  fair 
From  East  and  West  is  blushing  there. 
Except— eicept— oh  NODRMAHAL  ! 
Thou  loveliest,  dearest  of  them  all, 
The  one,  whose  smile  shone  out  alone, 
Amidst  a  world  the  only  one ! 
Whose  light,  among  so  many  lights, 
Was  like  that  star,  on  starry  nights, 
The  seaman  singles  from  the  sky, 
To  steer  his  bark  for  ever  by ! 
Thou  wert  not  there— so  SELIM  thought, 

And  every  thing  aeem'd  drear  without  thee : 
Bat  ah !  thou  wert,  thou  wcrt — and  brought 

Thy  charm  of  song  all  fresh  about  thee. 
Mingling  unnotic'd  with  a  band 
Of  lutanuts  from  many  a  land, 
And  veil'd  by  such  a  mask  as  shades 
Tbe  features  of  young  Arab  maids,—* 
A  mask  that  leaves  but  one  eye  free, 
To  do  its  beat  in  witchery,— 
She  rov'd,  with  beating  heart,  around, 

And  waited,  trembling,  for  the  minute, 
When  she  might  try  if  still  the  sound 
Of  her  lov'd  lute  had  magic  in  it. 

The  board  was  spread  with  fruits  and  wine ; 
With  grapes  of  gold,  like  those  that  shine 
On  CAUIN'I  hills ;'— pomegranates  full 


— 

Of  melting  sweetness,  and  the  pears 
nd  sunniest  apples  that  CAUBDL' 
In  all  its  thousand  gardens2  bears, 
antains,  the  golden  and  the  green, 
ALAYA'S  nectar'd  maiigusteen ;' 

>runes  of  BOKARA,  and  sweet  nuts 
From  the  far  groves  of  SAMARKAND, 
nd  BASRA  dates,  and  apricots, 

seed  of  the  Sun,*  from  IRAN'S  land  ;— 
Pith  rich  conserve  of  Visna  cherries,4 
f  Orange  flowers,  and  of  those  berries 
iat,  wild  and  fresh,  the  young  gazelles 
eed  on  in  ERAC'S  rocky  dells.6 
11  these  in  richest  vases  smile, 
In  baskets  of  pure  sandal-wood, 
nd  urns  of  porcelain  from  that  isle7 
Sunk  underneath  the  Indian  flood, 

Whence  oft  the  lucky  diver  brings 
ases  to  grace  the  halls  of  kings. 
Pines  too,  of  every  clime  and  hue, 
round  their  liquid  lustre  threw  ; 
mber  Rosolli,8— the  bright  dew 
rom  vineyards  of  the  Green-Sea  gushing  ;* 

\nd  SHIRAZ  wine,  that  richly  ran 
As  if  that  jewel,  large  and  rare, 
Tie  ruby,  for  which  CUBLAI-CHAV 
tffer'd  a  city's  wealth,'0  was  blushing 
Melted  within  the  goblets  there! 

nd  amply  SELIM  quaffs  of  e.ich, 

nd  seems  resolv'd  the  floods  shall  reach 

[is  inward  heart — shedding  around 

A  genial  deluge,  as  they  run, 
"hat  soon  shall  leave  no  spot  undrown'd, 

For  Love  to  rest  his  wings  upon. 

le  little  knew  how  well  the  boy 

Can  float  upon  a  goblet's  streams, 
jghting  them  with  his  smile  of  joy  : — 

As  bards  have  seen  him,  in  their  dreams, 
Down  the  blue  GANGES  laughing  glide 

Upon  a  rosy  lotus  wreath,11 
hatching  new  lustre  from  the  tide 

That  with  his  image  shone  beneath. 


1  "From  him  I  received  the  following  little  Gazzel,  o 
LBV*  Song,  the  note*  of  which  be  committed  to  paper  froi 
MM  vote*  of  OM  «f  tkoM  noting  f  irli  of  Cachmcre,  wli 
waaclsr  from  that  delightful  vaBey  over  the  various  parti  o 
ladia."— P«rria  JguiMmui. 

»  "  The  roses  of  the  Juan  Nile,  or  Garden  of  the  Nile 
(smttsd  to  Iks  Emperor  of  Morocco's  palace)  are  une- 
••snss',  and  Banns***  are  made  of  their  leave*  for  men  o 


tasjfc  to  tacttasj  •po*."— ./«el»oii. 

3  UO>  the  side  of  s  mountain  near  Paphoa  there  is 
cmven  which  smhsesjs  the  moat  beautiful  rock  crystal.  O 
aeeowrt  of  iu  brtiiuev  it  has  been  called  the  Paphian  di 

••MMi  **"  •'  JKmrtti 

4  »  Th-te  H  a  part  of  Caadahar,  called  Peria  or  Fai 
unl."—  7Y>»r~rf-  UsosMortnoeacountneitotheNon 


•T  India  versUbie  gold  is  mppoeed  to  be  produced. 
5  «  Tfcwe  are  Ike  totisrflies,  which  are  called  in  the  Ch 
Plyiag  Leaves.    Some  of  them  have  su 
id  are  so  variegated,  thiit  they  may 
•d  indeed  they  are  always  produc 


wear  Mack  marts  with   liti 
Niebuhr    mentio 


Ifcew  sKownsj  bat  fjsie  eye  in  conversation. 

"  Tkt  goUeo  grapes  of  Casbin."—  rtt  tcript  ion  of  P, 
f*sw 


1  "The  fruits  exported  from  Caubul  arc  apples,  pears, 
jomoeraimtes,  etc." — ElpHinstone. 

2  "  We  sat  down  under  a  tree,  listened  to  the  birds,  ana 
__lked  with  the  son  of  our  Mehmaimder  about  our  country 
and  Caubul,  of  which  he  gave  an  enchanting  account:  that 
city  and  it*  100,000  gardens,  etc."—  Id. 

3  "  The  Mansrusteen,  the  most  delicate  fruit  in  the  world  ; 
the  pride  of  the  M:ilay  Islands." — Marsden. 

4  "A  delicious  kind  of  apricot,  called  by  the  Persian* 
tokm-ed-*hems,  signifying  sun's  §ecd." — Description   of 
Persia. 

5  "  Sweetmeats  in  a  crystal  cup,  consisting  of  rose-leaves 
in  conserve,  with  lemon'or  Visna  cherry,  orange  flowers, 
etc."— Ru.'sel. 

6  "  Antelopes  croppins  the  fresh  berries  of  Erac.  — Tkt 
Moallakat,  a  poem  of  Tarafa. 

7  Mauri-25-Siina,  an  island  near  Formosa,  supposed  to 
have  been  »imk  in  the  soa  fur  the  crimes  of  its  inhabitant*. 
The  vessels  which  the  fishermen  ami  divers  bring  up  from 
it  are  sold  at  an  immense  price  in  China  and  Japan. — See 
Kempfer. 

8  Persian  Tales.  9  The  wUite  wine  of  Kishma. 

10  "The  Kin?  of  Zeilan  is  said  to  have  the  very  finest 
ruby  that  was  ever  seen,  Kublai-Kahn  sent  and  offeree!  the 
value  of  a  city  for  it,  but  the  Kin?  answered  he  would  not 
give  it  for  the  treasure  of  the  world." — .Virco  Polo. 

11  The  Indians  feign  that  Cupid  was   first  seen  floating 
down  the  Ganges  on  ihe  Nymphiea  Nelumlio. — See  Prn- 
ma  lit. 


LALLA  ROOKIL 


But  what  arc  cups,  without  the  aid 

Of  song  to  speed  them  as  they  flow  ? 
And  see — a  lovely  Georgian  maid, 

With  all  the  bloom,  the  freshen'd  glow 
Of  her  own  country  maidens'  looks, 
When  warm  they  rise  from  TEFLIS'  brooks ;' 
And  with  an  eye,  whose  restless  ray, 

Full,  floating,  dark — oh  he,  who  knows 
His  heart  is  weak,  of  heav'n  should  pray, 

To  guard  him  from  such  eyes  as  those  !— 
With  a  voluptuous  wildness  tlings 
Her  snowy  hand  across  the  strings 
Of  a  syrinda,1  and  thus  sings : — 


Come  hither,  come  hither — by  night  and  by  day, 
We  linger  in  pleasures  that  never  are  gone ; 

Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away 
Another  as  sweet  and  as  shining  comes  on. 

And  the  love  that  is  o'er,  in  expiring  gives  birth 
To  a  new  one  as  warm,  as  unequall'd  in  bliss ; 

And  oh  !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 

Here  maidens  are  sighing,  and  fragrant  their  sigh 
As  the  flower  of  the  Amra  just  op'd  by  a  bee ;' 

And  precious  their  tears  as  that  rain  from  the  sky,* 
Which  turns  into  pearls  as  it  falls  in  the  sea. 

Oh  !  think  what  the  kiss  and  the  smile  must  be  worth, 
When  the  sigh  and  the  tear  are  so  perfect  in  bliss , 

And  own,  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  tliis. 

here  sparkles  the  nectar,  that  hallow'd  by  love, 
Could  draw  down  those  angels  of  old  from  their 

sphere, 

Who  for  wine  of  this  earth5  left  the  fountains  above, 
And  forgot  heaven's  stars  for  the  eyes  we  have 

here. 
And,  bless'd  with  the  odour  our  poblets  give  forth, 

What  Spirit  the  sweets  of  his  Eden  would  miss? 
For  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this. 


The  Georgian's  song  was  scarcely  mute, 

When  the  same  measure,  sound  for  sound, 
Was  caught  up  by  another  lute, 

And  so  divinely  breath'd  around, 
That  all  stood  hush'd  and  wondering, 

And  turn'd  and  look'd  into  the  air, 
As  if  they  thought  to  see  the  wing 

Of  IsRAFiL,6  the  Angel,  there; — 
So  powerfully  on  every  soul 
That  new,  enchanted  measure  stole. 
While  now  a  voice,  sweet  as  the  note 
Of  the  charm'd  lute,  was  heard  to  float 
Along  its  chords,  and  so  entwine 

Its  sound  with  theirs,  that  none  knew  whether 


1  Teflis  is  celebrated  for  its  natural  warm  balbs. — See 
Ebn  Haulml. 

2  "The  Indian  Syrinda  or  guitar." — Symfs. 

3  "  Delightful  are  the  flowers  of  the  Amra-trees  on  the 
mountain  tops,  while  the  murmuring  bees  pursue  their  vo- 
luptuous toil." — Saner  of  Jayadtta. 

4  "The  Nisan,  or  drops  ofsprinj*  rain,  which  they  believe 
to  produce  pearls  if  they  fall  into  shells." — Richardson. 

5  For  nn  nrcoum  of  the  share  which  wine  had  in  the  fall 
of  the  ar.gel? — see  .Mnriti. 

6  The  Ange\  of  Music,  see  note,  p.  72. 


The  voice  or  lute  was  most  divine, 
So  wond'rously  they  went  together : 


There  's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstml  has  told; 

When  two,  that  are  link'd  in  one  heavenly  tie, 
With  heart  never  changing  and  brow  never  cold, 

Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die .' 
One  hour  of  a  passion  so  sacred  is  worth 

Whole  ages  of  heartless  and  wandering  bliss  ; 
And  oh !  if  there  be  an  Elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  tliis,  it  is  this. 


'Twas  not  the  air,  'twas  not  the  words, 
But  that  deep  magic  in  the  chords 
And  in  the  lips,  that  gave  such  power 
As  music  knew  not  till  that  hour. 
At  once  a  hundred  voices  said, 
"  It  is  the  mask'd  Arabian  maid  !" 
While  SELI.M,  who  had  felt  the  strain 
Deepest  of  any,  and  had  lain 
Some  minutes  wrapt,  as  in  a  trance, 

After  the  fairy  sounds  were  o'er, 
Too  inly  touch'd  for  utterance, 

Now  motiou'd  with  his  hand  for  more : — 


Fly  to  the  desert,  fly  with  me, 
Our  Arab  tents  are  rude  for  thee ; 
But  oh  !  the  choice  wjiat  heart  can  doubt 
Of  tents  with  love,  or  thrones  without? 

Our  rocks  are  rough,  but  smiling  there 
Th'  acacia  waves  her  yellow  hair, 
Lonely  and  sweet,  nor  lov'd  the  less 
For  flowering  in  a  wilderness. 

Our  sands  are  bare,  but  down  their  slope 
The  silvery-footed  antelope 
As  gracefully  and  gaily  springs 
As  o'er  the  marble  courts  of  kings. 

Then  come — thy  Arab  maid  will  be 
The  lov'd  and  lone  acacia-tree, 
The  antelope,  whose  feet  shall  bless 
With  their  light  sound  thy  loneliness. 

Oh !  there  are  looks  and  tones  that  dart 
An  instant  sunshine  through  the  heart,— 
As  if  the  soul  that  minute  caught 
Some  treasure  it  through  life  had  sought; 

As  if  the  very  lips  and  eyes 
Predestin'd  to  have  all  our  sighs, 
And  never  be  forgot  again, 
Sparkled  and  spoke  before  us  then ! 

So  came  thy  every  glance  and  tone, 
When  first  on  me  they  breath'd  and  shone  ; 
New,  as  if  brought  from  other  spheres, 
Yet  welcome  as  if  lov'd  for  years ! 

Then  fly  with  me, — if  thou  hast  known 
No  other  flame,  nor  falsely  thrown 
A  gem  away,  that  thou  hadst  sworn 
Should  ever  in  thy  heart  be  worn. 

C»me,  if  the  love  thou  hast  for  me 
Is  pure  and  fresh  as  mine  for  thee— 


MOOR     S  WORKS. 


aviary  without  its  song.  In  addition  to  this,  he  chose 
his  subjects  badly,  and  was  always  most  inspired  by  the 
worst  parts  of  them.  The  charms  of  paganism,  the 
merits  of  rebellion,— these  were  the  themes  honoured 
with  his  particular  enthusiasm  ;  and,  in  the  poem  just 
recited,  one  of  his  most  palatable  passages  was  in 
praise  of  that  beverage  of  the  unfaithful,  wine  ;  "be- 
ing, perhaps,"  said  he,  relaxing  into  a  smile,  as  con- 
scious of  his  own  character  in  the  Haram  on  this 
point,  "  one  of  those  bards,  whose  fancy  owes  all  its 
illumination  to  the  grape,  like  that  painted  porcelain, 
so  curious  and  so  rare,  whose  images  are  only  visible 
when  liquor  is  poured  into  it."  Upon  the  whole,  it 
was  his  opinion,  from  the  specimens  which  they  had 
heard,  and  which,  he  begged  to  say,  were  the  most 
tiresome  part  of  the  journey,  that — whatever  other 
merits  this  well  dressed  young  gentleman  might  pos- 
sess— poetry  was  by  no  means  his  proper  avocation : 
and  indeed,"  concluded  the  critic,  "  from  his  fond- 
ness for  flowers  and  for  birds,  I  would  venture  to 
suggest  that  a  florist  or  a  bird-catcher  is  a  much  more 
suitable  calling  for  him  than  a  poet." 

They  had  now  begun  to  ascend  those  barren 
mountains,  which  separate  Cashmere  from  the  refet 
of  India ;  and,  as  the  heats  were  intolerable,  and  the 
time  of  their  encampments  limited  to  the  few  hours 
necessary  for  refreshment  and  repose,  there  was  an 
end  to  all  their  delightful  evenings,  and  LAI. LA  ROOKH 
saw  no  more  of  FERAMORZ.  She  now  felt  that  her 
short  dream  of  happiness  was  over,  and  that  she  had 
nothing  but  the  recollection  of  its  few  blissful  hours, 
like  the  one  draught  of  sweet  water  that  serves  the 
camel  across  the  wilderness,  to  be  her  heart's  re- 
freshment during  the  dreary  waste  of  life  that  was 
before  her.  The  blight  that  had  fallen  upon  her 
spirits  soon  found  its  way  to  her  cheek,  and  her  ladies 
saw  with  regret — though  not  without  some  suspicion 
of  the  cause — that  the  beauty  of  their  mistress,  of 
which  they  were  almost  as  proud  as  of  their  own, 
was  fast  vanishing  away  at  the  very  moment  of  all 
when  she  had  most  need  of  it.  What  must  the  King 
of  Bucharia  feel,  when,  instead  of  the  lively  and 
beautiful  LALLA  ROOKH,  whom  the  poets  of  Delhi 
had  described  as  more  perfect  than  the  divinest 
images  in  the  House  of  Azor,  he  should  receive  a  pale 
and  inanimate  victim,  upon  whose  cheek  neither 
health  nor  pleasure  bloomed,  and  from  whose  eyes 
Love  had  fled, — to  hide  himself  in  her  heart  ! 

If  any  thing  could  have  charmed  away  the  melan- 
choly of  her  spirits,  it  would  have  been  the  fresh  airs 
and  enchanting  scenery  of  that  Valley,  which  the 
Persians  so  justly  called  the  Unequalled.1  But  nei- 
ther the  coolness  of  its  atmosphere,  so  luxurious  after 
toiling  up  those  bare  and  burning  mountains — neither 
the  splendour  of  the  minarets  and  pagodas,  that  shone 

i  and  faded  flowers  on  board.  The  oul  ^Tom  lne  depth  of  its  woods,  nor  the  grottos,  her- 
P*0*"10"*  "deed,  of  flowers  aad  birds,  which  this  Stages,  and  miraculous  fountains,  which  make  every 
POM  had  ready  on  all  occasions,— not  to  mention  8Pot  °f  tnat  region  holy  ground  ; — neither  the  count- 
dews,  gems,  etc.— was  a  n,^  oppressive  kind  of  less  water-falls,  that  rush  into  the  Valley  from  all  those 
»  to  his  hearers;  and  had  the  unlucky  effect  n'8n  an<^  romantic  mountains  that  encircle  it,  nor  the 
of  giving  to  his  style  all  the  glitter  of  the  flower-gar-  fair  city  or»  the  Lake,  whose  houses,  roofed  with 
dea  wttnout  to  method,  and  all  the  flutter  of  the  fl°wers,  appeared  at  a  distance  like  one  vast  and  varie- 

gated  parterre ; — not  all  these  wonders  and  glories 

et^e  power  of  the  most  lovely  country  under  the  sun  could  steaJ 

1  Kuchiuue  be.  \azeer. — t'urx'rr 


Fr«ah  M  the  fountain  under  ground 
When  first  't»  by  the  Upwing  found.1 

Bat  If  for  me  thou  dost  forsake 
S«NM  otker  mid,  ud  rudely  bteak 
He-  worsaipp'd  image  from  iu  base, 
To  give  to  roe  the  nun'd  place  ;— 
Then  fare  thee  well— I'd  rather  make 
My  bower  upon  tome  icy  lake 
When  thawing  suns  begin  to  shine, 
Than  trust  to  lore  so  false  as  thine ! 


There  was  a  pathos  in  this  lay. 

That,  e'en  without  enchantment's  art, 
Would  instantly  have  found  its  way 

Deep  into  SELIM'S  burning  heart; 
Bat  breathing,  as  it  did,  a  tone 
To  earthly  lutes  and  lips  unknown. 
With  every  chord  fresh  from  the  touch 
Of  Mask's  Spirit, — 'twas  too  much '. 
Starting,  he  dash'd  away  the  cup,— 

Which,  all  the  time  of  this  sweet  air, 
His  hand  had  held,  untasted,  up, 

As  if  'twere  held  by  magic  there,— 
And  naming  her,  so  long  unnam'd, 

ruMAHAL1.  oh  NODRMAHAL! 

Had'st  thou  but  sung  this  witching  strain, 
I  could  forget— forgive  tbee  all, 

And  went  leave  those  eyes  again." 

The  mask  •  off— the  charm  is  wrought—* 
And  SKLIH  to  his  heart  has  caught, 
In  blushes,  mere  than  ever  bright, 
His  NoraMAHAL,  his  Haram's  Light! 
And  well  do  ranish'd  frowns  enhance 
The  charm  of  every  brighten'd  glance ; 
And  dearer  seems  each  dawning  smile 
For  (string  lost  its  light  awhile; 
And,  happier  BOW  for  all  her  sighs. 
As  on  his  arm  her  head  reposes, 
Bfee  whispers  him,  with  laughing  eyes, 

r,  lore,  the  Feast  of  Roses !" 


FADLADEEK,  at  the  conclusion  of  this  light  rhap- 
sody, took  occasion  to  sum  up  his  opinion  of  the 
young  Cashroehan's  poetry,— of  which,  he  trusted, 
they  had  that  evening  heard  the  last.  Having  recapi- 
tulated the  epithets, "  frivolous"—"  inharmonious"— 
H  nonsensical,"  be  proceeded  to  say  that,  viewing  it 
in  the  most  favourable  light,  it  resembled  one  of  those 
Maldhrian  boats,  to  which  the  Princess  had  alluded 
in  the  relation  of  her  dream,*— a  slight,  gilded  thing, 
sent  adrift  without  rudder  or  ballast,  and  with  nothiiiv 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


her  Heart  for  a  minute  from  those  sad  thoughts,  which 
but  darkened  and  grew  bitterer  every  step  she  advanced. 
The  gay  pomps  and  processions  that  met  her  upon 
her  entrance  into  the  Valley,  and  the  magnificence 
witli  which  the  roads  all  along  were  decorated,  did 
honour  to  the  taste  and  gallantry  of  the  young  King. 
It  was  night  when  they  approached  the  city,  and,  for 
the  last  two  miles,  they  had  passed  under  arches, 
thrown  from  hedge  to  hedge,  festooned  with  only 
those  rarest  roses  from  which  the  Attar  Gul,  more 
precious  than  gold,  is  distilled,  and  illuminated  in 
rich  and  fanciful  forms  with  lanterns  of  the  triple- 
coloured  tortoise-shell  of  Pegu.  Sometimes,  from  a 
dark  wood  by  the  side  of  the  road,  a  display  of  fire- 
works would  break  out,  so  sudden  and  so  brilliant, 
that  a  Bramin  might  think  he  saw  that  grove,  in  whose 
purple  shade  the  God  of  Battles  was  born,  bursting 
into  a  flame  at  the  moment  of  his  birth. — While,  at 
other  times,  a  quick  and  playful  irradiation  continued 
to  brighten  all  the  fields  and  gardens  by  which  they 
passed,  forming  a  line  of  dancing  lights  along  the 
horizon ;  like  the  meteors  of  the  north  as  they  are 
s|en  by  those  hunters,  who  pursue  the  white  and  blue 
foxes  on  the  confines  of  the  Icy  Sea.  • 

These  arches  and  fire-works  delighted  the  ladies 
of  the  Princess  exceedingly ;  and,  with  their  usual 
good  logic,  they  deduced  from  his  taste  for  illumina- 
tions, that  the  King  of  Bucharia  would  make  the  most 
exemplary  husband  imaginable.  Nor,  indeed,  could 
LALLA  ROOKH  herself  help  feeling  the  kindness  .and 
splendour  with  which  the  young  bridegroom  welcom- 
ed her ; — but  she  also  felt  how  painful  is  the  gratitude, 
which  kindness  from  those  we  cannot  love  excites ; 
and  that  their  best  blandishments  come  over  the  heart 
with  all  that  chilling  and  deadly  sweetness,  which  we 
can  fancy  in  the  cold,  odoriferous  wind  that  is  to  blow 
over  the  earth  in  the  last  days. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  the  morning  after  her 
arrival,  when  she  was,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  pre- 
sented tp  the  monarch  in  that  Imperial  Palace  be- 
yond the  lake,  called  the  Shalimar.  Though  a  night 
of  more  wakeful  and  anxious  thought  had  never 
been  passed  in  the  Happy  Valley  before,  yet,  when 
she  rose  in  the  morning,  and  her  ladies  came  round 
her,  to  assist  in  the  adjustment  of  the  bridal  orna- 
ments, they  thought  they  had  never  seen  her  look 
half  so  beautiful.  What  she  had  lost  of  the  bloom 
and  radiancy  of  her  charms  was  more  than  made  up 
by  that  intellectual  expression,  that  soul  in  the  eyes 
which  is  worth  all  the  rest  of  loveliness.  When  they 
had  tinged  her  fingers  with  the  Henna  leaf,  and  placed 
upon  her  brow  a  small  coronet  of  jewels,  of  the  shape 
worn  by  the  ancient  Queens  of  Bucharia,  they  flung 
over  her  head  the  rose-coloured  bridal  veil,  and  she 
proceeded  to  the  barge  that  was  to  convey  her  across 
Ihe  lake; — first  kissing,  with  a  mournful  look,  the 
little  amulet  of  cornelian  which  her  father  had  hung 
auout  her  neck  at  parting. 

The  morning  was  as  fair  as  the  maid  upon  whose 
nuptials  it  rose,  and  the  shining  lake,  all  covered  with 
boats,  the  minstrels  playing  upon  the  shores  of  the 
islands,  and  the  crowded  summer-houses  on  the  green 
hills  around,  with  shawls  and  banners  waving  from 


Jieir  roofs,  presented  such  a  picture  of  animated  re- 
joicing, as  only  she,  who  was  the  object  of  it  all,  did 


not  feel  with  transport.  To  LALLA  ROOKH  alone  it 
was  a  melancholy  pageant ;  nor  could  she  have  ever 
borne  to  look  upon  the  scene,  were  it  not  for  a  hope 
that,  among  the  crowds  around,  she  might  once  more 
perhaps  catch  a  glimpse  of  FERAHORZ.  So  much 
was  her  imagination  haunted  by  this  thought,  that 
there  was  scarcely  an  islet  or  boat  she  passed,  at 
which  her  heart  did  not  flutter  with  a  momentary 
fancy  that  he  was  there.  Happy,  in  her  eyes,  the 
humblest  slave  upon  whom  the  light  of  his  dear  looks 
fell. — In  the  barge  immediately  after  the  Princess  was 
FADLADEEX,  with  his  silken  curtains  thrown  widely 
apart,  that  all  might  have  the  benefit  of  his  august  pre- 
sence, and  with  his  head  full  of  the  speech  he  was 
to  deliver  to  the  King,  "concerning  FERAMORZ,  and 
literature,  and  the  Chabuk,  as  connected  therewith." 
They  had  now  entered  the  canal  which  leads  from 
the  Lake  to  the  splendid  domes  and  saloons  of  the 
Shalimar,  and  glided  on  through  gardens  ascending 
from  each  bank,  full  of  flowering  shrubs  that  made 
the  air  all  perfume ;  while  from  the  middle  of  the 
canal  rose  jets  of  water,  smooth  and  unbroken,  to 
such  a  dazzling  height,  that  they  stood  like  pillars  of 
diamond  in  the  sunshine.  After  sailing  under  the 
arches  of  various  saloons,  they  at  length  arrived  at 
the  last  and  most  magnificent,  where  the  monarch 
awaited  the  coming  of  his  bride ;  and  such  was  the. 
agitation  of  her  heart  and  frame,  that  it  was  with  dif- 
ficulty she  walked  up  the  marble  steps,  which  were 
covered  with  cloth  of  gold  for  her  ascent  from  the 
barge.  At  the  end  of  the  hall  stood  two  thrones,  as 
precious  as  the  Cerulean  Throne  of  Koolburga,  on 
one  of  which  sat  ALIRIS,  the  youthful  King  of  Bu- 
charia, and  on  the  other  was,  in  a  few  minutes,  to  be 
placed  the  most  beautiful  Princess  in  the  world. — 
Immediately  upon  the  entrance  of  LALLA  ROOKH 
into  the  saloon,  the  monarch  descended  from  his 
throne  to  meet  her ;  but  scarcely  had  he  time  to  take 
her  hand  in  his,  when  she  screamed  with  surprise  and 
fainted  at  his  feet.  It  was  FERA.MORZ  himself  that 
stood  before  her! — FERAMORZ  was,  himself,  the 
Sovereign  of  Bucharia,  who  in  this  disguise  had  ac- 
companied his  young  bride  from  Delhi,  and,  having 
won  her  love  as  an  hutnble  minstrel,  now  amply  de- 
served to  enjoy  it  as  a  King. 

The  consternation  of  FADLADEEV  at  this  discovery 
was,  for  the  moment,  almost  pitiable.  But  change 
of  opinion  is  a  resource  too  convenient  in  courts  for 
this  experienced  courtier  not  to  have  learned  to  avail 
himself  of  it.  His  criticisms  wer?  all,  of  course, 
recanted  instantly;  he  was  seized  with  an  admiration 
of  the  King's  verses,  as  unbounded,  as,  he  begged 
him  to  believe,  it  was  disinterested ;  and  the  follow- 
ing week  saw  him  in  possession  of  an  additional 
place,  swearing  by  all  the  Saints  of  Islam  that  never 
had  there  existed  so  great  a  poet  as  the  Monarch,  ALI- 
RIS, and  ready  to  prescribe  his  favourite  regimen  of 
the  Chabuk  for  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that 
dared  to  think  otherwise. 

Of  the  happiness  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Bucha- 
ria, after  such  a  beginning,  there  can  be  but  little 
doubt ;  and,  among  the  lesser  symptoms,  it  is  recorded 
of  LALLA  ROOKH,  that,  to  the  day  of  her  death,  in 


memory  of  their  delightful  journey,  she  never  called 
the  King  by  any  other  name  than  FERAMORZ 


- 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


NOTES. 


Page  27. 

1  HKSE  particulaw  of  the  vi.it  of  the  King  of  Bu- 
eharia  to  Auningiebe  are  found  in  Dow't  History  of 
HmtMto*  vol.  iii.  p.  3W. 

Page  27,  line  16. 

Leila. 

The  Mistrew  of  Mejnoun,  upon  whose  story  so 
many  romances,  in  all  the  languages  of  the  East,  are 

:    ..  |[ '!- 

Page  27,  line  16. 

-       ue. 

For  the  lores  of  this  celebrated  beauty  with  Khos- 
rou  and  with  Ferhad,  see  D'llerbdot,  Gibbon,  Ori- 
Mtei  CoBectiau,  etc. 

Page  27,  line  16. 

Dewilde. 

"The  history  of  the  loves  of  Dewilde  and  Chizer, 
the  son  of  the  Emperor  Alia,  is  written  in  an  elegant 
poem,  by  the  noble  Chusero." — Feruhla. 

Page  27,  line  47. 
Those  inticnift  of  tlie  K.mperor'i  favour,  etc. 

"  One  mark  of  honour  or  knighthood  bestowed  by 
the  Emperor,  is  the  permission  to  wear  a  small  kettle- 
drum, at  the  bows  of  their  saddles,  which  at  first  was 
invented  for  the  training  of  hawks,  and  to  call  them  to 
the  lure,  and  is  worn  in  the  field  by  ail  sportsmen  to 
(bat  end."— Fryer1*  Trmd». 

"Those  on  whom  the  King  has  conferred  the  pri- 
vilege must  wear  an  ornament  of  jewels  on  the  right 
side  of  the  turban,  surmounted  by  a  high  plume  of 
t^e  feathers  of  a  kind  of  egret  This  bird  is  found 
only  in  Cashmere,  and  the  feathers  are  carefully  col- 
lected for  the  King,  who  bestows  them  on  his  nobles." 
— Hplunstuntt  Account  of  CavluL 

Page  27,  line  52. 

K    •      •  Klian,  etc. 

"  Khedar  Khan,  the  Khakan,  or  King  of  Turques- 
tan  beyond  the  Gihon  (at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury,) whenever  he  appeared  abroad  was  preceded  by 
sewn  hundred  horsemen  with  silver  battle-axes,  and 
«a»  followed  by  an  equal  number  bearing  maces  of 
fold.  He  was  a  great  patron  of  poetry,  and  it  was 
be  who  used  to  preside  at  public  exercises  of  genius, 
'"urbaMM  of  gold  and  silver  by  him  to  distri- 
bute among  the  poets  who  exeello<l."_/f,t-/iard»«i'« 
Dimtrlatitn  prefixed  to  hit  Dictionary. 

Pag*  27,  line  54. 

The  filt  |ii««  «p|4«,  etc. 

"The  kubdch,  a  large  golden  knob,  generally  in 

the  shape  of  a  pine-apple,  on  the  top  of  the  canopy 

•v*  the  liner  or  palanquin."— Scott't  note*  on  the 


Page  27,  line  59. 

Th«  rowroloarad  ve.U  ,,f  .Iw  Priiw-t,-.  ljtt(.r. 
In  the  poem  of  Zohair,  in  the  Moallakat,  there 


is  the  following  lively  description  of  "  company  of 
maidens  seated  on  camels." 

"They  are  mounted  in  carriages  covered  with 
costly  awnings,  and  with  rose-coloured  veils,  the 
linings  of  which  have  the  hue  of  crimson  Andein- 
wood. 

"  When  they  ascend  from  the  bosom  of  the  vale, 
they  sit  forward  on  the  saddle-cloths,  with  every 
mark  of  a  voluptuous  gaiety. 

w  Now,  when  they  have  reached  the  brink  of  von 
blue  gushing  rivulet,  they  fix  the  poles  of  their  tents 
like  the  Arab  with  a  settled  mansion." 

Page  27,  line  60. 

A  young  female  slave  sat  fanning  her,  etc. 
See  Bernier's  description  of  the  attendants  on  Rau- 
chanara»Begum  in  her  progress  to  Cashmere. 

Page  28,  line  13. 
Religion,  of  which  Aurungzebe  was  a  munificent  protector. 
This  hypocritical  Emperor  would  have  made  a 
worthy  associate  of  certain  Holy  Leagues. — "He 
held  the  cloak  of  religion  (says  Dow)  between  his 
actions  and  the  vulgar;  and  impiously  thanked  the 
Divinity  for  a  success  which  he  owed  to  his  own 
wickedness.  When  he  was  murdering  and  perse 
cuting  his  brothers  and  their  families,  he  was  building 
a  magnificent  mosque  at  Delhi,  as  an  offering  to  God 
for  his  assistance  to  him  in  the  civil  wars.  He  acted 
as  high-priest  at  the  consecration  of  this  temple,  and 
made  a  practice  of  attending  divine  service  there,  in 
the  humble  dress  of  a  Fakeer.  But  when  he  lifted 
one  hand  to  the  Divinity,  he,  with  the  other,  signed 
warrants  for  the  assassination  of  his  relations." — 
History  of  Hindostan,  vol.  iii.  p.  235.  See  also  the 
curious  letter  of  Aurungzebe,  given  in  the  Oriental 
Collections,  vol.  i.  p.  3'20. 

Page  28,  line  15. 
The  diamond  eyes  of  the  idol,  etc. 
"The  Idol  at  Jaghernaut  has  two  fine  diamonds 
for  eyes.    No  goldsmith   is   siitiV.-red   to  enter  the 
Pagoda,  one  having  stole  one  of  these  eyes,  being 
locked  up  all  night  with  the  Idol." — Tavernier. 

Page  28,  line  19. 
*  Garden^  of  Shalini:ir. 

See  a  description  of  these  royal  Gardens  in  "  An 
Account  of  the  present  State  of  Delhi,  by  Lieut. 
W.  Franklin."—  Asiut.  Research,  vol.  iv.  p.  417. 

Page  28,  line  26. 

Lake  of  Pt-.irl. 

"  In  the  neighbourhood  is  Nolle  Gill,  or  the  Lake 
of  Pearl,  which  receives  this  name  from  its  pellucid 
water." — Pennant's  Hindoftun. 

"  Nasir  Jung,  encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Lake 
of  Tonoor,  amused  himself  with  sailing  on  that  cleat 
and  beautiful  water,  and  gave  it  the  fanciful  name  of 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


87 


Motee  Talab,  '  the  Lake  of  Pearls,'  which  it  still  re- 
tains."— WiUce's  South  of  India. 

Page  28,  line  30. 

Described  by  one  from  the  Isles  of  the  West,  etc. 
Sir  Thomas  Roe,  Ambassador  from  James  I.  to 
Jehanguire. 

Page  28,  line  45. 
Loves  of  VVainuk  and  Ezra. 

"  The  "romance  Wemakweazra,  written  in  Persian 
verse,  which  contains  the  loves  of  Wainak  and  Ezra, 
two  celebrated  lovers  who  lived  before  the  time  of 
Mahomet." — Notes  on  the  Oriental  Tales. 

Page  28,  line  45. 

Of  the  fair-haired  /ill,  and  his  mistress  Rodnhver. 
Their  amour  is  recounted  in  the  Shah-Nameh  of 
Fenlousi ;  and  there  is  much  beauty  in  the  passage 
which  describes  the  slaves  of  Rodahver,  sitting  on 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  throwing  flowers  into  the 
stream,  in  order  to  draw  the  attention  of  the  young 
Hero,  who  is  encamped  on  the  opposite  side. — See 
Champion's  Translation. 

Page  28,  line  46. 

The  combat  of  Ruslam  with  thf  terrible  white  Demon. 

Rustam  is  the  Hercules  of  the  Persians.  For  the 
particulars  of  his  Victory  over  the  Sepeed  Deeve,  or 
White  Demon,  see  Oriental  Collections,  vol.  ii.  p.  45. — 
Near  the  city  of  Shirauz  is  an  immense  quadrangular 
monument  in  commemoration  of  this  combat,  called 
the  Kelaat-i-Ueev  Sepeed,  or  Castle  of  the  White 
Giant,  which  Father  Angelo,  in  his  Gazophylacium 
Persicum,  p.  127,  declares  to  have  been  the  most 
memorable  monument  of  antiquity  which  he  had 
seen  in  Persia. — See  Ouseky's  Persian  Miscellanies. 

Page  28,  line  53. 

'T  "ir  noldi'n  anklets. 

"  The  women  of  the  Idol,  or  dancing  girls  of  the 
Pasoda,  have  little  golden  bells  fastened  to  their  feet, 
the  soft  harmonious  tinkling  of  which  vibrates  in 
unison  with  the  exquisite  melody  of  their  voices." — 
Maurice's  Indian  Antiquities. 

"  The  Arabian  courtezans,  like  the  Indian  women, 
have  little  golden  bells  fastened  round  their  legs, 
neck  and  elbows,  to  the  sound  of  which  they  dance 
before  the  King.  The  Arabian  princesses  wear 
golden  rings  on  their  fingers,  to  which  little  bells 
are  suspended,  as  in  the  flowing  tresses  of  their 
h-\ir,  that  their  superior  rank  may  be  known,  and 
th'-y  themselves  receive,  in  passing,  the  homage  due 
to  them." — See  Calme.Cs  Dictionary,  art.  Bells. 

Page  28,  line  68. 
That  dulicions  opium,  etc. 

"  A!>ou-Tige,  ville  de  la  Thebaide,  ou  il  croit  beau 
coup  de  pavots  noir,  dont  se  fait  le  milleur  opium  " — 
D'  Herbelot. 

Page  28,  line  78. 
That  idol  of  women,  Crishna. 

"  He  and  the  three  Ramas  are  described  as  youths 
of  perfect  beauty  ;  and  the  Princesses  of  Hindustan 
were  all  passionately  in  love  with  Crishna,  who  con- 
tinues to  this  hour  the  darling  god  of  the  Indian 
women." — Sir  W.  Jones  on  the  Gods  of  Greece,  Italy, 
tnd  India 


Page  28,  line  86.     ' 
The  shawl  gout  of  Tibet. 

See  Turner's  Embassy  for  a  description  of  this 
animal,  "  the  most  beautiful  among  the  whole  tribe 
of  goats."  The  materials  for  the  shawls  (which  is 
carried  to  Cashmere)  is  found  next  the  skin. 

Page  28,  line  107. 

The  veiled  Prophet  of  Khorassan. 

For  the  real  history  of  this  Impostor,  whose  on 

ginal  name  was  Haken  ben  Haschem,  and  who  was 

called  Mokanna  from  the  veil  of  silver  gauze  (or,  as 

others  say,  golden)  which  he  always  wore,  see  D' 

Herbelot. 

Page  28,  line  111. 

Flowerets  and  fruits  blush  oven  every  stream. 
"The  fruits  of  Meru  are  finer  than  those  of  any 
other  place ;  and  one  cannot  see  in  any  other  city 
such  palaces,  with  groves,  and  streams,  and  gardens." 
Ebn  Haukafs  Geography. 

Page  28,  line  120, 

For,  far  less  luminous,  his  votaries  said, 
Were  e'en  the  gleams,  miraculously  shed 
O'er  Moussa's  chvck. 

"  Ses  disciples  assuraient  qu'il  se  couvrait  le  vis- 
age, pour  ne  pas  eblouir  ceux  qui  1'approchaient  par 
1'eclat  de  son  visage  comme  Moyse." — D"  Herbelot 

Page  29,  line  7. 

In  hatred  to  the  Caliph's  hue  of  night. 
"  II  faut  remarquer  ici  touchant  les  habits  blanca 
des  disciples  de  Hakem,  que  la  couleur  des  habits, 
des  coiffures  et  des  eiendards  des  Khalifes  Abassides 
etant  la  noire,  ce  chef  de  rebelles  ne  pouvait  pas  en 
choisir  une  qui  lui  fut  plus  opposee." — D'  Herbelot. 

Page  29,  line  10. 
Javelins  of  the  light  Kathaian  reed. 
"  Our  dark  javelins,  exquisitely  wrought  of  Katha- 
ian reeds,  slender  and  delicate." — Poem  of  Amru. 

Page  29,  line  12. 

Filled  with  the  stems  that  bloom  on  Iran's  rivers. 
The  Persians  call  this  plant  Gaz.  The  celebrated 
shaft  of  Isfendiar,  one  of  their  ancient  heroes,  was 
made  of  it. — "  Nothing  can  be  more  beautiful  than 
the  appearance  of  this  plant  in  flower  during  the 
rains  on  the  banks  of  the  rivers,  where  it  is  usually 
interwoven  with  a  lovely  twining  asclepias." — Sir 
IV".  Jones,  Botanical  Observations  on  select  Indian 
Plants.  ' 

Page  29,  line  17. 
Like  a  chenar-tree  grove. 

The  oriental  plane.  "  The  chenar  is  a  delightful 
tree  ;  its  bole  is  of  a  fine  white  and  smooth  bark ; 
and  its  foliage,  which  grows  in  a  tuft  at  the  summit, 
is  of  a  bright  green." — Morier's  Travels. 

» 
Page  29,  line  47 

With  turban'd  lifuds,  of  every  hue  and  race, 
Kuwin^  bct'ure  that  veil'd  and  awlu  face, 

Like  tulip  beds 

"  The  name  of  Tulip  is  said  to, be  of  Turkish  ex- 
traction,  and  given  to  the  flov^pr  on  account  of  its 
resembling  a  turban."—  -Bcckmaris  History  of  Invert 
lions. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  29,  line  57. 
With  belt  of  broidcr'd  crape, 
And  far-boond  bonnet  of  Bucharian  shape. 
The  inhabitants  of  Bucharia  wear  a  round  cloth 
bMML  shaped  much  after  the  Polish  fashion,  having 
They  fie  their  kaftans  about  the 


tradition,  thus  adopted  :-«  The  earth  (wh.ch  God  had 
selected  for  the  materials  of  his  work)  was  canted 
into  Arabia,  to  a  place  between  Mecca  and  layef, 
where,  being  first  kneaded  by  the  Angels,  it  was 
afterwards  fashioned  by  God  himself  into  a  human 
form,  and  left  to  dry  for  the  space  of  forty  days,  or, 
as  others  say,  as  many  years  ;  the  angels,  in  the  mean 
time  often  visiting  it,  and  Eblis  (then  one  ol  the 
angels  nearest  to  God's  presence,  afterward,  the 
devil)  among  the  rest;  but  he,  not  contented  with 
looking  at  it,  kicked  it  with  his  foot  till  it  rung;  and 
knowing  God  designed  that  creature  to  be  his  supe- 
rior, took  a  secret  resolution  never  to  acknowledge 
him  as  such."— Hale  on  the  Koran. 

Page  33,  line  44. 

Where  none  but  priest*  are  privileged  to  trade 
In  that  best  marble  of  which  Gods  are  made. 
The  material  of  which  images  of  Gaudma  (the 
Birman  Deity)  is  made,  is  held  sacred.     "  Birmans 
.siinay  not  purchase  the  marble  in  mass  but  are  suffer- 

digious  lengthand  breadth,  and  sufficient  ^^    9  ^  ^  encouraged>  to  buy  figures  of  the  Deity 
force,  to  stand  upon  the  men  placing  ttem.elve.on  1^    ^.x-Symes's  Ava,  vol.  ii.  p.  376. 
his  right  hand,  and  the  spirits  on  his  left ;  and  tnat,  •"  =«V 
when  all  were  in  order,  the  wind,  at  his  command,  |  page  34)  j|ne  93 

The  puny  bird  that  dares,  with  teazing  hum, 
Within  the  crocodile's  stretch'd  jaws  to  come. 
The  humming-bird  is  said  to  run  this  risk  for  the 
purpose  of  picking  the  crocodile's  teeth.    The  same 
circumstance  is  related  of  the  Lapwing,  as  a  fact,  to 
which  he  was  witness,  by  Paul  Lucas,— Voyage  fati 


gird*  ^ 
£  bod,."-Account  of  Independe,* 

Tartary,  in  Pia*ertoii'«  CoOeckm. 

Page  29,  line  108. 

Wav'd,  like  the  wings  of  the  white  birds  that  fam 

The  flying  Throne  of  star-taught  Soliman. 

This  wonderful  Throne  was  called,  The  Star  of 

the  Genii.    For  a  ftill  description  of  it,  see  the  Frag- 

ment, translated  by  captain  Franklin,  from  a  Persian 

MS.  entitled  "The  History  of  Jerusalem  :"  Oriental 

Collection*,  vol.  L  p.  235.—  When  Solomon  travelled, 

the  eastern  writers  say,  "  he  had  a  carpet  of  green 

silk  on  which  his  throne  was  placed,  being  of  a  pro- 

digious length  and  breadth,  and  sufficient  for  all  his 


wen  a  ,  , 

look  up  the  carpet,  and  transported  it,  with  all  that 
were  upon  it,  wherever  he  pleased  ;  the  army  o: 
birds  at  the  same  time  flying  over  their  heads,  and 
forming  a  kind  of  canopy  to  shade  them  from  Vhe 
."—  Sale'*  Koran,  vol.  ii.  p.  214.  note. 


Page  30,  line  7. 

And  thence  descending  flow'd 

Through  many  a  Prophet's  breast.  Page  35,  line  38. 

This  is  according  to  D'Herbelot's  account  of  the  gome  arli8u  ofYamtchenu  having  been  sent  on  previously. 
doctrine*  of  Mokanna  :—"Sa  doctrine  etait  que  Dieu  "The  Feast  of  Lanterns  is  celebrated  at  Yampt- 
avait  pris  une  forme  et  figure  humaine  depuis  qu'il  cut  Lneou  wjtn  more  magnificence  than  any  where  else: 
commande  aux  Anges  d'adorer  Adam.le  premier  des  and  tne  repOrt  goes,  that  the  illuminations  there  are 
hr*""**^  Qu'apres  la  mort  d' Adam,  Dieu  etait  ap-  go  gpiendid)  that  an  Emperor  once,  not  daring  openly 
para  sou*  la  figure  de  plusieurs  Prophetes  et  autres  L>  leave  his  Court  to  go  thither,  committed  himself 
grands  bommes  qu'il  avail  choisis,  jusqu'a  ce  qu'il  with  ^  Queen  and  several  Princesses  of  his  family 
prit  celle  d' Abu  Moslem,  Prince  de  Khorassan,  lequel  mtQ  ^  nands  of  a  magician,  who  promised  to  trans- 
professait  1'erreur  de  la  Tenassukhiah  ou  Metempsy-  port  them  thither  in  a  thrice.  He  made  them  in  the 
chose;  et  qu'apre.  la  mort  de  ce  Prince,  la  Divinite  night  to  ^cend  magnificent  thrones  that  were  borne 
etait  passee,  et  deseendue  en  sa  personne."  |up  by  BWans>  which  ^  a  moment  arrived  at  Yamt- 

cheou.  The  Emperor  saw  at  his  leisure  all  -the  so- 
lemnity, being  carried  upon  a  cloud  that  hovered  over 
the  city,  and  descended  by  degrees ;  and  came  back 

"  Ape.  are in  many  part,  of  India  highly  venerated,  1  ^^  with  the  *™  £**  ™d  *^e>  "^  a* 
om  oTrwpect  to  the  God  Hannaman,  a  deity  par-  «»«*  perceiving  his  absence.''-!  Ae^ent  *>tate  oj 

Uking  of  the  form  of  that  race."— Pennant's  BfeJ  C/U/UI>  P-  Io6< 

Page  35,  line  41. 

8ee  a  curious   account  in  Stephen'*   Perm  of  a  Artificial  sceneries  of  bamboo-work. 

solemn  embassy  from  some  part  of  the  Indies  to  Goa,       g^  a  desCription  of  the  nuptials  of  Vizier  Alee  in 
when  the  Portuguese  were  there,  offering  vast  trea-  the  Asiatic  Annual  ^guter  of  1804. 
safes  for  the  recovery  of  a  monkey's  tooth,  which 
they  held  in  great  veneration,  and  which  had  been 


P  ire  33  line  5 
Mob  uoos  as  he. 
Wbo«  India  serve*,  the  monkey  D,.ity. 


Page  35,  line  59. 

The  origin  of  tlio-:  laniusiic  Chinese  illuminations. 
"The  vulgar  ascribe  it  to  an  accident  that  hap}>en- 
ed  in  ihe  family  of  a  famous  mandarin,  whose  daugh- 
ter walking  one  evening  upon  the  shore  of  a  lake,  fell 
in  and  was  drowned ;  this  afflicted  father,  with  his 
--„-..,  family,  ran  thither,  and,  the  better  to  find  her,  he 

T»  brmi  in  wor.lp.,  l.ucifer  was  h?lit.  caused  a  great  company  of  lanterns  to  be  lighted. 

Thh  resolution  of  Eblis  not  to  acknowledge  the  All  the  inhabitants  of  the  place  thronged  after  him 
"»  creature,  man,  was,  according  to  Mahometan  1  with  torches.  The  year  ensuing  they  made  fires  upon 


taken  away  upon  the  conquest  of  die  kingdom  of 
jafanspalan. 

Page  33,  line  7. 

Proud  things  of  clay, 
Tn  whom  ifLnrifer,  ugramlams  say, 

•  _A._»j    »l.~.._l.  _•  .i._  «*_.r.  :.  -f  ti    


ui'il,  though  at  the  f»  ',  light, 

Ix-ml  in  worsA>,  Lucifer  was  right. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


89 


the  shores  the  same  day ;  they  continued  the  cere- 
mony every  year,  every  one  lighted  his  lantern,  and 
by  degrees  it  commenced  into  a  custom." — Present 
State  of  China. 

Page  35,  line  100. 
The  Kolml'.s  jetty  dye. 
"  None  of  these  ladies,"  says  Shaw,  "  take  them- 
selves to  be  completely  dressed,  till  they  have  tinged 
the  hair  and  edges  of  their  eyelids  with  the  powder 
of  lead-ore.  Now,  as  this  operation  is  performed  by 
dipping  first  into  the  powder  a  small  wooden  bodkin 
of  the  thickness  of  a  quill,  and  then  drawing  it  after- 
wards, through  the  eyelids  over  the  ball  of  the  eye 
we  shall  have  a  lively  image  of  what  the  prophet 
rJer.  iv.  30,)  may  be  supposed  to  mean  by  renderin, 
the  eyes  vil/t  [xiinlin«.  This  practice  is,  no  doubt,  of 
great  antiquity  ;  for  besides  the  instance  already  taken 
notice  of,  we  find  that  where  Jezebel  is  said  (2  Kings, 
is.  30,)  to  have  painted  her  face,  the  original  words  are, 
she  adjusted  her  eyes  with  the  powder  of  lead-ore." — 
Shaw's  Travels. 


Page  36,  line  53. 


•Drop 


About  the  gardens,  drunk  with  that  sweet  food. 

Tavernier  adds,  that  while  the  Birds  of  Paradise 

lie  in  this  intoxicated  state,  the  emmets  come  and  eat 

off  their  legs ;  and  that  hence  it  is  they  are  said  to 

have  no  feet. 

Page  37,  line  53. 

As  they  were  captives  to  I  lie  King  of  Flowers. 
"  They  deferred  it  till  the  King  of  Flowers  should 
ascend  his  throne  of  enamelled  foliage." — The  Ba- 
hardanush. 

Page  37,  line  78. 

But  a  light  jfolilen  chum-work  round  her  hair,  etc. 
"One  of  the  head-dresses  of  the  Persian  women  is 
composed  of  a  light  golden  chain-work,  set  with 
small  pearls,  with  a  thin  gold  plate  pendant,  about 
the  bigness  of  a  crown-piece,  on  which  is  impressed 
an  Arabian  prayer,  and  which  hangs  upon  the  cheek 
below  the  ear." — Hamvay's  Travels. 

Page  37,  line  79. 

The  Maids  of  Ye/d. 

"Certainly  the  women  ofYezd  are  the  handsomest 
women  in  Persia  The  proverb  is,  that  to  live  happy, 
a  man  must  have  a  wife  of  Yezd,  eat  the  bread  of 
Yezdecas,  and  drink  the  wine  of  Shiraz." — Tavernier. 

Page  38,  line  54. 

And  his  floating  eyes — oh !  they  resemble 
Blue  wiiter-hlirs. 

"  Whose  wanton  eyes  resemble  blue  water-lilies, 
agitated  by  the  breeze." — Jayadeva. 

Page  38,  line  87. 

To  muse  upon  the  pictures  thai  hung  round. 
It  has  been  generally  supposed  that  the  Mahome- 
tans prohibit  all  pictures  of  animals ;  but  Torderini 
shows  that,  though  the  practice  is  forbidden  by  the 
Koran,  they  are  not  more  averse  to  painted  figures 
and  images  than  other  people.     From  Mr.  Murphy's 
work,  too,  we  find  that  the  Arabs  of  Spain  had  no 
objection  to  the  introduction  of  figures  into  painting. 
M 


Page  38,  line  97. 

Like  her  own  radiant  plurfet  of  the  wrst, 
Whose  orb  when  half  rotir'd  looks  loveliest. 

Tliis  is  not  quite  astronomically  true.  "  Dr.  Had- 
ley  (says  Keil)  has  shown  that  Venus  is  brightest, 
when  she  is  about  forty  degrees  removed  from  the 
sun  ;  and  that  then  but  only  a  fourth  part  of  her  lucid 
disk  is  to  be  seen  from  the  earth.'' 

Page  38,  line  101. 

With  her  from  Saba's  bowers,  in  whose  bright  eyes 
lie  r  •!!(!,  tint  to  In;  blcss'd,  is  to  be  wise. 
"  In  the  palace  which  Solomon  ordered  to  be  built 
against  the  arrival  of  the  Queen  of  Saba,  the  floor  or 
pavement  was  of  transparent  glass,  laid  over  running 
water  in  which  fish  were  swimming."  This  led  the 
Queen  into  a  very  natural  mistake,  which  the  Koran 
has  not  thought  beneath  its  dignity  to  commemorate. 
"  It  was  said  unto  her,  Enter  the  palace.  And  when 
she  saw  it  she  imagined  it  to  be  a  great  water ;  and 
she  discovered  her  legs,  by  lifting  up  her  robe  to  pass 
through  it.  Whereupon  Solomon  said  to  her,  Verily, 
this  is  the  place  evenly  floored  with  glass." — Chap.  27 

Page  38,  line  103. 

Zuluika. 

"  Such  was  the  name  of  Potiphar's  wife  according 
to  the  sura,  or  chapter  of  the  Alcoran,  which  con- 
tains the  history  of  Joseph,  and  which  for  elegance 
of  style  surpasses  every  other  of  the  Prophet's  books  ; 
some  Arabian  writers  also  call  her  Rail.  The  passion 
which  this  frail  beauty  of  antiquity  conceived  for  her 
young  Hebrew  slave  has  given  rise  to  a  much  esteem- 
ed poem  in  the  Persian  language,  entitled  Yusef  vau 
Ziliklut,  by  Nourcddin  Jami;  the  manuscript  copy 
of  which,  in  the  Bodleian  Library  at  Oxford,  is  sup- 
posed to  be  the  finest  in  the  whole  world." — Note 
upon  Noll's  Translation  of  Hafez. 

Page  41,  line  22. 

The  apples  of  Utkahar. 

"  In  the  territory  of  Istkahar,  there  is  a  kind  of  ap- 
ple, half  of  which  is  sweet  and  half  sour." — Eon 
Haukal. 

Page  41,  line  25. 

They  saw  a  young  Hindoo  girl  upon  the  bank. 
For  an  account  of  this  ceremony,  see  Grandpre'i 
Voyage  in  the  Indian  Ocean. 

Page  41,  line  38. 
The  Oton-tala  or  Sea  of  Stars. 

"  The  place  where  the  Whangho,  a  river  of  Tibet, 
rises,  and  where  there  are  more  than  a  hundred 
springs,  which  sparkle  like  stars  ;  whence  it  is  called 
Hotunior,  that  is,  the  Sea  of  Stars." — Description  of 
Tibet  in  Pinkerton. 

Page  41,  line  67. 
This  City  of  War,  which  in  a  few  short  hours 

Jl;is,  sprung  up  here. 

"  The  Lescar,  or  Imperial  Camp,  is  divided,  like  a 
regular  town,  into  squares,  alleys,  and  streets,  and 
from  arising  ground  furnishes  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able prospects  in  the  world.  Starting  up  in  a  few 
hours  in  an  uninhabited  plain,  it  raises  the  idfa  of  a 
city  built  by  enchantment.  Even  those  who  leave 


L 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


tneir  houses  in  citiea  to  follow  the  prince  in  his  pro- 
mt, aw  totpuMj  to  charmed  with  the  Lescar, 
when  sim""*  in  a  beautiful  and  convenient  place, 
that  they  cannot  prevail  with  themselves  to  remove. 
To  prevent  this  inconvenience  to  the  court,  the  Em- 
peror, after  sufficient  time  is  allowed  to  the  trades- 
bien  to  follow,  oidei.  them  to  be  burnt  out  of  their 
ienu."-Z)Wr'«  Htndottan. 

,.nel  Wilks  gives  a  lively  picture  of  an  Easten 
encampment.—"  His  camp,  like  that  of  most  Indian 
trmies,  exhibited  a  motley  collection  of  covers  from 
the  tcorcliing  sun  and  dews  of  the  night,  variegated 
according  to  the  taste  or  means  of  each  individual,  by 
extensive  inclosures  of  coloured  calico  surrounding 
superb  suits  of  tents ;  by  ragged  cloths  or  blankets 
stretched  over  sticks  or  branches ;  palm  leaves  hastily 
spread  over  similar  supports ;  .handsome  tents  and 
splendid  canopies ;  horses,  oxen,  elephants,  and  ca- 
mels, all  intermixed  without  any  exterior  mark  of  or- 
der or  design,  except  the  flags  of  the  chiefs,  wliich 
usually  mark  the  centres  of  a  congeries  of  these 
masses;  the  only  regular  part  of  the  encampment 
being  the  streets  of  shops,  each  of  which  is  construct- 
ed nearly  in  the  manner  of  a  booth  at  an  English 
fair."— Hittorical  Sketch*  of  the  South  of  India. 

Page  41,  line  77. 

And  camel*,  tufted  o'er  with  Yemen's  shells. 
"  A  superb  camel,  ornamented  with  strings,  and 
tufts  of  small  shells."— AU  Bey. 

Page  41,  line  85.   . 

The  tinkling  throngs 
Of  laden  camel*,  and  their  driven'  songs. 

14  Some  of  the  camels  have  bells  about  their  necks, 
and  some  about  their  legs,  like  those  which  our  car- 
riers put  about  their  fore-horses'  necks,  which,  to- 
gether with  the  servants  (who  belong  to  the  camels, 
and  travel  on  foot,)  singing  all  night,  make  a  pleasant 
noiw,  and  the  journey  passes  away  delightfully." — 
Pitt'»  Account  of  the  Mahometan*. 

"The  camel-driver  follows  the  camels  singing,  am 
sometimes  playing  upon  his  pipe  :  the  louder  he  sings 
and  pipes,  the  (aster  the  camels  go.  Nay,  they  wil 
•land  still  when  he  gives  over  his  music." — Tavernier 

Page  42,  line  63. 

Hot  ai  that  rhm»on  haze 
By  which  the  prostrate  caravan  is  aw'd. 
Smary  says  of  the  south  wind,  which  blows  in 
Egypt,  from  February  to  May, "  Sometimes  it  appear 
only  in  the  shape  of  an  impetuous  whirlwind,  whic 
pass* i  rapidly,  and  is  fatal  to  the  traveller  surprise 
in  the  middle  of  the  deserts.    Torrents  of  burnin 
•and  t-  'lie  firmament  is  enveloped  in 

thick  veil,  and  the  sun  appears  of  the  colour  of  blow. 
Sometimes  whole  caravans  are  buned  in  it." 

Page  44,  line  31. 
—The  pillar'd  Throne 
Of  Parviz. 

"There  were  said  to  be  under  this  Throne  or  Palac 
ef  Khosrou  Pan-is,  a  hundred  vaults  filled  with  trea 
mires  so  immense,  that  some  Mahometan  writers  te 
M,  their  Prophet,  to  encourage  his  disciples,  carrie 
them  to  a  rock,  wliich  at  his  command  opened,  an 


.are  them  a  prospect  through  it  of  the  treasures  of 
hosrou."—  Universal  History. 

Page  44,  line  46. 

And  they  beheld  an  orb,  ample  and  bright, 
Ri-e  from  ilif  Holy  Well. 

We  are  not  told  more  of  this  trick  of  the  Impostor, 
han  that  it  was  "une  machine,  qu'il  disait  etre  la 
jine."  According  to  Richardson,  the  miracle  is  per- 
ctuated  in  Nekscheb.— "  Nakshab,  the  name  of  a  city 
i  Transoxiania,  where  they  say  there  is  a  well,  iu 
hich  the  appearance  of  the  moon  is  to  be  seen  night 
id  day." 

Page  44,  line  73. 
On  for  the  lamps  that  light  yon  lofty  screen 

The  tents  of  Princes  were  generally  illuminated. 
Wden  tells  us  that  the  tents  of  the  Bey  of  Girge  was 
istinguished  from  the  other  tents  by  forty  lanterns 
seing  suspended  before  it.— See  Banner's  Obstrca 
ions  on  Job. 

Page  45,  line  51. 
Ensrines  of  havoc  in,  unknown  before 

That  they  knew  the  secret  of  the  Greek  fire  among 

e  Mussulmans  early  in  the  eleventh  century,  ap- 
jears  from  Dole's  Account  of  Mamood  I.  "  When  he 
rrived  at  Moultan,  finding  that  the  country  of  the 
its  was  defended  by  great  rivers,  he  ordered  fifteen 
mndred  boats  to  be  built,  each  of  which  he  armed 
vith  six  iron  spikes,  projecting  from  their  prows  and 
ides,  to  prevent  their  being  boarded  by  the  enemy, 
vho  were  very  expert  in  that  kind  of  war.  When  he 
lad  launched  this  fleet,  he  ordered  twenty  archers 
jito  each  boat,  and^five  others  with  fire-balls,  to  burn 
he  craft  of  the  Jits,  and  naptha  to  set  the  whole  river 
on  fire." 

The  acnce  after,  too,  in  Indian  poems,  the  Instru- 
ment of  Fire,  whose  flames  cannot  be  extinguished, 
s  supposed  to  signify  the  Greek  Fire. — See  Wilkx's 
South  of  India,  vol.  i.  p.  471. — And  in  the  curious  Ja- 
van  poem,  the  Brata  Yudha,  given  by  Mr.  Rajfles  in 
lis  History  of  Java,  we  find,  "  He  aimed  at  the  heart 
of  Soeta  with  the  sharp-pointed  Weapon  of  Fire." 

The  mention  of  gunpowder  as  in  use  among  the 
Arabians,  long  before  its  supposed  discovery  in  Eu- 
rope, is  introduced  by  Ebn  Fadfd,  the  Egyptian  geo- 
grapher, who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  century.  "  No- 
dies,"  he  says,  "  in  the  form  of  scorpions,  bound 
round  and  filled  with  nitrous  powder,  glide  along, 
making  a  gentle  noise ;  then,  exploding,  they  lighten, 
as  it  were,  and  burn.  But  there  are  others,  which, 
cast  into  the  air,  stretch  along  like  a  cloud,  roaring 
horribly,  as  thunder  roars,  and  on  all  sides  vomiting 
out  flames,  burst,  burn,  and  reduce  to  cinders  what- 
ever comes  in  their  way.''  The  historian  1}<  n  AbdaUa, 
in  speaking  of  the 'siege  of  Abulnalid  in  the  year  of 
the  Hegira  712,  says,  "  A  fiery  globe,  by  means  of 
combustible  matter,  with  a  mighty  noise  suddenly 
emitted,  strikes  with  the  force  of  lightning,  and  shakes 
the  citadel." — See  the  extracts  from  Caxirfx  Bi'dwlk. 

Arab.  Ilispnn.  in  the  A/i/midix  to  lieringluu'is  Ldcrur$ 

History  of  the  Middle  Ages, 

Page  45,  line  55. 

Discharge,  as  from  a  kindled  naptha  fount. 
See  Hin,ii:i,/'.i  Account  of  the  Springs  of  Naptha 
at   Baku   (which  is  called  by  Lieutenant  Potl'inger 


LALLA  ROOKIL 


Joala  Mookhee,  or  the  Flaming  mouth,)  taking  fire 
and  running  into  the  sea.  Dr.  Cooke  in  his  Journal 
mentions  some  wells  in  Circassia,  strongly  impregna- 
ted with  this  inflammable  oil,  from  which  issues  boil- 
ing water,  "  Though  the  weather,"  he  adds,  "  was 
now  very  cold,  the  warmth  of  these  wells  of  hot  wa- 
ter produced  near  them  the  verdure  and  flowers  of 
spring." 

Major  Scott  Waring  says,  that  naptha  is  used  by 
»he  Persians,  as  we  are  told  it  was  in  hell,  for  lamps. 

Many  a  row 

Of  stary  lamps  and  blazing  crcs-cts.  li-d 
With  naplha  and  asuhaltus,  yielded  light 
As  from  a  sky. 

Page  46,  line  107, 

Thou  st'ost  you  cistern  in  the:  .-hade — 'tis  fill'd 
With  liiinun,'  drill's,  for  this  last  hour  distill'd. 

"  II  donna  du  poison  dans  le  vin  a  tous  ses  gens,  et 
ee  jetta  lui-meme  ensuita  dans  une  cuve  pleine  de 
drogues  brulantes  et  consumantes,  afin  qu'il  ne  restat 
rien  de  tous  les  mcmbres  de  son  corps,  et  que  ceux 
qui  restaient  de  sa  secte  puissent  croire  qu'il  etait 
monte  au  ciel,  ce  qui  ne  nianqua  pas  d'arriver." — 
D'Hcrbdot. 

Page  48,  line  28. 

To  eat  any  mangoes  but  those  of  Mazagong  was,  of  course, 
impo-- 

"  The  celebrity  of  Mazagong  is  owing  to  its  man- 
goes, which  are  certainly  the  best  fruit  I  ever  tasted. 
The  parent  tree,  from  which  all  those  of  this  species 
have  been  grafted,  is  honoured  during  the  fruit  sea- 
son by  a  guard  of  sepois ;  and,  in  the  reign  of  Shah 
Jehan,  couriers  were  stationed  between  Delhi  and  the 
Mahratta  coast,  to  secure  an  abundant  and  fresh  sup- 
ply of  mangoes  for  the  royal  table." — Mrs.  Graha?n's 
Journal  of  a  Residence  in  India. 

Page  40,  line  30. 

His  linu  antique  porcelain. 

This  old  porcelain  is  found  in  digging,  and  "  if  it  is 
esteemed,  it  is  not  because  it  has  acquired  any  new 
degree  of  beauty  in  the  earth,  but  because  it  has  re- 
tained its  ancient  beauty  ;  and  this  alone  is  of  great 
importance  in  China,  where  they  give  large  sums  for 
thi'  siniillest  vessels  which  were  used  under  the  Em- 
perors Van  and  Chun,  who  reigned  many  ages  before 
the  dynasty  of  Tan  si,  at  which  time  porcelain  began 
to  be  used  by  the  Emperors,"  (about  the  year  442.) — 
Dunn's  ('ttllft'liun  of  Curious  Oliservatumtt,  etc. — a 
bad  translation  of  some  parts  of  the  Lettres  Edifiantes 
e>.  Cvriettta  oj  the  Missionary  Jesuits. 

Page  49,  line  36. 

That  sublime  bird,  which  Hies  always  in  the  air. 
The  Huinma,  a  bird  peculiar  to  the  East.  It  is 
supposed  to  fiy  constantly  in  the  air,  and  never  touch 
the  ground :  it  is  looked  upon  as  a  bird  of  happy 
Amen,  and  that  every  head  it  overshades  will  in  time 
wear  a  crown." — RtcAonben. 

In  the  terms  of  alliance  made  byFuzzelOola  Khan 
with  Hyderin  17GQ,  one  of  the  stipulations  was,  "that 
be  should  have  the  distinction  of  two  honorary  atten- 
dants standing  behind  him,  holdings  fans  composed 
of  the  feathers  of  the  humma,  according  to  the  prac- 
tice of  his  family." — WUks's  South  of  India.  He 
adds  in  a  note  :  "  The  Ilumma  is  a  fabulous  bird.  The 


head  over  which  its  shadow  once  passes  will  assur- 
edly be  circled  with  a  crown.  The  splendid  little 
bird,  suspended  over  the  throne  of  Tippoo  Sultaun 
found  at  Seringapatam  in  1799,  ^vas  ^intended  to  re 
present  this  poetical  fancy." 

Page  49,  line  36. 

Whose  words,  like  those  on  the  Written  Mountain,  last 
for  ever. 

"To  the  pilgrims  to  Mount  Sinai  we  must  attribute 
the  inscriptions,  figures,  etc.  on  those  rocks,  which 
have  from  thence  acquired  the  name  of  the  Written 
Mountain." — Volney.  M.  Gebelin  and  others  have 
been  at  much  pains  to  attach  some  mysterious  and 
important  meaning  to  these  inscriptions ;  but  Niebuhr, 
as  well  as  Volney,  thinks  that  they  must  have  been 
executed  at  idle  hours  by  the  travellers  to  Mount  Si- 
nai, "  who  were  satiffied  with  cutting  the  unpolished 
rock  with  any  pointed  instrument;  adding  to  their 
names  and  the  date  of  their  journeys  some  rude 
figures  which  bespeak  the  hand  of  a  people  but  little 
skilled  in  the  arts." — Niebuhr. 

Page  49,  line  70. 
From  the  dark  hyacinth  to  which  Hafez  compares  his 

mistress's  hair. 
Vide  Nott's  Hafez,  Ode  v. 

Page  49,  line  71. 

To  the  Camalata  by  whose  rosy  blossoms  the  heaven  of 
India  is  scented. 

"  The  Camalata  (called  by  Linnaeus,  Ipomaea)  is  the 
most  beautiful  of  its  order,  both  in  the  colour  and 
form  of  its  leaves  and  flowers ;  its  elegant  blossoms 
are  'celestial  rosy  red,  Love's  proper  hue,'  and  have 
justly  procured  it  the  name  of  Camalata,  or  Love's 
Creeper." — Sir  W.  Jones. 

"  Camalata  may  also  mean  a  mythological  plant,  by 
which  all  desires  are  granted  to  such  as  inhabit  the 
heaven  of  India ;  and  if  ever  flower  was  worthy  of 
paradise,  it  is  our  charming  Iponuea." — Ib. 

Page  49,  line  73. 

That  Flower-loving  Nymph,  whom  they  worship  in  the 
trmplesof  Kathay. 

"  According  to  Father  Premare,  in  his  tract  on  Chi 
nese  Mythology,  the  mother  of  t  o-hi  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  heaven,  surnamed  Flower-loving ;  and  as  the 
nymph  was  walking  alone  on  the  bank  of  a  river,  she 
found  herself  encircled  by  a  rainbow,  after  which  she 
became  pregnant,  and,  at  the  end  of  twelve  years,  was 
delivered  of  a  son,  radiant  as  herself." — Asial.  Res. 

Page  50,  line  1. 

On  thi!  blue  llowvr,  which,  Bramins  say, 
Hluouis  no  where  but  in  1'aradiM'. 

"The  Brahmins  of  this  province  insist  that  the  blue 
Campac  flowers  only  in  Paradise." — Sir  W.  Jones. 
It  appears,  however,  from  a  curious  letter  of  the  Sul- 
tan of  Menangcabow,  given  by  Marsden,  that  one 
place  on  earth  may  lay  claim  to  the  possession  of  it. 
"This  is  the  Sultan,  who  keeps  the  flower  Charnpaka 
that  is  blue,  and  to  be  found  in  no  other  country  but 
his,  being  yellow  elsewhere." — Marsden' 's  Sumatra. 

Pago  50,  line  26. 

I  know  where  the  Isles  of  Perfume  arn. 

Diodorus  mentions  the  Isle  of  Panchaia,  to  the 
south  of  Arabia  Felix,  where  there  was  a  temple  of 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Jupiter.  This  Uland,  or  rather  cluster  of  isles,  has 
toippesred,  tt*uak  (says  Grandprt)  in  the  abyw 
•IdYbrthe  fir*  beneath their  foundation*."- Voy^e 
Co  like  India*  Oeww. 

Page  50,  line  39. 
VTkow  *ir  "•  b«l",  »bo*e  ocean  «pread* 

,-«ral  rocki  and  amber  bed*,  etc. 
"It  is  not  like  the  Ses.  of  India,  whose  bottom  is 
rich  with  pearls  and  ambergris,  whose  mountains  of 
ifae  coast  are  stored  with  gold  and  precious  stones, 
whose  gulft  breed  creatures  that  yield  ivory,  and 
moonf  the  plants  of  whose  shores  are  ebony,  red 
wood,  and  the  wood  of  Hainan,  aloes,  camphor, 
cloves,  sandal-wood,  and  all  other  spices  and  aroma- 
tics;  where  parrots  and  peacocks  are  birds  of  the 
forest,  and  musk  and  civet  are  collected  upon  the 
had*."— Trad*  of  boo  MohaiAnudans. 

Page  50,  line  54. 
Thy  pillnr'il  (bade*. 

In  the  ground 

The  bended  twigs  take  root,  and  daughters  grow 
About  the  mother  tree,  a  piUar'd  shade, 
High  orer-arch'd,  and  echoing  walks  between. 

MILTON. 

For  a  particular  description  and  plate  of  the  Ban- 
yan-tree, see  Cordwtr'i  Ceylon. 

Page  50,  line  56. 

Thy  Monarch*  and  their  thousand  thrones. 
"  With  this  immense  treasure  Mamood  returned  to 
Ghizni,  and,  in  the  year  400,  prepared  a  magnificent 
festival,  where  he  displayed  to  the  people  his  wealth 
in  golden  thrones  and  in  other  ornaments,  in  a  great 
plain  without  the  city  of  Ghizni." — Ferishta. 

Page  50,  line  91. 

Blood  like  this, 
For  Liberty  thed,  §o  holy  is. 

Objections  may  be  made  to  my  use  of  the  word  Li- 
berty, in  this,  and  more  especially  in  the  story  that 
follows  it,  as  totally  inapplicable  to  any  state  of  things 
that  his  ever  existed  in  the  East ;  but  though  I  can- 
not, of  course,  mean  to  employ  it  in  that  enlarged 
and  noble  sense  which  is  so  well  understood  in  the 
present  day,  and,  I  grieve  to  say,  so  little  acted  upon, 
yet  it  is  no  disparagement  to  the  word  to  apply  it  to 
that  national  independence,  that  freedom  from  the 
••ence  and  dictation  of  foreigners,  without 
which,  indeed,  no  liberty  of  any  kind  can  exist,  anc 
for  which  both  Hindoo*  and  Persians  fought  against 
their  Mussulman  invaders  with,  in  many  cans,  a 
bravery  that  deserved  much  better  success. 

Page  50,  line  108. 
Afric'*  Lunar  Houniaini. 

"Sometimes  called,"  says  Jackson,  "Jibbel  Kum 
ne,  or  the  white  or  lunar-coloured  mountains ;  so  a 
wHite  bone  is  called  by  the  Arabians  a  moon-colour 


Fife  51,  line  56. 
Only  the  (Wee  hyro»  (talk* 

ir!n.i:t  id.-  r iiv*»  dcwolate  walk*. 
"Gondar  was  full  of  hyxnas,  from  the  time  i 
i    tamed  dark  till  the  dawn  of  day,  seeking  the  difTeren 


pieces  of  slaughtered  carcases,  which  this  cruel  and 

unclean  people  expose  in  the  streets  without  burial, 

and  who  firmly  believe  that  these  animals  are  Falash- 

i  from  the  neighbouring  mountains,  transformed  by 

lagic,  and  come  down  to  eat  human  flesh  in  the  dark 

n  safety."— Bruce. 

Page  51,  line  104. 
But  gee, — who  yonder  comes. 

This  circumstance  has  been  often  introduced  into 
poetry ;— by  Vincentius  Fabricius,  by  Darwin,  and 
ately,  with  very  powerful  effect,  by  Mr.  Wilson. 

Page  53,  line  13. 
The  wild  bees  of  Palestine. 

"Wild  bees,  frequent  in  Palestine,  in  hollow  trunks, 
jr  branches  of  trees,  and  the  clefts  of  rocks.  Thus 
t  is  said  (Psalm  81,)  "  honey  out  oftlie  stony  rock"— 
Murder's  Oriental  Customs. 

Page  53,  line  15. 

And,  Jordan,  thoso  sweet  banks  of  thine, 
And  woods  so  full  of  nightingale*. 
"  The  river  Jordan  is  on  both  sides  beset  with  little, 
hick,  and  pleasant  woods,  among  which  thousands 
>f  nightingales  warble  all  together."— Thevenot. 

Page  53,  line  50. 

On  the  brink 

Of  a  *mall  imaret's  rustic  fount. 
Imaret,  "  hospice  ou  on  loge  et  noun-it,  gratis,  les 
pelerins  pendant  trois  jours." — Toderini,  translated 
n/lhe  Abbede  Cournarid.— See  also  CastdLaii's  Mceurs 
des  Othomans,  torn.  v.  p.  145. 

Page  53,  line  81. 

The  boy  has  started  from  the  bed 

Of  flowers,  where  he  had  lain  his  head, 

And  down  upon  the  fragrant  sod 

Kneels. 

"  Such  Turks  as  at  the  common  hours  of  prayer  are 
on  the  road,  or  so  employed  as  not  to  find  conve- 
nience to  attend  the  Mosques,  are  still  obliged  to 
execute  that  duty ;  nor  are  they  ever  known  to  fail, 
whatever  business  they  are  then  about,  but  pray  im- 
mediately when  the  hour  alarms  them,  whatever  they 
are  about,  in  that  very  place  they  chance  to  stand  on  ; 
insomuch  that  when  a  janissary,  whom  you  have  to 
guard  you  up  and  down  the  city,  hears  the  notice 
which  is  given  him,  from  the  steeples,  he  will  turn 
about,  stand  still,  and  beckon  with  his  hand,  to  tell 
his  charge  he  must  have  patience  for  a  while ;  when, 
taking  out  his  handkerchief,  he  spreads  it  on  the 
ground,  sits  cross-legged  thereupon,  and  says  his 
prayers,  though  in  the  open  market,  which,  having 
ended,  he  leaps  briskly  up,  salutes  the  person  whom 
he  undertook  to  convey,  and  renews  his  journey  with 
the  mild  expression  ofphcll  fhonnum  ghfll,  or,  Come, 
dear,  follow  me." — Aaron  Hill's  Travels. 

Page  54,  line  92. 
The  Banyan  Hospital. 

"This  account  excited  a  desire  of  visiting  the  Bnn- 
yan  Hospital,  as  I  had  heard  much  of  their  benevo- 
lence to  all  kinds  of  animals  that  were  either  sick, 
lame,  or  infirm,  through  age  or  accident.  On  mv 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


93 


arrival  there  were  presented  to  my  view  many  horses, 
cows,  and  oxen,  in  one  apartment ;  in  another,  dogs, 
sheep,  goats,  and  monkeys,  with  clean  straw  for  them 
to  repose  on.  Above  stairs  were  depositories  for 
seeds  of  many  sorts,  and  flat,  broad  dishes  for  water, 
for  the  use  of  birds  and  insects." — Parsons. 

It  is  said  that  all  animals  know  the  Banyans,  that 
the  most  timid  approach  them,  and  that  birds  will  fly 
nearer  to  them  than  to  other  people. — See  Grandpre- 

Page  54,  line  97. 
Whose  sweetness  was  not  to  be  drasvn  forth,  like  that  of 

the   frugrant  grass  near  the  Ganges,  by  crushing   and 

trampling  upon  them. 

"  A  very  fragrant  grass  from  the  banks  of  the  Gan- 
ges, near  Heriawar,  which  in  some  places  covers 
whole  acres,  and  diffuses,  when  crushed,  a  strong 
odour." — Sir  W.  Jones  on  the  Spikenard  of  the  An- 
cients. 

Page  55,  line  62. 
Artizans  in  chariots. 
Oriental  Tales. 

»  Page  55,  line  72. 

Waved  plates  of  gold  and  silver  flowers  over  their  heads. 
"  Or,  rather,"  says  Scott,  upon  the  passage  of 
Fe*.shta,  from  which  this  is  taken,  "small  coin, 
stamped  with  the  figure  of  a  flower.  They  are  still 
used  in  India  to  distribute  in  charity,  and  on  occasion, 
thrown  by  the  purse-bearers  of  the  great  among  the 
populace." 

Page  55,  line  83. 
His  delectable  alley  of  trees. 

This  road  is  250  leagues  in  length.  It  has  "  little 
pyramids  or  turrets,"  saya  Bernier,  "erected  every 
half  league,  to  mark  the  ways,  and  frequent  wells  to 
afford  drink  to  passengers,  and  to  water  the  young 
trees." 

Page  56,  line  8. 

On  the  clear,  cold  waters  of  which  floated  multitudes  of  the 
beautiful  red  lotus. 

"  Here  is  a  large  pagoda  by  a  tank,  on  the  water 
of  which  float  multitudes  of  the  beautiful  red  lotus  : 
the  flower  is  larger  than  that  of  the  white  water-lily, 
and  is  the  most  lovely  of  the  nymphzas  I  have  seen." 
— Mrs.  Graham's  Journal  of  a  residence  in  India. 

Page  56,  line  38. 
Who  many  hundred  years  since  had  fled  hither  from  their 

Arab  conqueror-. 

"  On  les  voit,  persecutes  par  les  Khalifes,  se  reti- 
rer  dans  les  montagnes  du  Kerman :  plusieurs  choisi- 
rent  pour  retraite  la  Tartarie  et  la  Chine;  d'autres 
s'arreterent  sui  les  bords  du  Gauge,  a  Test  de  Delhi." 
— M.  Anquetil,  Memoires  de  T Academic,  torn.  xxxi.  p. 
346. 

Page  56,  line  48. 

As  a  native  of  Cashmere,  which  had  in  the  same  manner 
heroine  the  prey  of  strangers. 

"  Cashmere  (says  its  historians)  had  its  own  Princes 
4000  years  before  its  conquest  by  Akbar  in  1585. 
Akbar  would  have  found  some  difficulty  to  reduce 
his  Paradise  of  the  Indies,  situated  as  it  is,  within 
such  a  fortress  of  mountains ,  but  its  monarch,  Yusef 


Kahn,  was  basely  betrayed  by  his  Omrahs.'' — Pen- 
nant. 

Page  56,  line  79. 
His  story  of  the  Fire-worshippers. 
Voltaire  tells  us,  that  in  his  Tragedy  "Les  Gue- 
bres,"  he  was  generally  supposed  to  have  alluded  to 
the  Jansenists ;  and  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  thin 
story  of  the  Fire-worshippers  were  found  capable  of 
a  similar  doubleness  of  application. 

Page  57,  line  77. 
Who,  lull'd  in  cool  kiosk  or  bower. 
"  In  the  midst  of  the  garden  is  the  chiosk,  that  is, 
a  large  room,  commonly  beautified  with  a  fine  foun- 
tain in  the  midst  of  it.     It  is  raised  nine  or  ten  steps, 
and  enclosed  with  gilded  lattices,  round  which  vines, 
jessamines,  and  honeysuckles  make  a  sort  of  green 
wall ;  large  trees  are  planted  round  this  place,  which 
is  the  scene  of  their  greatest  pleasures." — Lady  M. 
W.  Montague. 

Page  57,  line  78. 
Before  their  mirrors  count  the  time. 
The  women  of  the  east  are  never  without  their 
looking-glasses.     "In   Barbary,"  says  Shaw,  "they 
are  so  fond  of  their  looking  glasses,  which  they  hang 
upon  their  breasts,  that  they  will  not  lay  them  aside, 
even  when,  after  the  drudgery  of  the  day,  they  are 
obliged  to  go  two  or  three  miles  with  a  pitcher  or  a 
goat's  skin  to  fetch  water." — Travels. 

In  other  parts  of  Asia  they  wear  little  looking- 
glasses  on  their  thumbs.  "Hence  (and  from  the  lo- 
tus being  considered  the  emblem  of  beauty)  is  the 
meaning  of  the  following  mute  intercourse  of  two 
lovers  before  their  parents. 

"  He,  with  salute  of  deference  due, 

A  lotus  to  his  forehead  prest ; 
She  rais'd  her  mirror  to  his  view, 
Then  turn'd  it  inward  to  her  breast." 

Asiatic  Miscellany,  vol.  ii. 

Page  58,  line  17. 
Th'  untrodden  solitude 
Of  Ararat's  tremendous  peak. 

Struy  says,  "  I  can  well  assure  the  reader  that  their 
opinion  is  not  true,  who  suppose  this  mount  to  be 
inaccessible."  He  adds,  that  "the  lower  part  of  the 
mountain  is  cloudy,  misty,  and  dark,  the  middlemost 
part  very  cold  and  like  clouds  of  snow,  but  the  upper 
regions  perfectly  calm." — It  was  on  this  mountain 
that  the  Ark  was  supposed  to  have  rested  after  the 
Deluge,  and  part  of  it,  they  say,  exists  there  still, 
which  Struy  thus  gravely  accounts  for : — "  Whereas 
none  can  remember  that  the  air  on  the  top  of  the  hill 
did  ever  change  or  was  subject  either  to  wind  or  rain, 
which  is  presumed  to  be  the  reason  that  the  Ark  has 
endured  so  long  without  being  rotten." — See  Carre- 
n's  Travel*,  where  the  Doctor  laughs  at  this  whole  ac- 
count of  Mount  Ararat. 

Page  59,  line  85. 

The  Gheber  belt  tint  round  him  chine. 

"  Pour  se  distinguer  des  Idolatres  de  1'Inde,  lea 
Guebres  se  ceignent  tous  d'un  cordon  de  laine,  ou  de 
poil  de  chameau." — Encyclopedic  Franraise 

D'H«>rbelot  says  this  belt  was  generally  of  loathe' 


Page  59,  line  89, 

Who,  morn  »od  eren 

H«il  lk»»  Cr»«tor'§  Hw«llin*;-p1«e« 

Among  tfc«  livinf  I'**"  o*  Heaven. 

-A.  to  fire,  the  Gbeber.  place  the  .pring head  of  it 
•  that  globe  of  fire,  the  Sun,  by  them  called  Mithras, 
or  MiMr,  to  which  they  pay  the  highest  reverence,  in 
motttde  for  the  manifold  benefit*  flowing  from  its 

Lai||iri,|  omniscience.  But  they  are  so  far  from 
•oofouBding  the  subordination  of  the  Servant  with 
the  majesty  of  iu  Creator,  that  they  not  only  attribute 
no  «ort  of  sense  or  reasoning  to  the  sun  or«re,  in  any 
of  it*  operation*,  but  consider  it  as  a  purely  passive 
blind  instrument,  directed  and  governed  by  the  im- 
mediate  impression  on  it  of  the  will  of  God;  but  they 
do  mat  eren  give  that  luminary,  all  glorious  as  it  is, 
•tore  than  the  second  rank  amongst  his  works,  re- 
eemng  the  first  for  that  stupendous  production  of 
drrine  power,  the  mind  of  man."— Grose.  The  false 
charges  brought  against  the  religion  of  these  people 
by  their  Mussulman  tyrant*  is  but  one  proof  among 
many  of  the  truth  of  thi*  writer's  remark,  "  that  ca- 
lumny i»  often  added  to  oppression,  if  but  for  the 
•ake  of  justifying  iu  ' 

Page  60,  line  72. 
That  «sx»iiXnrl  tree  which  grows  over  the  tomb  of  the  mu- 
si-ian  Tan-Si  in.  \ 

"Within  the  enclosure  which  surrounds  this  mo- 
Bjoment  (at  Gualior)  is  a  small  tomb  to  the  memory 
of  Tan-Sein,  a  musician  of  incomparable  skill,  who 
flourished  at  the  court  of  Akbar.  The  tomb  is  over- 
shadowed by  a  tree,  concerning  which  a  superstitious 
notion  prevails  that  the  chewing  of  its  leaves  wil 
gire  an  eitraordinary  melody  to  the  voice." — Narra 
tax  of  a  journey  from  Agra  to  Oiuein,  by  W.  Hun 


Page  60,  line  77. 

The  awful  signal  of  the  bamboo  it n ft. 
H  It  is  usual  to  place  a  small  white  triangular  flag 
fixed  to  a  bamboo  staff  of  ten  or  twelve  feet  long,  a 
the  place  where  a  tiger  has  destroyed  a  man.  It  i 
common  for  the  passengers  also  to  throw  each  a  stone 
or  brick  near  the  spot,  so  that  in  the  course  ot  a  little 
dote  a  pile  equal  to  a  good  waggon-load  is  collected 
The  sight  of  these  flags  and  piles  of  stones  imparts  ; 
elancholy,  not  perhaps  altogether  void  o 
u"— Oriental  Fidd  Sport*,  vol.  ii. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 

groves  in  the  day-time,  and  from  the  loftiest  trees  al 


Page  60,  line  84. 

Bstjssjdi  (be  shade,  son*  pious  hand*  had  ercctml,  etc. 

"  Th«f  Ficns  Indies  is  called  the  Pagod  Tree  an 
Tree  of  Council*;  the  first,  from  the  idols  placed  un 
der  fa  shade ;  the  second,  because  meetings  were  hel 
water  h*  eool  branches.  In  some  places  it  is  believe 
to  be  the  banal  of  spectres,  as  the  ancient  spreadin 
Mks  of  Wales  bare  been  of  fairies :  in  others  ai 
•reeled,  beneath  the  shade,  pillars  of  stone,  or  posts 
tttfantly  carved  aad  ornamented  with  the  most  beat 
•iful  porcelain  to  supply  the  use  of  mirrors."— Per 
unit 

Page  60,  line  108. 

The  niffhtiiiffale  now  bmd«  her  (light. 

"The  nightingale  sings   from   the    pomegrana 


'—Russet*  Aleppo. 

Page  61,  line  88. 

Before  whose  sabre  s  dazzling  light,  etc. 
"When  the  bright  cimeters  make  the  eyes  of  OUT 
eroes  wink."—  The  MoaUakat,  Poem  of  Amru. 

Page  62,  line  18. 

As  Lebanon's  small  mountain  flood 

Is  rendered  holy  by  the  ranks 

Of  sainted  cedars  on  iu  banks. 
In  the  Lettres  Edifantes,  there  is  a  different  cause 
.signed  for  its  name  of  Holy.  "  In  these  are  deep 
averns,  which  formerly  served  as  so  many  cells  for 
great  number  of  recluses,  who  had  chosen  these  re- 
eats  as  the  only  witnesses  upon  earth  of  the  severity 
f  their  penance.  The  tears  of  these  pious  penitents 
jve  the  river  of  which  we  have  just  treated  the  name 
f  the  Holy  River."— See  Chateaubriand's  Beauties 
f  Christianity. 

Page  62,  line  57. 
A  rocky  mountain  o'er  the  sea 
Of  Oman  beetling  awfully. 

This  mountain  is  my  own  creation,  as  the  "  stu- 
>endous  chain"  of  which  I  suppose  it  a  link  does  no* 
xtend  quite  so  far  as  the  shores  of  the  Persian  Gulf 
'  This  long  and  lofty  range  of  mountains  formerly 
divided  Media  from  Assyria,  and  now  forms  the  boun 
lary  of  the  Persian  and  Turkish  empires.  It  runs 
»rallel  with  the  river  Tigris,  and  Persian  Gulf,  and 
almost  disappearing  in  the  vicinity  of  Gombaroon 
Harmozia)  seems  once  more  to  rise  in  the  southern 
districts  of  Kerman,  and,  following  an  easterly  course 
hrough  the  centre  of  Meckraun  and  Balouchistan, 
s  entirely  lost  in  the  deserts  of  Sinde." — Kinnier't 
Persian  Empire. 

Page  62,  line  80. 

That  bold  were  Moslem,  who  would  dare 

At  twilight  hour  to  steer  his  skiff 

Beneath  the  Gheber's  lonely  cliff. 
"  There  is  an  extraordinary  hill  in  this  neighbour- 
hood, called  Kohe'  Gubr,  or  the  Guebre's  mountain. 
It  rises  in  the  form  of  a  lofty  cupola,  and  on  the  sum- 
mit of  it,  they  say,  are  the  remains  of  an  Atush  Kudu, 
or  Fire  Temple.  It  is  superstitiously  held  to  be  the 
residence  of  Deeves  or  Sprites,  and  many  marvellous 
stories  are  recounted  of  the  injury  and  witchcraft  suf- 
fered by  those  who  essayed  in  former  days  to  ascend 
or  explore  it." — Pottinger's  Beloochistan 

Page  62,  line  103. 
Still  did  the  mighty  flame  burn  on. 
"  At  the  city  of  Yezd  in  Persia,  which  is  distin- 
guished by  the  appellation  of  the  Darub  Abadut,  or 
Seat  of  Religion,  the  Guebres  are  permitted  to  have 
an  Atush  Kudu  or  Fire  temple  (which,  they  assert, 
has  had  the  sacred  fire  in  it  since  the  days  of  Zoro- 
aster) in  their  own  compartment  of  the  city  ;  but  fof 
this  indulgence  they  are  indebted  to  the  avarice,  not 
the  tolerance  of  the  Persian  government,  which  taxes 
them  at  25  rupees  each  man." — Pottinger's  Beloo- 
chistan. 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


0.1 


Page  63,  line  60. 
While  on  that  altar's  fires 
They  swore. 

"  Nul  d'entre  eux  n'oserait  se  parjurer,  quand  irt 
pris  a.  temoin  cet  element  terrible  et  vengeur." — En- 
cyclopedie  Francais. 

Page  63,  line  78. 

The  Persian  lily  shines  and  towers. 

"  A  vivid  verdure  succeeds  the  autumnal  rains,  and 

the  ploughed  fields  are  covered  with  the  Persian  lily, 

of  a  resplendent  yellow  colour." — Rtussel's  Aleppo. 

Page  65,  line  3. 

Like  Dead-Sen  fruits,  that  tempt  the  eye, 
But  turn  to  ashes  on  the  lips. 

"They  say  that  there  are  apple-trees  upon  the 
Bides  of  this  sea,  which  bear  very  lovely  fruit,  but 
within  are  all  full  of  ashes." — Tht-venot.  The  same 
is  asserted  of  the  oranges  there. — See  Witman's  Tra- 
vels in  Asiatic  Turkey. 

"  The  Asphalt  Lake,  known  by  the  name  of  the 
Dead  Sea,  is  very  lemarkable  on  account  of  the  con- 
siderable proportion  of  salt  which  it  contains.  In 
this  respect  it  surpasses  every  other  known  water  on 
the  surface  of  the  earth.  This  great  proportion  of 
bitter-tasted  salts  is  the  reason  why  neither  animal 
nor  plant  can  live  in  this  water." — Klaprotfi's  Chemi- 
cal Analysis  of  the  Water  of  the  Dead  Sea,  Annals 
of  Philosophy,  January,  1813.  Hasselquist,  however, 
doubts  the  truth  of  this  last  assertion,  as  there  are 
shell-fish  to  be  found  in  the  lake. 

Lord  Byron  has  a  similar  allusion  to  the  fruits  of 
the  Dead  Sea,  in  that  wonderful  display  of  genius, 
his  Third  Canto  of  Childe  Harold, — magnificent  be- 
»ond  any  thing,  perhaps,  that  even  he  has  ever  written. 

Page  65,  line  9. 
While  lakes  that  shone  in  mockery  nigh. 

"The  Shuhrab  or  Water  of  the  Desert  is  said  to  be 
caused  by  the  rarefaction  of  the  atmosphere  from  ex- 
treme heat ;  and,  which  augments  the  delusion,  it  is 
most  frequent  in  hollows,  where  water  might  be  ex- 
pected to  lodge.  I  have  seen  bushes  and  trees  re- 
flected in  it,  with  as  much  accuracy  as  though  it  had 
been  the  face  of  a  clear  and  still  lake." — Pottinger. 

"  As  to  the  unbelievers,  their  works  are  like  a  va- 
pour in  a  plain,  which  the  thirsty  traveller  thiriketh 
to  be  water,  until  when  he  comcth  thereto  he  findeth 
it  to  be  nothing.'' — Koran,  chap.  24. 

Page  65,  line  20. 

A  flower  that  tlie  Hidmusk  has  just  passed  over. 
"  A  wind  which  prevails  in  February,  called  Bid- 
musk,  from  a  small  and  odoriferous  flower  of  that 
name.'' — "  The  wind  which  blows  these  (lowers  com- 
monly lasts  till  the  end  of  the  month." — Le  Bruyn. 

Page  65,  line  22. 

Where  tin1  sea-sjipwys,  who  live  for  ever  on  the  wntor. 

"  The  Biajus  are  of  two  races ;  the  one  is  settled  on 
Borneo,  and  are  a  rude  but  warlike  and  industrious 
nation,  who  reckon  themselves  the  original  possessors 
of  the  island  of  Borneo.  The  other  is  a  species  of 
•ea-gipsies  or  itinerant  fishermen,  who  live  in  small 
covered  boats,  and  enjoy  a  perpetual  summer  on  the 


eastern  ocean,  shifting  to  leeward  from  island  t» 
island,  with  the  variations  of  the  monsoon.  In  sonvs 
of  their  customs  this  singular  race  resemble  the  na- 
tives of  the  Maldivia  islands.  The  Maldivians  an- 
nually launch  a  small  bark,  loaded  with  perfumes, 
gums,  flowers,  and  odoriferous  wood,  and  turn  it 
adrift  at  the  mercy  of  winds  and  waves,  as  an  offering 
to  the  Spirit  of  the  Winds;  and  sometimes  similar 
offerings  are  made  to  the  spirit  whom  they  term  (he 
King  of  (he  Sea.  In  like  manner  the  Biajus  per- 
form their  offering  to  the  god  of  evil,  launching  a 
small  bark,  loaded  with  all  the  sins  and  misfortunes 
of  the  nation,  which  are  imagined  to  fall  on  the  un- 
happy crew  that  may  be  so  unlucky  as  first  to  meet 
with  it.  Dr.  Leyden  on  the  Languages  and  Litera- 
ture of  the  Indo-Chinese  Nations. 

Page  65,  line  37. 
The  violet  sherbets. 

"  The  sweet-scented  violet  is  one  of  the  plants  most 
esteemed,  particularly  for  its  great  use  in  sorbet, 
which  they  make  of  violet  sugar." — Hasselquist. 

"The  sherbet  they  most  esteem,  and  which  is 
drank  by  the  Grand  Signer  himself,  is  made  of  vio 
lets  and  sugar." — Tavernier. 

Page  65,  line  39. 
The  pathetic  measure  of  Nava. 

"  Last  of  all  she  took  a  guitar,  and  sung  a  pathetic 
air  in  the  measure  called  Nava,  which  is  always  used 
to  express  the.  lamentations  of  absent  lovers." — Per 
sian  Tales. 

Page  65,  line  107. 

Her  ruby  rosary. 

"  Le  Tespih,  qui  est  un  chapelet,  compost  de  99 
petites  boules  d'agathe,  de  jaspe,  d'ambre,  de  corail, 
on  d'autre  matiere  precieuse.  J'en  ai  vu  un  superbe 
au  Seigneur  Jerpos  ;  il  etait  de  belles  et  grosses  per- 
les  parfaites  et  e"gales,  estime  trente  mille  piastres." 
— Toderini. 

Page  69,  line  16. 
A  silk  dyed  with  the  blossoms  of  the  sorrowful  tree  Nilica. 
"  Blossoms  of  the  sorrowful  Nyctanthes  give  a 
durable  colour  to  silk." — Remarks  on  the  Huxlxitidry 
of  Bengal,  p.  200.  Nilica  is  one  of  the  Indian  names 
of  this  flower. — -Sir  W.  Jones.  The  Persians  call  it 
Gul. — Carreri. 

Page  71,  line  54. 
When  pitying  heaven  to  roses  turn'd 
The  death-flames  that  beneath  him  burn'd. 
Of  their  other  Prophet,  Zoroaster,  there  is  a  story 
told  in  Dion  Pnusceus,  Oral.  36,  that  the  love  of  wis- 
dom and  virtue  leading  him  to  a  solitary  life  upon  a 
mountain,  he  found  it  one  day  all  in  a  flame,  shining 
with  celestial  fire,  out  of  which  he  came  without  any 
harm,  and  instituted  certain  sacrifices  to  God,  who, 
he  declared,  then  appeared  to  him. — See  Patrick  on 
Exodus,  iii.  2. 

Page  76,  line  54. 

They  were  now  not  far  from  lh;it  Forbidden  Rivrr. 
"  Akbar,  on  his  way,  ordered  a  fort  to  be  built  upon 
the  Nilab,  which  he  called  Attock,  which  moans,  in 
i  the  Indian  language,  Forbidden  ;  for,  by  the  supcrsti- 
ition  of  the  Hindoos,  it  was  held  unlawful  to  crosn 
ithat  river." — Dow's  Hindustan. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  76,  line  77. 
twrmbfiaf  ,  Af  often  thought,  that  people  of  Binge. 

•  The  inhabitant*  of  this  country  (Zinge)  are  never 
•fitted  with  MdMM  or  melancholy  :  on  this  subject 
the  Sheikh  Ab+drKheu-AJutn  has  the  following 

i:  -•-•  I 

*  Who  b  the  man  without  care  or  sorrow  (tell)  that 
I  may  rub  my  hand  to  him. 

"(Behold)  the  Zingians,  without  care  or  sorrow, 
ftohckjome,  with  upsiness  and  mirth." 

"  Tlic  philosophers  hare  discovered  that  the  cause 
of  this  cheerfulness  proceeds  from  the  influence  of 
the  star  Soheil  or  Canopus,  which  rises  over  them 
every  night"—  Ertrod  /row  a  geographical  Persian 
MoMucnpt,  called  Heft  Aklin,  or  Ae  Seven  Climates, 
tnuulatedby  W.  Otudey,  Etq. 

Page  76,  line  92. 

Puttinf  to  death  some  hundreds  of  those  unfortunate  lizards. 

"The  litard  Stello.    The  Arabs  call  it  Hardun. 

The  Turks  kill  h,  for  they  imagine  that  by  declining 

the  head,  it  mimics  them  when  they  say  their  prayers." 


Page  76,  line  98. 
About  two  mile*  from  iluuun  Abdaul  were  those  Royal 

Gardens. 

I  am  indebted  for  these  particulars  of  Hussun  Ab- 
daul to  the  very  interesting  Introduction  of  Mr.  El- 
phinstone's  work  upon  CaubuL 

Page  76,  line  107. 
A*  the  ProphH  said  of  Dimtiscns,  **  It  was  too  delicious." 

*  As  you  enter  at  the  Bazar  without  the  gate  of 
Damascus,  you  see  the  Green  Mosque,  so  called  be- 
cause it  hath  a  steeple  faced  with  green  glazed  bricks, 
which  render  it  very  resplendent  ;  it  is  covered  at 
top  with  a  pavilion  of  the  same  stuff.  The  Turks 
say  this  mosque  was  made  in  that  place,  because  Ma- 
homet being  come  so  far,  would  not  enter  the  town, 
saymg  it  was  too  delicious."  —  Thnenut.  This  re- 
minds one  of  the  following  pretty  passage  in  Laac 
Walton  :  "  When  I  sat  hut  on  this  primrose  bank, 
and  looked  down  these  meadows,  I  thought  of  them 
as  Charles  the  Emperor  did  of  the  city  of  Florence, 
*  that  they  were  too  pleasant  to  be  looked  on,  but  only 
M  holiday*.'  w 

Page  77,  line  9. 
Would  remind  UM  Princes*  of  that  difference,  etc. 

"  Haroon  Al  Raschid,  Cinquieme  Khalife  des  Abas- 
•idese,  s'etant  nn  jour  brouille  avec  une  de  sea  mai- 
tresscs)  Bonmee  Maridah,  qu'il  aimait  cependant  jus- 
qu'a  1'ews,  et  cede  mesenlelligence  ayant  deja  dure 


'.  '    . 


• 


i  a  s'ennuyer.    Giafar  Bar- 


maki,  son  fcvori,  qai  s'en  appercut,  commanda  a  Ab- 
bra  Ahnat  excellent  poete  de  ce  temps-la,  de 
w»  «ur  le  sujet  de  celte  brouil- 


hrie.Ce  poete  execou  1'ordre  de  Giafar,  qui  fit  chan- 
er  cea  Ten  par  Movwali,  en  presence  du  Khalife,  et 
ce  Prince  fat  tellenent  tooche  de  la  tendresse  des 
tren  du  poete  et  de  la  douceur  de  la  voix  du  Musicien 
ew'il  alia  ausmuot  trouver  Maridah,  et  lit  sa  paix  a 


Page  78,  line  6. 

Wb««  tfce  silken  swing. 

"  The  swing  is  a  favourite  pastime  in  the  East,  as 


promoting  a  circulation  of  air,  extremely  refreshing 
in  those  sultry  climates."— Richanhwi. 

"  The  swings  are  adorned  with  festoons.  This  paa 
fime  is  accompanied  with  music  of  voices  and  of  in 
stniments,  hired  by  the  masters  of  the  swings  "— 


Page  78,  line  16. 

as  if  all  the  shores, 

Like  those  of  Kathny,  utler'd  music  and  gave 
An  answer  in  «ong  to  the  kiss  of  eni-h  wave. 
This  miraculous  quality  has  been  attributed  also  to 
the  shore  of  Attica.    "  Hujus  littus  ait  Capella  con- 
centum  musicum  illisis  terra   undis   reddere,  quod 
propter    tantam    eruditionis    vim    puto    dictum  " 
Ludov.   Vices  in  Augustine,  de   Civitat.    Dei,    lib 
xviii.  c.  8. 

Page  80,  line  40. 
The  basil  lull  that  waves 
Its  fr  igrant  blossoms  over  graves. 

"The  women  in  Egypt  go,  at  least  two  days  in 
the  week,  to  pray  and  weep  at  the  sepulchres  of  the 
dead;  and  the  custom  then  is  to  throw  upon  the 
tombs  a  sort  of  herb,  which  the  Arabs  call  rihan, 
and  which  is  our  sweet  basil.'1 — Maillet,  Lett.  10. 

Page  80,  line  89. 
The  mountain  herb  that  dyes 
The  tooth  of  the  fawn  like  gold. 
Niebuhr  thinks  this  may  be  the  herb  which  the 
Eastern  alchymists  look  to  as  a  means  of  making 
gold.    "  Most  of  those  alchymical  enthusiasts  think 
themselves  sure  of  success,  if  they  could  but  find 
out  the  herb,  which  gilds  the  teeth  and  gives  a  yellow 
colour  to  the  flesh  of  the  sheep  that  eat  it.   Even  the 
oil  of  this  plant  must  be  of  a  golden  colour.    It  is 
called  Hascabschat  ed  aab." 

Father  Jerom  Dandini,  however,  asserts  that  the 
teeth  of  the  goats  at  Mount  Libanus  are  of  a  silrrr 
colour;  and  adds,  "this  confirms  me  in  that  which  I 
observed  in  Candia;  to  wit,  that  the  animals  that 
live  on  mount  Ida  eat  a  certain  herb,  which  renders 
their  teeth  of  a  golden  colour ;  which,  according  to 
my  judgment,  cannot  otherwise  proceed  than  from 
the  mines  which  are  under  ground." — Dandini 
Voyage  to  Mount  Libanus. 

Page  81,  line  49. 

*Tis  I  that  mingle  in  one  sweet  measure, 
The  pnst,  the  present,  and  future  of  pleasure. 

"  Whenever  our  pleasure  arises  from  a  successiot 
of  sounds,  it  is  a  perception  of  complicated  nature, 
made  up  of  a  sensation  of  the  present  sound  or  note, 
and  an  idea  or  remembrance  of  the  foregoing,  while 
their  mixture  and  concurrence  produce  such  a  myste- 
rious delight,  as  neither  could  have  produced  alone 
And  it  is  often  heightened  by  an  anticipation  of  the 
succeeding  notes.  Thus  Sense,  Memory,  and  Imagi- 
nation are  conjunctively  employed." — Gerrard  of 
Tante. 

This  is  exactly  the  Epicurean  theory  of  Pleasure 
as  explained  by  Cicero  : — "  Quocirca  corpus  gaudere 
tamdiu,  dum  pnesentem  sentiret  voluptatem ;  am- 
mum  et  prasentem  percipere  pariter  cum  oorpore  et 
prospicere  venientem,  nee  pneteritam  praierfluem 
sinere." 

•ne  de  Stael  accounts  upon  the  same  principle 
for  the  gratification  we  derive  from  rhifme  •    u  Elle 


LALLA  ROOKH. 


eat  1'image  de  1'esperance  et  du  souvenir.     Un  son 
nous  fait  desirer  celui  qui  doit  lui  repondre,  et  quan 
le  second  retentit,  il  nous  rapelle  celui  qui  vient  dt 
nous  echapper." 

Page  81,  line  69. 

•Tis  dawn,  lit  I'-.'ist  that  earlier  dawn, 
-c  glimpses  are  a?ain  withdrawn. 
"  The  Persians  have  two  mornings,  the  Soobh 
Kaziin  and  Soobhi  Sadig,  the  fal.se  and  the  real  day- 
break. They  account  for  this  phenomenon  in  a  most 
whimsical  manner.  They  say  that  as  the  sun  rises 
from  behind  the  Kohi  Qaf  (Mount  Caucasus,)  it 
passes  a  hole  perforated  through  that  mountain,  and 
that  darting  its  rays  through  it,  is  the  cause  of  the 
Soobhi  Kazim,  or  this  temporary  appearance  of  day- 
break. As  it  ascends,  the  earth  is  again  veiled  in 
darkness,  until  the  sun  rises  above  the  mountain  and 
brings  with  it  the  Soobhi  Sadig,  or  real  morning." — 
Scott  Waring.  He  thinks  Milton  may  allude  to  this, 
when  he  says, 

Ere  the  blabbing  Eastern  scout 
The  nice  morn  on  the  Indian  steep 
From  her  cabin'd  loop-hole  peep. 

Page  81,  line  98. 

helil  a  feast 

In  his  magnificent  Shalimnr. 

"  In  the  centre  of  the  plain,  as  it  approaches  the 
Lake,  one  of  the  Delhi  Emperors,  I  believe  Shah 
Jehan,  constructed  a  spacious  garden  called  the  Sha- 
limar,  which  is  abundantly  stored  with  fruit  trees  and 
flowering  shrubs.  Some  of  the  rivulets  which  inter- 
sect the  plain  are  led  into  a  canal  at  the  back  of  the 
garden,  and,  flowing  through  its  centre,  or  occasion- 
ally thrown  into  a  variety  of  water-works,  compose 
the  chief  beauty  of  the  Shalimar.  To  decorate  this 
spot  the  Mogul  Princes  of  India  have  displayed  an 
equal  magnificence  and  taste ;  especially  Jehan  Gheer, 
who,  with  the  enchanting  Noor  Mahl,  made  Kash- 
mire  his  usual  residence  during  the  summer  months. 
On  arches  thrown  over  the  canal  are  erected,  at 
equal  distances,  four  or  five  suits  of  apartments,  each 
consisting  of  a  saloon,  with  four  rooms  at  the  angles, 
where  the  followers  of  the  court  attend,  and  the  ser- 
vants prepare  sherbets,  coffee,  and  the  hookah.  The 
frame  of  the  doors  of  the  principal  saloon  is  com- 
posed of  pieces  of  a  stone  of  a  black  colour,  streaked 
with  yellow  lines,  and  of  a  closer  grain  and  higher 
polish  than  porphyry.  They  were  taken,  it  is  said, 
from  a  Hindoo  temple,  by  one  of  the  Mogul  Princes, 
and  are  esteemed  of  great  value." — Forster. 

Page  83,  line  20. 

And  oh,  if  there  b<>,  etr. 

"  Around  the  exterior  of  the  Dewan  Khass  (a  build- 
ing of  Shah  Allum's)  in  the  cornice  are  the  following 
lines  in  letters  of  gold  upon  a  ground  of  white  mar- 
ble— 'If  there  be  a  Paradise  upon  earl/i,  it  is  thif,  it  is 
this.'  " — Franklin. 

Page  84,  line  67. 

Lik'1  lint  panned  pnrceHin. 

"  The  Chinese  had  formerly  the  art  of  painting  on 
the  sides  of  porcelain  vessels,  fish  and  ether  animals, 
which  were  only  perceptible  when  the  vessel  was 
full  of  some  liquor.  They  call  this  speciis  Kai-tsin, 


that  is,  azure  is  put  in  pre**,  on  account  of  the  man 
ner  in  which  the  azure  is  laid  on." — "  They  are  every 
now  and  then  trying  to  recover  the  art  of  tins  magical 
painting,  but  to  no  purpose."—  -Dunn. 

Page  84,  line  100. 

More  perfect  than  the  diviru'sl  images  in  the  House  of  Azor 
An  eminent  carver  of  idols,  said  in  the  Koran  to  be 
father  to  Abraham.     "  1  have  such  a  lovely  idol  as  la 
not  to  be  met  with  in  the  house  of  Azor." — Hujiz. 

Page  84,  line  112. 
The  grottos,  hermitages,  am!  miraculous  fountain!. . 

"The  pardonable  superstition  of  the  sequestered 
inhabitants  has  multiplied  the  places  of  worship  of 
Mahadeo,  of  Beschan,  and  of  Brama.  All  Cashmere 
is  holy  land,  and  miraculous  fountains  abound." — 
Major  RenneWs  Memoirs  of  a  Map  of  Hindot-tun. 

Jehanguire  mentions  "a  fountain  in  Cashmere 
called  Tirnagh,  which  signifies  a  snake;  probably 
because  some  large  snake  had  formerly  been  seen 
there." — "  During  the  lifetime  of  my  father,  I  went 
twice  to  this  fountain,  which  is  about  twenty  coss 
from  the  city  of  Cashmere.  The  vestiges  of  places 
of  worship  and  sanctity  are  to  be  traced  without 
number  amongst  the  ruins  and  the  caves,  which  are 
interspersed  in  its  neighbourhood." — Toozek  Jehan- 
geery. — See  Asiat.  Misc.  vol.  ii. 

There  is  another  account  of  Cashmere  by  Abul 
Fazil,  the  author  of  the  Ayin- Acbaree,  "  who,"  says 
Major  Renntll,  "  appears  to  have  caught  some  of  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  Valley,  by  his  descriptions  of  thl 
holy  places  in  it." 

Page  84,  line  1 17. 
Whose  houses,  roofd  with  flowers. 
On  a  standing  roof  of  wood  is  laid  a  covering 
of  fine  earth,  which  shelters  the  building  from  the 
Sjreat  quantity  of  snow  that  falls  in  the  winter  season. 
This  fence  communicates  an  equal  warmth  in  winter, 
as  a  refreshing  coolness  in  the  summer  season,  when 
the  tops  of  the  houses,  which  are  planted  with  a 
variety  of  flowers,  exhibit  at  a  distance  the  spacmut 
view  of  a  beautifully  chequered  parterre." — Forster. 

Page  85,  line  12. 

I. (interns  of  the  triple-coloured  tortoise  shell  of  Pegu. 
"Two  hundred  slaves  there  are,  who  have  no  other 
office  than  to  hunt  the  woods  and  marshes  for  triple 
coloured  tortoises  for  the  King's  Viviary.  Of  the 
shells  of  these  also  lanterns  are  made." — Vincent  le 
Blanc's  Travels. 

Page  85,  line  22. 
The  meteors  of  the  north,  ns  they  arc  seen  by  those  hunteri 
For  a  description  of  the  Aurora  Borealis,  as  it 
ppears  to  these  hunters,  see  Encyclopedia. 

Page  85,  line  36. 

The  cold,  odiirifi'nnis  wind. 

This  wind,  which  is  to  blow  from  Syria  Damaa 
cena,  is,  according  to  the  3Iahometans,  one  of  the 
igns  of  the  Last  Day's  approach. 

Another  of  the  signs  is,  "Great  distress  in  the 
world,  so  that  a  man  when  he  passess  by  another's 
jrave,  shall  say,  Would  to  God  I  were  in  his  place  !** 
— Sale's  Preliminary  Discourse. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


T   .   • 


Pago  Saline  97. 
ntWo  duoa*  of  Koolburga. 


-  On  Mahommed  Slww'i  return  to  Koolburga  (the 
rarxul  of  Dekkan)  ne  nude  i  great  festival,  and 
•HMinieJ  Kif  throne  with  much  pomp  and  magm.'i- 
ri-i.n-,  calling  it  Firoieh  or  Cerulean.  I  have  heard 
wtme  old  penona,  who  §aw  the  throne  Firozeh  in 
the  mm  of  Suhan  Mamood  Bliamenee,  describe  it 
Thry  My  that  it  wa»  in  length  nine  feet,  and  three  in 
i  i  nude  of  ebony,  covered  with  platcg  of  pure  ' 


gold,  and  set  with  precious  stones  of  immense  value 
Every  prince  of  die  house  of  Bhamenee,  who  pos- 
•eased  this  Throne,  made  a  point  of  adding  to  it  some 
rich  stones,  so  that  when,  in  the  reign  of  Sultan  .Ma- 
mood,  it  was  taken  to  pieces,  to  remove  some  of  iho 

jewels  to  be  set  in  vases  and  cups,  the  jewellers  valued 
it  at  one  crore  of  oons,  (nearly  four  millions  sterling.) 

1  learned  also  that  it  was  called  Firozeh  from  being 

partly  enamelled  of  a  sky-blue  colour,  which  was  in 
ime  totally  concealed  by  the  number  of  jewel*  ".- 

Feri&htu.. 


EPISTL.ES,  ODES, 


AND  OTHER 


Tanti  non  ea,  ais.     Sapis,  Luperce. 

MARTIAL,  Lib.  i.  Kpig:  118. 

nEPIIIAETSAI   MEN  IIOAAAS  IIOAEIi;    KAAO*, 
EXOIKHiJAI  AE  TH  KPATISTH  XPHE1MON. 

PLUTARCH,  a-sp*  »«iJ»v  *yw*{. 


TO  FRANCIS,  EARL  OF  MOIRA, 

GENERAL  IN  HIS  MAJESTY'S  FORCES,  MASTER-GENERAL  OF  THE  ORDNANCE, 
CONSTABLE  OF  THE  TOWER,  ETC. 

MY  LORD: — IT  is  impossible  to  think  of  addressing  a  Dedication  to  your  Lordship  without  calling  to 
mind  the  well-known  reply  of  the  Spartan  to  a  rhetorician,  who  proposed  to  pronounce  an  eulogium  on 
Hercules.  "  On  Hercules  !"  said  the  honest  Spartan,  "  who  ever  thought  of  blaming  Hercules  ?"  In  a 
similar  manner  the  concurrence  of  public  opinion  has  left  to  the  panegyrist  of  your  Lordship  a  very  super- 
fluous task  I  shall  therefore  be  silent  on  the  subject,  and  merely  entreat  your  indulgence  to  the  Tery 
humble  tribute  of  gratitude,  which  I  have  here  the  honour  to  present. 

I  am,  MY  LORD,  with  every  feeling  of  attachment  and  respect, 

Your  Lordship's  very  devoted  Servant, 
27,  Bury  Street,  St.  James's,  April  10,  1806.  THOMAS  MOORE 


PREFACE. 


THE  principal  poems  in  the  following  Collection 
were  written  during  an  absence  of  fourteen  months  i 
from  Europe.  Though  curiosity  was  certainly  not 
the  motive  of  my  voyage  to  America,  yet  it  happened 
that  the  gratification  of  curiosity  was  the  only  advan- 
tage which  I  derived  from  it.  Finding  myself  in  the 
country  of  a  new  people,  whose  infancy  had  promised  i 
so  much,  and  whose  progress  to  maturity  has  been  an  j 
object  of  such  interesting  speculation,  1  determined  to! 
employ  the  short  period  of  time,  which  my  plan  of 
return  to  Europe  afforded  me,  in  travelling  through  a 
few  of  the  States  and  acquiring  some  knowledge  of 
the  inhabitants. 

The  impression  which  my  mind  received  from  the 
character  and  manners  of  these  republicans,  suggest- 
ed the  Epistles  which  are  written  from  the  city  of 
Washington  and  Lake  Erie.1  How  far  1  was  right, 
in  thus  a.-siiuiiiiL'  the  tone  of  a  satirist  against  a  peo- 
ple whom  I  viewed  but  as  a  stranger  and  a  visitor,  is 
a  doubt  which  my  feelings  did  not  allow  me  time  to 
investigate.  All  I  presume  to  answer  for,  is  the 
fidelity  of  the  picture  which  I  have  given  ;  and  though 
prudence  mi<rht  have  dictated  gentler  language,  truth) 
I  think,  would  have  justified  severer. 

1  went  to  America,  witli  prepossessions  by  no 
means  unfavourable,  and  indeed  rather  indulged  in 

1  Epistle*  VI,  VII,  and  VIII. 


many  of  those  illusive  ideas,  with  respect  to  the  purity 
of  the  government  and  the  primitive  happiness  of  the 
people,  which  I  had  early  imbibed  in  my  native  coun- 
try, where,  unfortunately,  discontent  at  home  enhances 
every  distant  temptation,  and  the  western  world  has 
long  been  looked  to  as  a  retreat  from  real  or  imagi 
nary  oppression ;  as  the  elysian  Atlantis,  where  per 
secuted  patriots  might  find  their  visions  realized,  and 
be  welcomed  by  kindred  spirits  to  liberty  and  repose. 
I  was  completely  disappointed  in  every  flattering  ex 
pectation  which  I  had  formed,  and  was  inclined  to 
say  to  America,  as  Horace  says  to  his  mistress,  "  in- 
tentata  nites."  Brissot,  in  the  preface  to  his  travels, 
observes,  that  "freedom  in  that  country  is  carried 
to  so  high  a  degree  as  to  border  upon  a  state  of  na 
ture  ;"  and  there  certainly  is  a  close  approximation  to 
savage  life,  not  only  in  the  liberty  which  they  enjoy, 
but  in  the  violence  of  party  spirit  and  of  private  ani- 
mosity which  results  from  it.  This  illiberal  zeal  em 
bitters  all  social  intercourse  ;  and,  though  I  scarcely 
could  hesitate  in  selecting  the  party,  \\liese  views  ap- 
peared the  more  pure  and  rational,  yet  I  was  sorry  to 
observe  that,  in  asserting  their  opinions,  they  both 
assume  an  equal  share  of  intolerance  ;  the  Democrats, 
consistently  with  their  principles,  exhibiting  a  vulgari- 
ty of  rancour,  which  the  Federalists  too  often  are  so 
forgetful  of  their  cause  as  to  imitate. 

The  rude  familiarity  of  the  lower  orders,  and  in 
deed  the  unpolished  state  of  society  in  general,  would 
neither  surprise  nor  disgust  if  they  seemed  to  llort 


I  ' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


from  that  simplicity  of  character,  that  honest  igno- 
rance of  the  gloss  of  refinement,  which  may  be  look- 
ed for  in  »  new  and  inexperienced  people.  But, 
when  we  find  ihem  arrived  at  m.itur.ty  in  most  of  the 
Vice*,  and  all  the  pride,  of  civilization,  while  they  are 
•till  to  remote  from  it*  elegant  characteristics,  it  is 
unpoHibJe  not  to  feel  that  thin  youthful  decay,  this 
enide  anticipation  of  the  natural  period  of  corruption, 


represses  every  sanguine  hope  of  the  future  energy 


_  ,.„__  of  America. 

I  am  conscious  that,  in  venturing  these  few  re- 
marks, I  have  said  just  enough  to  offend,  and  by  no 
mean*  sufficient  to  convince;  for  the  limits  of  a  pre- 
face will  not  allow  me  to  enter  into  a  justification  of 
my  opinions,  and  I  am  committed  on  the  subject  as 
effectually,  as  if  I  had  written  volumes  in  their  de- 
fence. My  reader,  however,  is  apprized  of  the  ver 
cursory  observation  upon  which  these  opinions  are 
founded,  and  can  easily  decide  for  himself  upon  thi 
dejrree  of  attention  or  confidence  which  they  merit. 

With  respo<-t  to  the  poems  in  general,  which  oc 
copy  tlie  following  pages,  I  know  not  in  what  manner 
to  apologize  to  the  public  for  intruding  upon  their 
•otic*  such  a  mass  of  unconnected  trifles,  such  a 
world  of  epicurean  atoms  as  I  have  here  brought  in 
conflict  together.  To  say  that  I  have  been  tempted 
by  the  liberal  offers  of  my  bookseller,  is  an  excuse 
which  can  hope  for  but  little  indulgence  from  the 
critic ;  yet  I  own  that,  without  this  seasonable  induce- 
ment, these  poems  rery  possibly  would  never  have 
been  submitted  to  the  world.  The  glare  of  publica- 
tion is  too  strong  for  such  imperfect  productions : 
thry  should  be  shown  but  to  the  eye  of  friendship,  in 
that  dim  light  of  privacy,  which  is  as  favourable  to 
poetical  as  to  female  beauty,  and  serves  as  a  veil  for 
faults,  while  it  enhances  every  charm  which  it  dis- 
plays. Besides,  this  is  not  a  period  for  the  idle  oc- 
cnpations  of  poetry,  and  times  like  the  present  re- 
quire  talents  more  active  and  more  useful.  Few  have 
•ow  the  leisure  to  read  such  trifles,  and  I  sincerely 
letret  that  I  have  had  the  leisure  to  write  them. 


EPISTLE  I. 
TO  LORD  VISCOUAT  STRANGFORD. 

ABOARD  THE  PHAETO*  FRIGATE  OFF  THE  AZORES  ; 
BT  MOONLIGHT. 

SWEET  Moon !  iflike  Crotona's  sage,1 

BJ  «ny  «pell  my  hand  could  dare 
To  make  thy  disk  its  ample  page, 

And  write  my  thoughts,  my  wishes  there ; 
How  many  a  fiiend,  whose  careless  eye 
Now  wanders  o'er  that  starry  sky, 
Sbodd  smile,  upon  thy  orb  to  meet 
The  rwolleetM*,  kind  and  .*,«, 
Tbeiwrie.offondretm, 
i    '  •.-...••..     .... 

And  all  my  bean  and  sou!  would  send 
To  many  a  dear-lov'd.  distant  friend ! 
<Wt  STRATFORD !  when  »e  parted  last. 
I  fetJehoofhcthetoe.  w 


For  ever  past,  when  brilliant  joy 
Was  all  my  vacant  heart's  employ : 
When,  fresh  from  mirth  to  mirth  again. 

We  thought  the  rapid  hours  too  few, 
Our  only  use  for  knowledge  then 

To  turn  to  rapture  all  we  knew  ! 
Delicious  days  of  whirn  and  soul  ! 

When,  mingling  lore  and  laugh  together 
We  lean'd  the  book  on  pleasure's  bowl, 

And  turn'd  the  leaf  with  folly's  feather! 
I  little  thought  that  all  were  fled, 
That,  ere  that  summer's  bloom  was  shed, 
My  eye  should  see  the  sail  uafurl'd 
That  wails  me  to  the  western  world  ! 

And  yet  'twas  time — in  youthful  days, 
To  cool  the  season's  burning  rajs, 
The  heart  may  let  its  wanton  wing 
Repose  awhile  in  pleasure's  spring, 
But,  if  it  wait  for  winter's  breeze, 
The  spring  will  dry,  the  heart  will  freeze! 
And  then,  that  Hope,  that  fairy  Hope, 

Oh !  she  awak'd  such  happy  dreams, 
And  gave  my  soul  such  tempting  scope 

For  all  its  dearest,  fondest  schemes, 
That  not  Verona's  child  of  song, 

When  flying  from  the  Phrygian  shore, 
With  lighter  hopes  could  bound  along, 

Or  pant  to  be  a  wanderer  more  ! ' 
Even  now  delusive  hope  will  steal 
Amid  the  dark  regrets  I  feel, 
Soothing  as  yonder  placid  beam 

Pursues  the  murmurers  of  the  deep, 
And  lights  them  with  consoling  gleam, 

And  smiles  thrm  into  tranquil  sleep ! 
Oh !  such  a  blessed  night  as  this, 

I  often  think,  if  friends  were  near, 
How  we  should  feel,  and  gaze  with  bliss 

Upon  the  moon-bright  scenery  here ! 
The  sea  is  like  a  silvery  lake, 

And,  o'er  its  calm  the  vessel  glides 
Gently,  as  if  it  fear'd  to  wake 

The  slumber  of  the  silent  tides  ! 
The  only  envious  cloud  that  lowers, 

Hath  hung  its  shade  on  Pico's  height,* 
Where  dimly,  mid  the  dusk,  he  towers, 

And  scowling  at  this  heav'n  of  light, 
Exults  to  see  the  infant- storm 
Cling  darkly  round  his  giant  form ! 

Now,  could  I  range  those  verdant  isles 

Invisible,  at  this  soft  hour, 
And  see  the  looks,  the  melting  smiles,        ' 

That  brighten  many  an  orange  bower ; 
And  could  I  lift  each  pious  veil, 

And  see  the  blushing  cheek  it  shades, 
Oh  !  I  should  have  full  many  a  tale, 

To  tell  of  young  Azorian  maids.3 


animaled  linus  '" 


i  Barmen  uf 


Jam  mens  pra-trepidans  aret  vagari, 
.   Ja!n  •»<  studio  |>e,les  vigoscunt  : 
'ir'faV'''  1'"11  lr"J1""»i"  '»'  «nc  of  the  A 


'•S^ 

•eruon  m  whicn  «v«u  GuU.no 


,  from 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


Dear  STRANGFORD  !  at  this  hour,  perhaps, 

Some  faithful  lover  (not  so  blest 
As  they,  who  in  their  ladies'  laps 

May  cradle  every  wish  to  rest,) 
Warbles,  to  touch  his  dear  one's  soul, 

Those  madrigals,  of  breath  divine, 
Which  Camoeu's  harp  from  rapture  stole 

And  gave,  all  glowing  warm,  to  thine  !' 
Oh  !  could  the  jover  learn  from  thee, 

And  breathe  tlfem  with  thy  graceful  tone, 
Such  dear,  beguiling  minstrelsy 

Would  make  the  coldest  nymph  his  own! 

But  hark  !  the  boatswain's  pipings  tell 
'Tis  time  to  bid  my  dream  farewell : 
Eight  bells: — the  middle  watch  is  set : 
Good  night,  my  STRANCJFORO,  ne'er  forget 
That  far  bevond  the  western  sea2 
la  one,  waose  heart  remembers  thee ! 


STANZAS. 


Ji  JTOT*  i/*os 


^tchyl.  FrayuunL 

A  BEAM  of  tranquillity  smil'd  in  the  west, 
The  st«:-ms  of  the  morning  pursued  us  no  more, 

And  the  wave,  while  it  welcom'd  the  moment  of  rest, 
Still  heav'd,  as  remembering  ills  that  were  o'er ! 

Serenely  my  heart  took  the  hue  of  the  hour, 

Its  passions  were  sleeping,  were  mute  as  the  dead, 

And  the  spirit  becalm'd  but  remember'd  their  power, 
As  the  billow  the  force  of  the  gale  that  was  fled ! 

I  thought  of  the  days,  when  to  pleasure  alone 
My  heart  ever  granted  a  wish  or  a  sigh ; 

When  the  saddest  emotion  my  bosom  had  known 
Was  pity  for  those  who  were  wiser  than  I ! 

I  felt  how  the  pure,  intellectual  fire 

In  luxury  loses  its  heavenly  ray  ; 
How  soon,  in  the  lavishing  cup  of  desire, 

The  pearl  of  the  soul  may  be  melted  away! 

And  I  prayed  of  that  Spirit  who  lighted  the  flame, 
That  pleasure  no  more  might  its  purity  dim: 

And  that  sullied  but  little,  or  brightly  the  same, 
I  might  give  back  the  gem  I  had  borrow'd  from  him ! 

The  thought  was  ecstatic  !  I  felt  as  if  Heaven 
Had  already  the  wreath  of  eternity  shown; 

As  if,  passion  all  chaaten'd  and  error  forgiven, 
My  heart  had  begun  to  be  purely  its  own  ! 

I  look'd  to  the  west,  and  the  beautiful  sky 

Which  morning  had  clouded,  was  clouded  no  more  : 

u  Oh  !  thus,"  I  exclaim'd,  "can  a  heavenly  eye 
Shed  light  on  the  soul  that  was  darken'd  before  !" 


1  These  island*  !»,-l<in«  to  the  Porln 

2  I" rum  ('apt.  (,'ockliuni,  who  commanded  llio  Phaeton.  I 
received  such  kinil  uUrntiuns  us  I  must  ever  mnemher  wi.h 
gratitude.   As  sum'*  of  the  journalist*  have  gravel/  asserted 
thul  I  went  to  America  to  speculate  in  lands,  it  m  iv  not   lie 
tin|«rtintMil  to  state,  that  the  olijpct  of  this  voy:i?"ncros-<  I  he 
Atlantic  wa<  my  appointment  lo  the  ollice  of  Registrar  of 
the  Vice-Admira.t}  Court  of  Bermuda. 


THE  TELL-TALE  LYRE. 
I'VE  heard,  there  was  in  ancient  days 

A  Lyre  of  most  melodious  spell ; 
'Twas  heav'n  to  hear  its  fairy  lays, 

If  half  be  true  that  legends  tell. 
'Twas  play'd  on  by  the  gentlest  sighs, 

And  to  their  breath  it  breath'd  again 
In  such  entrancing  melodies 

As  ear  had  never  drunk  till  then  ! 
Not  harmony's  serenest  touch 

So  stilly  could  the  notes  prolong; 
They  were  not  heavenly  song  so  much 

As  they  were  dreams  of  heavenly  song ! 

If  sad  the  heart,  whose  murmuring  air 

Along  the  chords  in  languor  stole, 
The  soothings  it  awaken'd  there 

Were  eloquence  from  pity's  soul ! 
Or  if  the  sigh,  serene  and  light, 

Was  but  the  breath  of  fancied  woes, 
The  string,  that  felt  its  airy  flight, 

Soon  whisper' d  it  to  kind  repose  ! 
And  oh  !  when  lovers  talk'd  alone, 

If,  mid  their  bliss  the  Lyre  was  near, 
It  made  their  murmurs  all  its 'own, 

And  echoed  notes  that  heav'n  might  hear ! 

There  was  a  nymph,  who  long  had  lov'd. 

But  dar'd  not  tell  the  world  how  well ; 
The  shades,  where  she  at  evening  rov'd, 

Alone  could  know,  alone  could  tell. 
'Twas  there,  at  twilight  time,  she  stole 

So  oft,  to  make  the  dear-one  bless'd, 
Whom  love  had  giv'n  her  virgin  soul, 

And  nature  soon  gave  all  the  rest ! 

It  chanc'd  that  in  the  fairy  bower 

Where  they  had  found  their  sweetest  shed. 
This  Lyre,  of  strange  and  magic  power, 

Hung  gently  whispering  o'er  their  head. 

And  while,  with  eyes  of  mingling  fire, 

They  listen'd  to  each  other's  vow, 
The  youth  full  oft  would  make  the  Lyre 

A  pillow  for  his  angel's  brow ! 
And  while  the  melting  words  she  breath'd 

On  all  its  echoes  wanton'd  round, 
Her  hair,  amid  the  strings  enwreath'd, 

Through  golden  mazes  charm'd  the  sound 
Alas  !  their  hearts  but  little  thought, 

While  thus  entranc'd  they  listening  lay, 
That  every  sound  the  Lyre  was  taught 

Should  linger  long,  and  long  betray  ! 
So  mingled  with  its  tuneful  soul 

Were  all  their  tender  murmurs  grown, 
That  other  sishs  unanswered  stole,. 

Nor  chang'd  the  sweet,  the  treasur'd  tona 
Unhappy  nymph  !  thy  name  was  sung 

To  every  passing  l:p  that  sigh'd; 
The  secrets  of  thy  gentle  tongue 

On  every  ear  in  murmurs  died  ! 
The  fatal  Lyre,  by  Envy's  hand 

IIuri<;  high,  am  d  the  breezy  groves, 
To  every  wanton  gale  that  fann'd 

Betray'd  the  mystery  of  your  loves  ' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Yet,  oh !— not  many  a  suffering  hour, 

Thy  cup  of shame  on  earth  was  giv  n : 
Benignly  came  some  pitying  Power, 

And  took  the  Lyre  and  thee  to  Heaven  ! 
There  M  thy  lover  dries  the  tear 

Yet  warm  from  life's  malignant  wrongs, 
Within  his  arras,  thou  lov'st  to  hear 

The  luckless  Lyre's  remember  d  songs  1 
Still  do  your  happy  souls  attune 

The  notes  it  learn'd,  on  earth,  to  move ; 
Still  breathing  o'er  the  chords,  commune 

In  sympathies  of  angel  love ! 

TO  TIIE  FLYING-FISH.1 
When  I  have  seen  thy  snowy  wing 
O'er  the  blue  wave  at  evening  spring, 
And  give  those  scales,  of  silver  white, 
So  gaily  to  the  eye  of  light, 
As  if  thy  frame  were  form'd  to  rise, 
And  live  amid  the  glorious  skies ; 
Oh !  it  has  made  me  proudly  feel, 
How  like  thy  wing's  impatient  zeal 
Is  the  pure  soul,  that  scorns  to  rest 
Upon  the  world's  ignoble  breast, 
But  takes  the  plume  that  God  has  given, 
And  rwes  into  light  and  heaven  ! 
But,  when  I  see  that  wing,  so  bright, 
Grow  languid  with  a  moment's  flight, 
Attempt  the  paths  of  air  in  vain, 
And  sink  into  the  waves  again : 
Alas !  the  flattering  pride  is  o'er , 
like  thee,  awhile,  the  soul  may  soar, 
But  erring  man  must  blush  to  think, 
Like  thee,  again,  the  soul  may  sink ! 

Oh  Virtue !  when  thy  clime  I  seek, 
Ix^t  not  my  spirit's  flight  be  weak : 
Let  me  not,  like  this  feeble  thing, 
With  brine  still  dropping  from  its  wing, 
Just  sparkle  in  the  solar  glow, 
And  plunge  again  to  depths  below ; 
But,  when  I  leave  the  grosser  throng 
With  whom  my  soul  hath  dwelt  so  long 
Let  me,  in  that  aspiring  day, 
Cast  every  lingering  stain  away, 
And,  panting  for  thy  purer  nir, 
Fly  up  at  once  and  fit.  me  there ! 


EPISTLE  II. 

TO  Miss  M E. 

FROM  NORFOLK,  IN  VIRGINIA,  NOV.  1803. 

In  days,  my  KATE,  when  life  was  new, 
When,  lulPd  with  innocence  and  you, 


1  It  in  the  opinion  of  St.  Austin  upon  Genesis,  and  I  b 
•uly  all  the  Father*,  thai  birds,  like  fish,  wi 
•r-(in.iHr  produced  from  the  waters ;  in  defence  of  whi 
idea  they  have  collected  every  fanciful  circumstance  wh 
:an  trnd  to  prove  a  kindred  similitude  between  the 
r.»i.i.«r  TjiS  wtrttutut  vptf  TX  »,XT».  With  tl 
tkosifhl  in  our  minds  when  we  first  see  the  Flying-Fish, 
coald  almmt  fancy,  that  we  are  present  at  the  moment 
cnatioa,  and  wooen  the  birth  of  the  first  bird  from 


I  heard,  ;n  home's  beloved  shade, 
The  din  the  world  at  distance  made; 
When  every  night  my  weary  head 
Sunk  on  its  own  unthorned  bed, 
And,  mild  as  evening's  matron  hour 
Looks  on  the  faintly  shutting  flower, 
A  mother  saw  our  eyelids  close, 
And  bless'd  them  into  pure  repose ! 
Then,  haply,  if  a  week,  a  day, 
I  linger'd  from  your  arms  away, 
How  long  the  little  absence  seem'd  ! 
How  bright  the  look  of  welcome  beam'd 
As  mute  you  heard,  with  eager  smile, 
My  tales  of  all  that  pass'd  the  while  ! 
Yet  now,  my  Kate,  a  gloomy  sea 
Rolls  wide  between  that  home  and  me ; 
The  moon  may  thrice  be  born  and  die, 
Ere  e'en  your  seal  can  reach  mine  eye  : 
And  oh !  e'en  then,  that  darling  seal, 
(Upon  whose  print,  I  us'd  to  feel 
The  breath  of  home,  the  cordial  air 
Of  loved  lips,  still  freshly  there  !) 
Must  come,  alas !  through  every  fate 
Of  time  and  distance,  cold  and  late, 
When  the  dear  hand,  whose  touches  fill'd 
The  leaf  with  sweetness,  may  be  chill'd  . 
But  hence,  that  gloomy  thought !— At  last, 
Beloved  Kate  !  the  waves  are  past: 
I  tread  on  earth  securely  now, 
And  the  green  cedar's  living  bough 
Breathes  more  refreshment  to  my  eyes 
Than  could  a  Claude's  divinest  dies  ! 

At  length  I  touch  the  happy  sphere 
To  Liberty  and  Virtue  dear, 
Where  man  looks  up,  and  proud  to  claim 
His  rank  within  the  social  frame, 
Sees  a  grand  system  round  him  roll, 
Himself  its  centre,  sun,  and  soul ! 
Far  from  the  shocks  of  Europe ;  far 
From  every  wild  elliptic  star 
That,  shooting  with  a  devious  fire, 
Kindled  by  heaven's  avenging  ire, 
So  oft  hath  into  chaos  hurl'd 
The  systems  of  the  ancient  world  ! 
The  warrior  here,  in  arms  no  more, 
Thinks  of  the  toil,  the  conflict  o'er, 
And  glorying  in  the  rights  they  won 
For  hearth  and  altar,  sire  and  son, 
Smiles  on  the  dusky  webs  that  hide 
His  sleeping  sword's  remember' d  pride  ! 
While  Peace,  with  sunny  cheeks  of  toil, 
W:ilks  o'er  the  free,  unlorded  soil, 
Effacing  with  her  splendid  share 
The  drops  that  war  had  sprinkled  there 

Thrice  happy  land  !  where  he  who  flies 
From  the  dark  ills  of  other  skies, 
From  scorn,  or  want's  unnerving  woes 
May  shelter  him  in  proud  repose  ! 
Hope  sings  along  the  yellow  sand 
His  welcome  to  a  patriot  land  ; 
The  mighty  wood,  with  pomp,  receives 
The  stranger  in  its  world  of  leaves, 
Which  soon  their  barren  glory  yield 
To  the  warm  shed  and  cultur'd  field ; 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


109 


And  he  who  came,  of  all  bereft, 

To  whom  malignant  fate  had  left 

Nor  home  nor  friends  nor  country  dear, 

Finds  home  and  friends  and  country  here ! 

Such  is  tb"  picture,  warmly  such, 

Ths!  long  the  spell  of  fancy's  touch 

Hath  painted  to  my  sanguine  eye 

Of  man's  new  world  of  liberty  ! 

Oh !  ask  me  not  if  Truth  will  seal 

The  reveries  of  fancy's  zeal — 

If  yet  my  charmed  eyes  behold 

These  features  of  an  age  of  gold — 

No — yet,  alas  !  no  gleaming  trace  I1 

Never  did  youth,  who  lov'd  a  face 

From  portrait's  rosy  flattering  art 

Recoil  with  more  regret  of  heart, 

To  find  an  owlet  eye  of  grey, 

Where  painting  pour'd  the  sapphire's  ray, 

Thi  n  I  have  felt,  indignant  felt, 

To  think  the  glorious  dreams  should  melt, 

Which  oft,  in  boyhood's  witching  time, 

Have  wrapt  me  to  this  wond'rous  clime  ! 

But,  courage  yet,  my  wavering  heart ! 

Blame  not  the  temple's  meanest  part,2 

Till  you  have  traced  the  fabric  o'er:— 

As  yet,  we  have  beheld  no  more 

Than  just  the  porch  to  freedom's  fane; 

And,  though  a  sable  drop  may  stain 

The  vestibule,  'tis  impious  sin 

To  doubt  there's  holiness  within ! 

So  here  I  pause — and  now,  my  Kate, 

To  you  (whose  simplest  ringlet's  fate 

Can  claim  more  interest  in  my  soul 

Than  all  the  Powers  from  pole  to  pole) 

One  word  at  parting :  in  the  tone 

Most  sweet  to  you,  and  most  my  own. 

The  simple  notes  I  send  you  here,5 

Though  rude  and  wild,  would  still  be  dear, 

If  you  but  knew  the  trance  of  thought, 

In  which  my  mind  their  murmurs  caught. 

'Twas  one  of  those  enchanting  dreams, 

That  lull  me  oft,  when  Music  seems 

To  pour  the  soul  in  sound  along, 

And  turn  its  every  sigh  to  song  ! 

I  thought  of  home,  the  according  lays 

Respir'd  the  breath  of  happier  days; 

Warmly  in  every  rising  note 

I  felt  some  dear  remembrance  float 

Till,  led  by  music's  fairy  chain, 

I  wander' d  back  to  home  again  ! 


1  Such   romantic  works  as  "The   American   Farmer's 
Letters,"  and  the  "Account  of  Kentucky  by  Imlay,"  would 
leduce  us  into  u  belief,  that  Innocence,  peace,  and  freedom 
had  descried   Hie  rest  of  the  world  for  Martha's  Vineyard 
and   the   banks  of  the  Ohio.    The  French  travellers  too, 
almost  all  from   revolutionary  motives,  have   contributed 
their  share  1o  'he  diffusion  of  this  flattering  misconception. 
A  visit  to  the  country   is,  however,  quite  sufficient  to  cor- 
rect even  the  most  enthusiastic  prepossession. 

2  Norfolk,  it  must  be  owned,  is  an  unfavourable  specimen 
of  America.     The  characteristics  of  Virginia  in  general  iire 
not  such  as  can  delight  either  the  politician  or  the  moralist, 
and  at  Norfolk  they  are  exhibited  in  their  least  attractive 
form.     At  the  time  when  we  arrived,  the  yellow  fever  had 
not  yet  disappeared,  and  every  odour  that  assailed  us  in  the 
ttreeis  very  strongly  accounted  for  its  visitation. 

3  A  trifling  attempt  at  musical  composition  accompanied 
this  epistle. 


Oh !  love  the  song,  and  let  it  oft 

Live  on  your  lip,  in  warble  soft ! 

Say  that  it  tells  you,  simply  well* 

All  I  have  bid  its  murmurs  tell, 

Of  memory's  glow,  of  dreams  that  shed 

The  tinge  of  joy  when  joy  is  fled, 

And  all  the  heart's  illusive  hoard 

Of  love  renew'd  and  friends  restor'd ! 

Now,  Sweet,  adieu — this  artless  air, 

And  a  few  rhymes,  in  transcript  fair,1 

Are  all  the  gifts  I  yet  can  boast 

To  send  you  from  Columbia's  coast ; 

But  when  the  sun,  with  warmer  smile. 

Shall  light  me  to  my  destin'd  Isle,2 

You  shall  have  many  a  cowslip-bell 

Where  Ariel  slept,  and  many  a  shell, 

In  which  the  gentle  spirit  drew 

From  honey  flowers  the  morning  dew . 


TO  CARA, 

AFTER   AN   INTERVAL   OF   ABSENCE. 

CONCEAL'D  within  the  shady  wood 
A  mother  left  her  sleeping  child 

And  flew  to  cull  her  rustic  food, 
The  fruitage  of  the  forest  wild. 

But  storms  upon  her  path-way  rise, 
The  mother  roams  astray  and  weeping, 

Far  from  the  weak  appealing  cries 
Of  him  she  left  so  sweetly  sleeping. 

She  hopes,  she  fears — a  light  is  seen, 
And  gentler  blows  the  night-wind's  breath 

Yet  no — 'tis  gone — the  storms  are  keen, 
The  baby  may  be  chill'd  to  death ; 

Perhaps  his  little  eyes  are  shaded 

Dim  by  Death's  eternal  chill — 
And  yet,  perhaps,  they  are  not  faded ; 

Life  and  love  may  light  them  still. 

Thus,  when  my  soul  with  parting  sigh, 
Hung  on  thy  hand's  bewildering  touch, 

And,  timid,  ask'd  that  speaking  eye, 
If  parting  pain'd  thee  half  so  much — 

I  thought,  and,  oh !  forgive  the  thought, 
For  who,  by  eyes  like  thine  inspir'd, 

Could  ere  resist  the  flattering  fault 
Of  fancying  what  his  soul  desir'd  ? 

Yes — I  did  think,  in  CARA'S  mind, 
Though  yet  to  CARA'S  mind  unknown, 

I  left  one  infant  wish  behind, 

One  feeling,  which  I  call'd  my  own ! 

Oh,  blest !  though  but  in  fancy  blest, 

How  did  I  ask  of  pity's  care, 
To  shield  and  strengthen  in  thy  breast, 

The  nursling  I  had  cradled  there. 

And,  many  an  hour  beguil'd  by  pleasure, 
And  many  an  hour  of  sorrow  numbering, 

I  ne'er  forget  the  new-born  treasure. 
I  left  within  thy  bosom  slumbering. 


1  The  poems  which  immediately  follow. 

2  Bermuda. 


til 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


•S  indifference  has  not  chill'd  it, 
Haply,  it  yet  a  throb  may  give- 
Yet  no— perhaps,  a  doubt  lias  k.ll'd  it 
Oh,  CARA  I— does  the  infant  Uve  ? 


TO  CARA, 

ON  TH«   DAWNINU  Or  A   N£W  YEAR'S  PAT 

WHKN  midnight  came  to  close  the  year, 
We  ugh'd  to  think  it  thus  should  take 

The  hour*  it  gave  us— hours  as  dear 
A»  sympathy  and  love  could  make 

Their  blessed  moments !  every  sun 

Saw  us,  my  love,  more  closely  one ! 

But,  CARA,  when  the  dawn  was  nigh 
Which  came  another  year  to  shed, 

The  smile  we  caught  from  eye  to  eye 
Told  us  those  moments  were  not  fled ; 

Oh  no !  we  felt  some  future  sun 

Should  see  us  still  more  closely  one ! 

Thus  may  we  ever,  side  by  side, 
From  happy  years  to  happier  glide; 
And,  still,  my  CARA,  may  the  sigh 

We  give  to  hours,  that  vanish  o'er  us, 
Be  follow'd  by  the  smiling  eye, 

That  Hope  shall  bhed  on  scenes  before  us  ! 


TO  THE  INVISIBLE  GIRL.1 
They  try  to  persuade  me,  my  dear  little  sprite, 
That  you  are  not  a  daughter  of  ether  and  light, 
Nor  have  any  concern  with  those  fanciful  forms 
That  dance  upon  rainbows  and  ride  upon  storms; 
That,  in  short,  your' re  a  woman ;  your  Up  and  your 

breast 

A*  mortal  as  ever  were  tasted  or  press'd ! 
But  1  will  not  believe  them — no,  science !  to  you 
I  have  long  b.d  a  last  and  a  cart-lew  adieu : 
Still  flying  from  Nature  to  study  her  laws, 
And  dulling  delight  by  exploring  its  cause, 
You  forget  how  superior,  for  mortals  below, 
b  the  fiction  they  dream  to  the  truth  that  they  know. 
Oh !  who,  thai  has  ever  had  rapture  complete, 
Would  ask  how  we  feel  it,  or  why  it  is  sweet ; 
How  rays  are  confused,  or  how  particles  fly 
Through  the  medium  refiu'd  of  a  glance  or  a  sigh ! 
U  there  one,  who  but  once  would  not  rather  have 

known  it, 
Than  written,  with  HARVEY,  whole  volumes  upon 

it? 

No,  no — but  for  you,  my  invisible  love, 
1  will  swear,  you  are  one  of  those  spirits  that  rove 

•••-  bank  where,  at  twil.ght,  the  poet  reclines, 
When  the  itar  of  the  west  on  his  solitude  shines, 
And  tlie  magical  fingers  of  fancy  have  hung 
Every  breeze  with  a  sigh,  every  leaf  with  a  tongue  1 
Oh  !  wliwfHT  h.m  ihrn,  'tis  retirement  alone 
Can  rmliow  his  harp  or  ennoble  its  tone; 
Likr  you,  with  a  veil  of  srclusion  between, 
Hit  tong  to  the  world  let  him  utter  unseen, 


And  like  you,  a  legitimate  child  of  the  spheres, 
Iscape  from  the  eye  to  enrapture  the  ears ! 

weet  spirit  of  mystery  !  how  1  should  love, 
n  the  wearisome  ways  1  am  fated  to  rove, 
To  have  you  for  ever  invisibly  nigh, 
tihaling  for  ever  your  song  and  your  sigh  ! 
Mid  the  crowds  of  the  world  and  the  murmurs  of 
care 

might  sometimes  converse  with  my  nymph  of  the 

air, 

And  turn  with  djsgust  from  the  clamorous  crew, 
To  steal  in  the  pauses  one  whisper  from  you.        * 

"  .  \ 

Oh  !  come  and  be  near  me,  for  ever  be  mine, 

shall  hold  in  the  air  a  communion  divine, 
As  sweet  as,  of  old,  was  imagin'd  to  dwell 
n  the  grotto  of  Numa,  or  Socrates'  cell. 
And  oft,  at  those  lingering  moments  of  night, 
When  the  heart  is  weigh'd  down  and  the  eyelid  is 

light, 

You  shall  come  to  my  pillow  and  tell  me  of  love, 
Such  as  angel  to  angel  might  whisper  above ! 
Oh  Spirit ! — and  then,  could  you  borrow  the  tone 
Of  that  voice,  to  my  ear  so  bewitchingly  known. 
The  voice  of  the  one  upon  earth,  who  has  twin'd 
With  her  essence  for  ever  my  heart  and  my  mind! 
Though  lonely  and  far  from  the  light  of  her  smile, 
And  exile  and  weary  and  hopeless  the  while, 

ould  you  shed  for  a  moment  that  voice  on  my  ear, 
I  will  think  at  that  moment  my  CARA  is  near, 
That  she  comes  with  consoling  enchantment  to  speak 
And  kisses  my  eyelid  and  sighs  on  my  cheek, 
And  tells  me,  the  night  shall  go  rapidly  by, 
For  the  dawn  of  our  hope,  of  our  heaven  is  nigh ! 

Sweet  Spirit !  if  such  be  your  magical  power, 
It  will  lighten  the  lapse  of  full  many  an  hour; 
And  let  Fortune's  realities  frown  as  they  will, 
Hope,  Fancy,  and  CARA  may  smile  for  me  stilL 


1  Thi.  and  Uie  cubwqoenl  poem  hare  appeared  in  the 


PEACE  AND  GLORY. 

WRITTEN   AT   THE    COMMENCEMENT   OF    THE 
PRESENT    WAR. 

WHERE  now  is  the  smile  that  lighten'd 

Every  hero's  couch  of  rest  ? 
Where  is  now  the  hope  that  brightened 

Honour's  eye,  and  pity's  breast  ? 
Have  we  lost  the  wreath  we  braided, 

For  our  weary  warrior  men  ? 
Is  the  faithless  olive  faded, 

Must  the  bay  be  pluck'd  again  ? 

Passing  hour  of  sunny  weather, 

Lovely  in  your  light  awhile, 
Peace  and  Glory,  wed  together, 

Wander'd  through  the  blessed  isle; 
And  the  eyes  of  Peace  would  glisten, 

Dewy  as  a  morning  sun, 
When  the  timid  maid  would  listen 

To  the  deeds  her  chief  had  done.  \ 

Is  the  hour  of  dalliance  over  ? 

Must  the  maiden's  trembling  feet 
Waft  her  from  her  warlike  lovei 

To  the  desert's  still  retreat  ? 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


105 


Fare  you  well !  with  sighs  we  banish 
Nymph  so  fair  and  guest  so  bright; 

Yet  the  smile,  with  which  you  vanish, 
Leaves  behind  a  soothing  light ! 

Soothing  light !  that  long  shall  sparkle 

O'er  your  warrior's  sanguine  way, 
Through  the  field  where  horrors  darkle, 

Shedding  Hope's  consoling  ray  ! 
Long  the  smile  his  heart  will  cherish, 

To  its  absent  idol  true, 
While  around  him  myriads  perish, 

Glory  still  will  sigh  for  you  ! 


To ,  1801. 

To  be  the  theme  of  every  hour 

The  heart  devotes  to  fancy's  power, 

When  her  soft  magic  fills  the  mind 

With  friends  and  joys  we've  left  behind, 

And  joys  return,  and  friends  are  near, 

And  all  are  welcom'd  with  a  tear — 

In  the  mind's  purest  seat  to  dwell, 

To  be  remember' d  oft  and  well 

By  one  whose  heart,  though  vain  and  wild, 

By  passion  led,  by  youth  beguil'd, 

Can  proudly  still  aspire  to  know 

The  feeling  soul's  divinest  glow ! 

If  thus  to  live  in  every  part 

Of  a  lone  weary  wanderer's  heart; 

If  tlius  to  be  its  sole  employ 

Can  give  thee  one  faint  gleam  of  joy, 

Believe  it,  Mary  !  oh !  believe 

A  tongue  that  never  can  deceive, 

When  p:ission  doth  not  first  betray x 

And  tinge  the  thought  upon  its  way ! 

In  pleasure's  dream  or  sorrow's  hour, 

In  crowded  hall  or  lonely  bower, 

The  business  of  my  life  shall  be, 

For  ever  to  remember  thee  ! 

And  though  that  heart  be  dead  to  mine, 

Since  love  is  life  and  wakes  not  thine, 

I'll  take  thy  image,  as  the  form 

Of  something  I  should  long  to  warm, 

Which,  though  it  yield  no  answering  thrill, 

Is  not  less  dear,  is  lovely  still ! 

I'll  take  it,  wherosoe'er  I  stray, 

The  bright,  cold  burthen  of  my  way ! 

To  keep  this  semblance  fresh  in  bloom, 

My  heart  shall  be  its  glowing  tomb, 

And  love  shall  lend  his  sweetest  care, 

With  memory  to  embalm  it  there ! 


SONG. 

TAKE  back  the  sigh,  thy  lips  of  art 

_n  passion's  moment  breath' d  to  me! 
Yet,  no — i.  nnst  not,  will  not  part, 
Tis  now  the  life-breath  of  my  heart, 
And  has  become  too  pure  for  thee  ! 

Take  back  the  kiss,  that  faithless  sigh 

With  all  the  warmth  of  truth  imprest; 
Yei,  no — the,  fatal  kiss  may  lie: 
Upon  tli if  lip  ks  sweets  would  die, 
Or  bioom  to  make  a  rival  blest ! 
O 


Take  back  the  vows  that,  night  and  day, 
My  heart  receiv'd,  I  thought,  from  thine , 

Yet,  no — allow  them  still  to  stay  ; 

They  might  some  other  heart  betray, 
As  sweetly  as  they've  ruin'd  mine ! 


A  BALLAD. 
THE  LAKE  OF  THE  DISMAL  SWAMP. 

WRITTEN   AT  NORFOLK,    IN   VIRGINIA. 

"  They  tell  of  a  young  man  who  lost  his  mind  upon  the 
death  of  a  girl  he  loved,  anil  who,  suddenly  disappearing 
from  his  friends,  was  never  afterwards  heard  of.  As  he  had 
frequently  said,  in  his  ravines,  that  the  girl  was  not  d^irl, 
but  gone  to  the  Dismal  Swamp,  it  is  supposed  he  had  wan 
dered  into  that  dreary  wilderness,  and  had  died  of  hunger 
or  been  lost  in  some  of  its  dreadful  morasses."— Anon. 

"  La  Poesie  a  ses  monstres  comme  la  nature." 

U'Jlembert 

"  THEY  made  her  a  grave,  too  cold  and  damp 

For  a  soul  so  warm  and  true ; 
And  she  's  gone  to  the  Lake  of  the  Dismal  Swamp,1 
Where,  all  night  long,  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 

She  paddles  her  white  canoe. 

"  And  her  fire-fly  lamp  I  soon  shall  see, 

And  her  paddle  I  soon  shall  hear; 
Long  and  loving  our  life  shall  be, 
And  I'll  hide  the  maid  in  a  cypress  tree, 

When  the  footstep  of  death  is  near !" 

Away  to  the  Dismal  Swamp  he  speeds— 

His  path  was  nigged  and  sore, 
Through  tangled  juniper,  beds  of  reeds, 
Through  many  a  fen,  where  the  serpent  feeds, 

And  man  never  trod  before  ! 

And  when  on  the  earth  he  sunk  to  sleep, 

If  slumber  his  eyelids  knew, 
He  lay,  where  the  deadly  vine  doth  weep 
Its  venomous  tear,  and  nightly  steep 

The  flesh  with  blistering  dew ! 

And  near  him  the  she-wolf  stirr'd  the  brake, 
And  the  copper-snake  breath'd  in  his  ear, 
Till  he  starting  cried,  from  his  dream  awake, 
"  Oh  !  when  shall  I  see  the  dusky  Lake, 
And  the  white  canoe  of  my  dear  ?" 

He  saw  the  Lake,  and  a  meteor  bright 

Quick  over  its  surface  play'd — 
"  Welcome,"  he  said,  "  my  dear  one's  light  !** 
And  the  dim  shore  echoed,  for  many  a  night, 

The  name  of  the  death  cold  maid ! 

Till  he  hollow'd  a  boat  of  the  birchen  bark, 

Which  carried  him  off  from  shore ; 
Far  he  follow'd  the  meteor  spark, 
The  wind  was  high  and  the  clouds  were  dark, 

And  the  boat  return'd  no  more. 

But  oft  from  the  Indian  hunter's  camp 
Tlu's  lover  and  maid  so  true 


1  The  Grc'it  Dismal  Swamp  is  ten  or  twelve  miles  distant 
from  Norfolk,  and  the  like  in  the  middle  of  it  (about  »c<en 
miles  lung,  is  called  Drummuud'n  I'uucl. 


^ .^ ^ —  ~ 

Are  **»,  it  the  hour  of  midnight  damp, 
To  ere-  the  Uke  by  a  fire-fly  lamp, 
And  paddle  their  white  canoe ! 


EPISTLE  III. 

TO   THE 

MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF  D-LL. 

FROM   BEKIIODA,  JANUARY    18J>4. 

LADT,  where'er  you  roam,  whatever  beam 
Of  bright  creation  warms  your  mimic  dream  ; 
Whether  you  trace  the  valley's  golden  meads, 
Where  maxy  Linth  ms  lingering  current  leads  ;' 
Enamour'd  catch  the  mellow  hues  that  sleep, 
At  ere  on  Meillerie's  immortal  steep; 
Or  musing  o'er  the  Lake,  at  day's  decline, 
Mark  the  last  shadow  on  the  holy  shrine,2 
Where,  many  a  night,  the  soul  of  Tell  complains 
Of  Gallia's  triumph  and  Helvetia's  chains  ; 
Oh  !  lay  the  pencil  for  a  moment  by, 
Turn  from  the  tablet  that  creative  eye, 
And  let  its  splendour,  like  the  morning  ray 
a  shepherd's  harp,  illume  my  lay  ! 


Yet,  Lady  !  no  —  for  song  so  rude  as  mine, 
Chase  not  the  wonders  of  your  dream  divine  ; 
Still,  radiant  eye  !  upon  the  tablet  dwell  ; 
Still,  rosy  finger  !  weave  your  pictur'd  spell  ; 
And,  while  I  sing  the  animated  smiles 
Of  fairy  nature  in  these  sun-born  isles, 
Oh  !  might  the  song  awake  some  bright  design, 
Inspire  a  touch,  or  prompt  one  happy  line, 
Proud  were  my  soul,  to  see  its  humble  thought 
On  painting's  mirror  so  divinely  caught, 
And  wondering  Genius,  as  he  learn'd  to  trace 
The  faint  conception  kindling  into  grace, 
Might  love  my  numbers  for  the  spark  they  threw, 
And  bless  the  lay  that  lent  a  charm  to  you. 

Hare  yon  not  oft,  in  nightly  vision,  stray'd 
To  the  pure  isles  of  ever-blooming  shade, 
Which  bards  of  old,  with  kindly  magic,  plac'd 
For  happy  spirits  in  th'  Atlantic  waste  ?' 
There,  as  eternal  gales,  with  fragrance  warm, 
Breath'd  from  elysium  through  each  shadowy  form 
In  eloquence  of  eye,  and  dreams  of  song, 
They  charm'd  their  lapse  of  nightless  hours  along  ! 
Nor  yet  in  song,  that  mortal  ear  may  suit, 
For  every  spirit  was  itself  a  lute, 
Where  Virtue  wakened  with  elysian  breeze, 
Pure  tone*  of  thought  and  mental  harmonies 
Believe  me,  Lady,  when  the  xephyrs  bland 
Floated  oar  bark  to  this  enchanted  land, 
These  leafy  isles  upon  the  ocean  thrown, 
like  •tod*  of  em^ald  o'er  a  silver  zone  ; 


. 

ot  all  the  charm,  that  ethnic  fancy  gave 
o  blessed  arbours  o'er  the  western  wave, 
ould  wake  a  dream,  more  soothing  or  sublime, 
f  bowers  etherial  and  the  spirit's  clime  ! 

The  morn  was  lovely,  every  wave  was  still, 
When  the  first  perfume  of  a  cedar-hill 
weetly  awak'd  us,  and  with  smiling  charms, 
he  fairy  harbour  woo'd  us  to  its  arms  ' 
Gently  we  stole,  before  the  languid  wind, 
hrougb  plantain  shades,  that  like  an  awning  twin'd 
Vnd  kiss'd  on  either  side  the  wanton  sails, 
reathing  our  welcome  to  these  vernal  vales ; 
tTiile,  far  reflected  o'er  the  wave  serene, 
^ach  wooded  island  sheds  so  soft  a  green, 
^iat  the  enamour'd  keel,  with  whispering  play, 
Tirough  liquid  herbage  seera'd  to  steal  its  way ' 
ever  did  weary  bark  more  sweetly  glide, 
r  rest  its  anchor  in  a  lovelier  tide  ! 
long  the  margin,  many  a  brilliant  dome, 
WTiite  as  the  palace  of  a  Lapland  gnome, 
Tightened  the  wave ;  in  every  myrtle  grove 
ecluded,  bashful,  like  a  shrine  of  love, 
ome  elfin  mansion  sparkled  through  the  shade ; 
\nd,  while  the  foliage  interposing  play'd, 
Wreathing  the  structure  into  various  grace, 
rancy  would  love  in  many  a  form  to  trace 
"he  flowery  capital,  the  shaft,  the  porch,* 
And  dream  of  temples,  till  her  kindling  torch 

ghted  me  back  to  all  the  glorious  days 
Of  Attic  genius  ;  and  I  seem'd  to  gaze 
On  marble,  from  the  rich  Pentalic  mount, 
Gracing  the  umbrage  of  some  Naiad's  fount. 

Sweet  airy  being  !3  who,  in  brighter  hours, 
jv'd  on  the  perfume  of  these  honied  bowers, 
n  velvet  buds,  at  evening,  lov'd  to  lie, 
Vnd  win  with  music  every  rose's  sigh  ! 
["hough  weak  the  magic  of  my  humble  strain, 
To  charm  your  spirit  from  its  orb  again, 
f  et,  oh !  for  her,  beneath  whose  smile  I  sing, 
•"or  her,  (whose  pencil,  if  your  rainbow  wing 
Were  dimm'd  or  ruffled  by  a  wintry  sky, 
lould  smooth  its  feather  and  relume  its  dye,) 
A  moment  wander  from  your  starry  sphere, 
And  if  the  lime-tree  grove  that  once  was  dear, 


.    1.,  T  soppoMd,  was  at  this  time  still  in  Switze 
and,  wber*  the  power*  of  ber  pencil  must  have  been  fre- 

«  TW  chapel  of  WuTum  TeH,  on  the  Lake  of  Lucerne. 

3  M.GvbeliB  «T»,  in  hi*  Monde  Priroitif,  "  Lonqoe  Str 
•M  ervt  qoe  !*•  aarwoi  tMolofiem  et  Po«tei  placaie 
!•  dump*  Ely«*r«  dam  !•  Uea  de  I'Ocean  Atlantique, 


ntique, 

b  hot  dottiiu*."  M.  Ofbelin'n  nipno*iti< 
I  »**•  an  doubt,  is  the  more  comer ;  hut  that  of  Suabo 
'i  tfct  prwwrt  UnUno,  most  to  my  porpote. 


1  Nothing  can  he  more  romantic  than  the  little  hiirbour 
of  St.  George.    The  number  of  beautiful  islet*,  the  singular 
clearness  of  the  water,  and  the  animated  play  of  the  t  »«e- 
ful  little  boats,  gliding  for  ever  between   the  islanut    klK, 
seeming  to  rail  from  one  cedar  grove  into  another,  form,  all 
together,  the  sweeten  miniature  of  nature  that  can  be  im- 
agined. 

2  This  is  an  illusion  which,  to  the  few  who  are  fan 
enough  to  indulge  in  it,  renders  the  scenery  of  Bermuda 
particularly  interesting.     In  the  short  but  beautiful  twilight 
of  their  spring  evening?,  the  white  c<> 

the  islands,  and  but  partially  seen  through  the  trees  that  sur- 
round them,  assume  often  the  appearance  of  little  Grecian 
temples,  and  fanry  may  embellish  the  poor  fisherman's  hut 
with  columns  which  the  pencil  of  Claude  might  imitate.  I 
had  one  favourite  object  of  this  kind  in  my  walk*,  which 
the  hospitality  of  its  owner  robbed  me  n''.  liy  asl  ing  me  to 
visit  him.  He  was  a  plain  good  man,  and  received  me  well 
and  warmly,  but  I  never  could  turn  his  house  into  a  Grecian 
temple  again. 

3  Ariel.     Among  the  many  charms  which  Bermuda  has 
for  a  noetic  eve,  w.-  cannot  for  an  infant    t'orget  that  it  U 
the  scene  of  Shaksneare's  Timpnt.  and  that  here  he  con- 
jured up  the  "  delicate  Ariel,"  who  alone  is  worth  the  whota 
heaven  of  ancient  mytholoev. 


EPISTLES,  01>ES,  ETC 


The  sunny  wave,  the  bower,  the  breezy  hill, 
The  sparkling  grotto,  can  delight  you  still, 
Oh  !  take  their  fairest  tint,  their  softest  light, 
Weave  all  their  beauty  into  dreams  of  night, 
And,  while  the  lovely  artist  slumbering  lies, 
Shed  the  warm  picture  o'er  her  mental  eyes ; 
Borrow  for  sleep  her  own  creative  spells, 
And  brightly  show  what  song  but  faintly  tells  ! 


THE  GENIUS  OF  HARMONY. 

AN    IRREGULAR   ODE. 

Ad  harmoniam  caliere  mumlum. 

Ciiirn  ile  .V.if.  Dear.  Lib.  3. 

There  lies  a  shell  beneath  the  waves, 
In  many  a  hollow  winding  wreath'd 

Such  as  of  old, 
Echoed  the  breath  that  warbling  sea-maids  breath'd  ; 

This  magic  shell 

From  the  while  bosom  of  a  syren  fell, 
As  once  she  wander'd  by  the  tide  that  laves 
Sicilia's  sand  of  gold. 

It  bears 
Upon  its  shining  side,  the  mystic  notes 

Of  those  entrancing  airs,1 
The  genii  of  the  deep  were  wont  to  swell, 
Whnu  heaven's  eternal  orbs  their  midnight  music 

roll'd ! 
Oh  !  seek  it,  wheresoe'er  it  floats ; 

And,  if  the  power 

Of  thrilling  numbers  to  thy  soul  be  dear, 
Go,  bring  the  bright  shell  to  my  bower, 
And  I  will  fold  thee  in  such  downy  dreams, 
As  lap  the  spirit  of  the  seventh  sphere, 
When  Luna's  distant  tone  falls  faintly  on  his  ear  !a 

And  thou  shall  own, 
That,  through  the  circle  of  creation's  zone, 


1  In  the  "  Historic  Natnrelle  des  Antilles."  there  is  an  ac- 
count of  some  curious  shells,  found  atCuracon,  on  the  back 
of  which  were  lines,  filled  with  musical  characters,  so  dis- 
tinct and  perfect,  that  the  writer  assures  us  a  very  charming 
Irio  was  sung  from  one  of  them.     "On  le  nomine  musical, 
parce  qu'il  porte  sur  le  dos  dus  ligneii  noiratres  pleines  de 
notes,  qui  nut  line  espticn  de  cle  pour  lea   mettre  en  chant, 
de  sorte  que  Ton  dirait  qu'il  ne  manque  que  la  lettre  a  cette 
t.-ililiiture  naturellc.     Ce  curieux  gentilhomme  (M.  du  Mon- 
u-l,  rapporte  qu'il  en  a  vu  qui  avaient  cinq  lignes,  une  cle 
et  des  notes,  qui  formaienl  un  accord  parfait.     Quelqu'un 
y  iivuit  ajoute  la  lettre,  que  la  nature  avail  oubliee,  et  la 
fais.-iit  chanter  en  forme  de  trio,  dont  I'aire  etait  fort  agrea- 
ble."     Chap.  19.  Art.  11.    The  author  adds,  a  poet  might 
imagine  that  these  (hells  were  used  by  the  ayrens  at  their 
concerts. 

2  According  to  Cicero,  and  his  commentator,  Macrobius, 
the  lunar  tone  is  the  gravest  and  faintest  on  the  planetary 
heptachord.     "  Quum  ob  causam  summits  ille  cceli  stcllifer 
ciirsus   ciijus  conversio  est  concitatior,  acuto  et  excitato 
niovrtiir  sono:  gravissimo  uutein  hie  lunaris  atque  infimus." 
— .Somn.   Srip.     Because,  says   Macrobius,  "spiritu  ut  in 
extremitate  languescente  jam  volvitur,  et  propter  an?ustias 
ijii'lnis  pciiiiltiiiuis  orbis  arctatur  irnpetu  leniore  converti- 
tur." — In  .Somn.  Scip.  Lib.  2.  Cap.  4.     It  is  not  very  easy 
to  understand  the  ancients  in  their  musical  arrangement  of 
the  heavenly  bodies.     Se«  Ptolem.  Lib.  3. 

Leone  Ilrhri'o,  pursuins  the  id-a  of  Aristotle,  that  the 
heavens  are  animal,  attributes  their  harmony  to  perfect  and 
reciprocal  love.  "  Nun  per8  mnnra  fra  loro  il  perfetto  e 
reciproco  amore :  la  causa  principale,  che  ne  mostra  il  loro 
amore,  e  la  lor  amicizia  hnrmoniaca  e  la  concordanza,  che 
perpetunmente  si  tr«va  in  loro." — Dining.  •!.  Hi  .3 more,  p. 
i-  "reciproco  amore"  of  Leone  is  the  CIA.ST»;  of 
the  ancient  Empedocles,  who  seems,  in  his  Love  and  Hate 
of  the  Elements,  to  have  given  a  glimpse  of  the  principles 


Where  matter  darkles  or  where  spirit  beams ; 

From  the  pellucid  tides,1  that  whirl 
The  planets  through  their  maze  of  song, 
To  the  small  rill,  that  weeps  along 
Murmuring  o'er  beds  of  pearl ; 

From  the  rich  sigh 

Of  the  sun's  arrow  through  an  evening  sky.2 
To  the  faint  breath  the  tuneful  osier  yields 

On  Af Vic's  burning  lields  ;3 
Oh !  thou  shall  own  this  universe  divine 

Is  mine ! 

That  I  respire  in  all,  and  all  in  me, 
One  mightA-  mingled  soul  of  boundless  harmony  1 

Welcome,  welcome  mystic  shell ! 
Many  a  star  has  ceas'd  to  burn* 
Many  a  tear  has  Saturn's  urn 
O'er  the  cold  bosom  of  the  ocean  wept,5 
Since  thy  aerial  spell 
Hath  in  the  Waters  slept ! 

I  fly, 

With  the  bright  treasure  to  my  choral  sky, 
Where  she,  who  wak'd  its  early  swell, 
The  syren,  with  a  foot  of  fire, 
Walks  o'er  the  great  string  of  my  Orphic  Lyre," 
Or  guides  around  the  burning  pole 
The  winged  chariot  of  some  blissful  soul  !T 

While  thou  ! 

Oh,  son  of  earth  !  what  dreams  shall  rise  for  thee ! 
Beneath  Hispania's  sun, 
Thou'lt  see  a  streamlet  run, 
Which  I  have  wann'd  with  dews  of  melody  ;* 

Listen ! — when  the  night-wind  dies 
Down  the  still  current,  like  a  harp  it  sighs ! 


of  attraction  and  repulsion.  See  the  fragment  to  which  1 
allude  in  Laertius,  AXA.OT*  /»i»  9<A.OT>iri)  •*MffltSfM>'.*»T 
x..  Lib.  8.  Cap.  n.  1'J. 

1  Leucippus,  the  atomist,  imagined  a  kind  of  vortices  in 
the  heavens,  which   he   borrowed  from  Anaxagoras,  and 
|K>ssihly  suggested  to  Descartes. 

2  Heraclides,  upon  the  allegories  of  Homer,  conjectures 
that  the  idea  of  the  harmony  of  the  spheres  originated  with 
this  poet,  who  in  representing  the  solar  beams  as  arrow*, 
supposes  them  to  emit  a  peculiar  sound  in  the  air. 

3  In  the  account  of  Africa  which  d'  Ablancourt  has  trans- 
atcd,  there  is  mention  of  a  tree  in  that  country,  whose 
tranches  when  shaken  by  the   hand   produce  very  sweet 
sounds.     "Le  meme  auteur  (Abenzegar)  dit,  qu'il  y  a  un- 
certain arbre,  qui  produitdesgaulescomme  d'osier,  et  qu'en 

cs  prenant  a  la  main  et  les  branlant,  elles  font  une  espece 
d'harmonie  fort  agreable,"  etc.  etc. — ISrffrique  de  Marmot. 

4  Alluding  to  the  extinction,  or  at  least  the  disappearance 
of  some  of  those  fixed  stars,  which  we  are  taught  to  con- 
sider as  suns,  attended  each  by  its  system.  Descartes  thought 
that  our  earth  might  formerly  have  been  a  sun,  which  be- 
came obscured  by  a  thick  incrustation  over  its  surface.  This 
jrobably  suggested  the  idea  of  a  central  fire. 

5  Porphyry  says,  that  Pythagoras  held  the  sea  to  be  a  tear. 
T>v  *XX*TTJ«»  ftir  ixxx.fi  nv*~i  T*x;u5v.    De  Vit,  and  some 
one  else,  if  I  mistake  not,  has  added  the  planet  Saturn  as  the 
source  of  it.     Empedocles,  with  similar  affectation,  called 
the  sea  "the  sweat  of  the  earth:"  >$p-*m   TIJJ  jois.    See 
Itittrrshusius  upon  Porphyry,  Num.  41. 

6  The  system  of  harmonized  orbs  was  styled  by  the  an- 
cients, thn  Great  Lyre  of  Orpheus,  for  which  Lucian  ac- 
lounts,  1  Si  Avpi  ijTT*j«iTO{  t»rx  -r*.y  TJJV  xim|ti»o>i>  «rrp«» 
ipjuaviav  ei/nSxXXifO.  x.  T.  \.  fn  Jlstrolog. 

ton.  Timaus. 

8  This  musical  river  is  mentioned  in  the  romance  of 
Achilles  Tatius.  E-M  n-or»,u»  *  *  »  «v  J.  «»«•*.  »i*.v;  T» 
jJ»T5{  >.*>.IIVTC{.  The  Latin  version,  in  supplying  the  hia 
tus,  which  is  in  the  original,  has  placed  the  river  in  Hispa 
nia.  "  In  Hispania  quoque  fluvius  est,  quern  primo  an 
icctu,"  etc.  etc. 


me 

A  hquidchori  in  every  wate  that  flows, 
An  airy  plectrum  every  breeM  that  blow. ! 
There,  by  that  wondrous  stream, 
Go,  lay  thy  languid  brow, 
And  1  will  .end  tbee  wch  a  godlike  dream, 
£eJ_aH>rtal .  mortal !  hart  thou  beard  of  hun, 
Who,  many  a  night  with  his  primordial  lyre, 
8at  on  the  chill  Pangaean  mount,* 
And,  looking  to  the  orient  dim, 
Watch'd  the  fir*  flowing  of  that  sacred  fount, 

From  which  hi*  soul  had  drunk  its  fire  . 
Oh  !  think  what  visions,  in  that  lonely  hour, 
Stole  o'er  liis  musing  breast ! 

What  pious  ecstasy* 
Wafted  his  prayer  to  that  eternal  Power, 

Whose  seal  upon  this  world  imprest4 
The  various  forms  of  bright  divinity ! 

Or,  dost  thou  know  what  dreams  I  wove, 
•Mid  the  deep  horror  of  that  silent  bower,' 
Where  the  rapt  Samian  slept  his  holy  slumber? 

When,  free 

From  every  earthly  chain, 
From  wreaths  of  pleasure  and  from  bonds  of  pain, 

His  spirit  flew  through  fields  above, 
Drank  at  the  source  of  nature's  fonial  number/ 
And  saw,  in  mystic  choir,  around  him  move 
The  stars  of  song,  Heaven's  burning  minstrelsy ! 
Such  dreams,  so  heavenly  bright, 

1  swear 

By  the  great  diadem  that  twines  my  hair, 
And  by  the  seven  gems  that  sparkle  there,' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Mingling  their  beams 
In  a  soft  Iris  of  harmonious  light, 
Oh,  mortal !  such  shall  be  ihy  radiant  dreams  I 


EPISTLE  IV. 
TO  GEORGE  MORGAN,  ESQ. 

OF   NORFOLK,   VIRGINIA.1 
FEOM  BERMUDA,  JANUARY  1804. 


1  The**  two  linea  are  traral  tied  from  the  word*  of  Achil- 


let  Tatiiw.    *»•  >•«•  ' 


Mrr»x»»*«»  Of?,,,. 


Be*  a  curwu.  work  by  •  SM*SM*  of  Greek  si  Venice,  en- 
mad.*,  «*•  seplam  de  Mpteuario  libri."  Lib. 


3  They  called  hi<  lyre  »,x»' 
e*  a  curwu.  work 

tilled"  Hebdomad.*, 
4.  C*f  .  3.  p.  177. 

4  Kf.io.thi-ri.-s  telling  the  ettrem*  veneration  of  Orpheus 
for  A|w  I  >,  •»>«  that  he  wa»  sccmiomed  lo  go  to  the  Pan- 
pj-.n  m  iiirua'm  at  day  break,  and  there  wail  the  rum;  <>f 
Ike  SIM,  that  he  might  be  the  fi.»l  to  hail  its  beams.  - 

- 


S  There  an  torn*  vorM*  of  Orpheus    preserve'!  to  ui, 
which  contain  sublime  idem  of  the  um'y  and  magnificence 
W  UMDvtty.    As  thoM  which  Ju<un  M.irtyr  has  produced: 
O»rs«  jii.  x»».«i'»'  •(  ••»•••  IC?*»I«T». 

Jtd  Orte.  eokortnt. 
that  the**  are  to  be  reckonec 


MINH  A'  HSEMOESZA  KAI    ATPOITOr,  OIA 

ier.HS   KAI   MAAAOX   ElilAPOMOS   HEliEJ 
.  ilONTil  EXEITHPIKTAI. 

Calli'itack,  Hymn,  in  Del.  Y.  u. 


OH  !  what  a  tempest  whirl'd  us  hither  !* 

Winds,  whose  savage  breath  could  wither 

All  the  light  and  languid  flowers 

That  bloom  in  Epicurus'  bowers ! 

Yet  think  not,  George,  that  Fancy's  charm 

Forsook  me  in  this  rude  alarm. 

When  close  they  reefd  the  timid  sail, 
When,  every  plank  complaining  loud, 

We  labour'd  in  the  midnight  gale, 

And  e'en  our  haughty  main-mast  bow'd ! 

The  muse,  in  that  unlovely  hour, 
Benignly  brought  her  soothing  power, 
And,  midst  the  war  of  waves  and  wind, 
In  songs  elysian  lapp'd  my  mind ! 
She  open'd,  with  her  golden  key, 

The  casket  where  my  memory  lays 
Those  little  gems  of  poesy, 

Which  time  has  sav'd  from  ancient  days ! 
Take  one  of  these,  to  LAFS  sung — 
I  wrote  it  while  my  hammock  swung, 
As  one  might  write  a  dissertation 
Upon  "  suspended  animation  !  * 


It  it  thought  by 

>r>cation«  which  were  frequent  in  tli« 


earl] 


•  uf  I  'hiwiitiiily.    8  ill  u  appears  doubtful  m  whom 

imrwir  Hun  ;  they  are  to »  pious  fur  the  Pagans,  am 
to*  rortical  for  the  Father*. 

6  In  IM»-  ..'  -.lie  nttributra  a  figure 

•sal  to  A|«H  i,  wiik  which  h-  •    deity  lo  hare 

S>ii»|i  i|  •  variety  of  forms  U|«m    IP-  uuivers*. 

\;lidi«f  to  the  ra<p  war  S  irn  .«,  where  Pvthngorn 
<s»»ls»l  th*  fnMter  pan  of  hit  d  ivi  nnd  mzh's  to  nieil 
tin*  asjd  tho  mrstcrm  of  hi.  philuxiphr.  .lamklitk.  dr  Vit 
TW«,  a«  H»t«t«li«»  remark*,  wa«  in  nn.tation  of 

0  TV  Mr*e< jra,  *c  saend  number  of  ihe  Ptihagnreani 
nsj  wh  eh Ibeysot'wnly  twoo-,  and  which  thi-» 

•  ih«-  fiinntaip 
Ka<  n  lie«M  this  uligioa*  ariihnKtic  »«ry  finely  in  hi*  Sal 

iTt. 

fc  Tlii«  d  a >-n  is  m*»ml-d  to  rci.r.-.pn-  the  an 
tmmi  <ttf  not**  at  mo»-e  a-  : 

~i  a  vagiM  inti-oati'vi,  ,,•    I,  .  v  mlreil  Imrrnoi 
.    •  «.    »«»».  f,,m   ?.»<{  i 
•  w  *.T.«  T,,  *,*-.,.*,  tw.-m.,,ri.    De  Mtuic*. 


Cassiodorug,  whose  idea  I  may  be  supposed  to  have  bor- 
owed,  says,  in  a  letter  upon  music  to  Boetius,  •'  Ut  diade- 
ma  oculis,  varia  luce  gemmarum,  sic  cythara  diversitate 
oni,  blamlitur  audiiui."  This  is  indeed  the  only  tolerable 
hought  :n  the  letter.  Lib.  2.  Yariar. 

\  Thif  gentleman  is  attached  to  the  British  consulate  at 
Norfolk.     His  talents  are  w..rthy  of  a  much  higher  sphere, 
but  the  excellent  dispositions  of  ihe  family  with  whom  he 
iides,  and  the  cordial  repugn  he  enjoys  amongst  some  of 
he  kindest  hearts  in  the  world,  should  be  almost  enough  to 
atone  to  him  for  the  worst  caprices  of  fortune.    The  consul 
linnelf,  Colonel  li.niiiltoii,  is  one  among  the  very  few  in- 
stances of  a  man,  ardently  loyal  to  his  king,  and  yet  beloved 
ly  the  Americans.     His  house  is  (he  very  temple  of  hospi- 
tality, and  1  sincerely  pity  ihe  heart  of  that  stranger,  who, 
w-trin  from  Ihe  welcome  of  such  a  board,  anil  with  'he  taste 
if  such  Ma  leira  still  upon  his  lips  "col  doli'e  in  bocca," 
•null  sit  down  to  write  a  libel  on  his  ho^t,  in  the  true  spirit 
of  a  modern  philosnph  si.    See  the  Travels  of  ihe  Duke  de 
In  norhffttucault  l.iuncourt,  Vol.  2. 

2  We  were  seven  days  on  our  passage  from  Norfolk  to 
Bermudi,  durins  three  of  which  we  were  forced  to  lay-to 
in  a  gilco'"  wind.  The  Driver,  sloop  of  war.  in  which  I 
went,  was  built  nt-Bermn .la,  of  cedar,  and  is  accounted  an 
••xi-eilmi'  «ci-birit.  Sin-  was  then  command' d  liy  my  very 
r.-aretl.  d  fri.'iH,  Captain  Compton,  who  in  July  last  wao 
killed  pbo'irl  th  •  l.iilv,  in  an  action  with  a  French  pma- 
ti"  r.  Poor  Coiiipton !  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  strange  im- 
policy of  allowing  »"cl'  a  misernb'e  thing  as  th«  fjiliy  to 
remain  in  the  «"rvice  :  so  «niB'l,  so  crnnk,  and  unmanage- 
able, th  it  a  well-manned  me'chantman  wa)i  at  any  liiue  a 
match  for  h«tr. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


10, 


SWEETLY'  you  kiss,  my  LAIS  dear! 
But,  while  you  kiss,  1  feel  a  tear, 
Bitter  as  those  when  lovers  part, 
In  mystery  from  your  eye-lid  start ! 
Sadly  you  lean  your  head  to  mine, 
And  round  my  neck  in  silence  twine, 
Your  hair  along  my  bosom  spread, 
All  humid  with  the  tears  you  shed ! 
Have  1  not  kiss'd  those  lids  of  snow? 
Vet  still,  my  love,  like  founts  they  flow, 
Bathing  our  cheeks,  whene'er  they  meet — • 
Why  is  it  thus  ?  do,  tell  me,  Sweet ! 
Ah,  LAIS  !  are  my  bodings  right? 
Am  I  to  lose  you  ?  is  to-night 
Our  last— go,  false  to  heaven  and  me  ! 
Your  very  tears  are  treachery. 


SUCH,  while  in  air  I  floating  hung, 

Such  was  the  strain,  Morgante  mio ! 
The  muse  and  I  together  sung, 

With  Boreas  to  make  out  the  trio ; 
But,  bless  the  little  fairy  isle  ! 

How  sweetly  after  all  our  ills, 
We  saw  the  dewy  morning  smile 

Serenely  o'er  its  fragrant  hills  ! 
And  felt  the  pure,  elastic  flow 
Of  airs,  that  round  this  Eden  blow, 
With  honey  freshness,  caught  by  stealth 
Warm  from  the  very  lips  of  health ! 
Oh  !  could  you  view  the  scenery  dear 

That  now  beneath  my  window  lies, 
You'd  think,  that  Nature  lavish'd  here 

Her  purest  wave,  her  softest  skies, 
To  make  a  heaven  for  Love  to  sigh  in, 
For  bards  to  live,  and  saints  to  die  in ! 
Close  to  my  wooded  bank  below, 

In  glassy  calm  the  waters  sleep, 
And  to  the  sun-beam  proudly  show 

The  coral  rocks  they  love  to  steep  !a 
The  fainting  breeze  of  morning  fails, 

The  drowsy  boat  moves  slowly  past, 
And  I  can  almost  touch  its  sails 

That  languish  idly  round  the  mast. 


1  This  epigram  is  by  Panlns  Silentiarius,  and  maj  >e 
found  in  tin;  Anali'rta  of  Hi  unck,  Vol.  8.  p.  72.  But  as  the 
reaiting  there  is  somewhat  dill'erent  from  what  I  have  fol- 
lowed in  this  translation,  I  shall  give  it  as  I  had  it  in  my 
memory  at  the  time,  and  us  it  is  in  Ifeinsius,  who,  I  believe, 
first  produced  the  epigram.  See  his  Poetnaia. 

*H£u  [*tv  nrrt  piX>i/o&  TO  Asti$o$r  *)£«  St  XVTUIV 


Kxi 


HftiTifx  x!?a/.)|v  Jiipov  iptio-aju.'vi). 
ltuf>9/t«iv>iv  S'it:i\^a-x'  rx  J'uij  Sfstrsfri;  xrra 


AnJi*  n*  AH  Xin-iif  trn  j-ap  cpxx-rxTxi. 

2  The  water  in  so  clear  around  the  island,  that  the  rocks 
are  seen  beneath  to  n  very  great  depth,  and,  as  we  entered 
the  harbour,  they  appeared  to  us  so  near  tho  surface,  that  it 
seemed  impossible  we  should  not  strike  on  them.  There  is 
no  necessity,  of  course,  for  heaving  the  lead,  and  the  negro 
pilot,  looking  down  at  the  rocks  from  the  bow  of  the  ship 
lakes  her  through  this  difficult  navigation,  with  a  skill  and 
confidence  which  seem  to  astonish  some  of  the  oldest  sai- 
lors. 


The  sun  htis  now  profusely  given 
The  flashes  of  a  noontide  neaven, 
And,  as  the  wave  reflects  his  beams, 
Another  heaven  its  surface  seems ! 
Blue  light  and  clouds  of  silvery  tears 

So  pictur'd  o'er  the  waters  lie, 
That  evory  languid  bark  appears 

To  float  along  a  burning  sky  ! 

Oh  !  for  the  boat  the  angel  gave1 

To  him,  who,  in  his  heaven- ward  flight. 
Sail'd  o'er  the  sun's  ethereal  wave, 

To  planet-isles  of  odorous  light ! 
Sweet  Venus,  what  a  clime  he  found 
Within  thy  orb's  ambrosial  round  !J 
There  spring  the  breezes,  rich  and  warm, 

That  pant  around  thy  twilight  car; 
There  angels  dwell,  so  pure  of  form, 

That  each  appears  a  living  star  I3 
Those  are  the  sprites,  oh  radiant  queen ! 

Thou  send'st  so  often  to  the  bed 
Of  her  I  love,  with  spell  unseen, 

Thy  planet's  brightening  balm  to  sfied  ; 
To  make  the  eye's  enchantment  clearer, 

To  give  the  cneek  one  rose-bud  more, 
And  bid  that  flushing  lip  be  dearer, 

Which  had  been,  oh  !  too  dear  before  ! 
But,  whither  means  the  muse  to  roam  ? 
"Tis  time  to  call  the  wanderer  home. 
Who  could  have  ever  thought  to  search  her 
Up  in  the  clouds  with  Father  Kircher  ? 
So,  health  and  love  to  all  your  mansion! 

Long  may  the  bowl  that  pleasures  bloom  in, 
The  flow  of  heart,  the  soul's  expansion, 

Mirth,  and  song,  your  board  illumine ! 

Fare  you  well — remember  too, 

When  cups  are  flowing  to  the  brim, 

That  here  is  one  who  drinks  to  you, 
And,  oh !  as  warmly  drink  to  him. 


THE  RIJN&. 

TO ,  1801. 

No — Lady !  Lady  !  keep  the  ring ; 

Oh !  think  how  many  a  future  year, 
Of  pracid  smile  and  downy  wing,  i 

May  sleep  within  its  holy  sphere  J 

Do  not  disturb  their  tranquil  dream, 

Though  love  hath  ne'er  the  mystery  warm'd, 


1  In  Kircher's  "Extatic  Jou-ney  to  Heaven,"  Cosmn-1, 
the  genius  of  the  world,  gives  Theodidactus  a  boat  of  As- 
bcstos,  with  which  he  embarks  into  the 'regions  of  the  sun. 
"Vides  (says  Cosmiel)  hanc  asbestinam  nnviculum  comrno- 
ditati  tuns  pra;paratii.n."  Itinerar.  1.  Dial.  1.  Cap.  5.   There 
are  some  very  strange  fancies  in  this  work  of  Kircher. 

2  When  the  Genius  of  the  world  and  his  fellow-traveller 
arrive  at  the  planet  Venus,  they  find  an  island  of  loveliness 
full  of  odours  and  intelligences,  where  angels  preside,  who 
shed  the  cosmetic  influence  of  this  planet  over  the  earth  ; 
such  being,  according  to  astrologers,  the  "  vis  inrluxiva"  of 
Venus.     When  they  are  in  this  part  of  the  heavens,  a  CBKU 
istical    question    occurs    to    Theodidactus,    and    ho   asks 
"  Whether  baptism  may  be  performed  with  the  waters  of 
Venus 7"— "  An  aquis  globi  Veneris  baptismus  uistitui  pu» 
sit?"  to  which  the  Genius  answers,  "Certainly." 

3  This  idea  is  father  Kircher's.     "Tot   animates  *o!e» 
dixUscs."     Itinerar.  i.  Dial.  Cap.  5 


110 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Yet  hear'n  will  shed  •  toothing  beam, 
To  blew  the  bond  itself  hath  form'd. 

Buc  then,  that  eye,  that  burning  eye ! 

Oh  !  it  doth  ask,  with  magic  power, 
IT  heaven  can  ever  blew  the  tie, 

Where  lore  inwreaihs  no  genial  flower ! 

Away,  away,  bewildering  look ! 

Or  all  the  boast  of  Virtue 's  o'er ; 
Go— hie  tbee  to  the  sage's  book, 

And  learn  from  him  to  feel  no  more  ! 

I  cannot  warn  thee !  every  Touch, 
That  brings  my  pulses  close  to  thine, 

Telia  me  1  want  thy  aid  as  much, 
Oh !  quite  as  much,  as  thou  dost  mine ! 

Yet  stay,  dear  love— one  effort  yet — 
A  moment  turn  those  eyes  away, 

And  let  me,  if  I  can,  forget 
The  light  that  leads  my  soul  astray ! 

Thou  say 'st,  that  we  were  born  to  meet, 
That  our  hearts  bear  one  common  seal, — 

Oh,  Lady !  think,  bow  man's  deceit 
Can  seem  to  sigh  and  feign  to  feel ! 

When,  o'er  thy  face  some  gleam  of  thought, 
Lake  day-beams  through  the  morning  air, 

Hath  gradual  stole,  and  I  have  caught 
The  feeling  ere  it  kindled  there : 

The  sympathy  I  then  betray'd, 
Perhaps  was  but  the  child  of  art ; 

The  guile  of  one,  who  long  hath  play'd 
Wul(  all  these  wily  nets  of  heart. 

Oh !  thou  hast  not  my  virgin  TOW  ! 

Though  few  the  years  I  yet  have  told, 
Canst  thou  believe  I  lived  till  now, 

With  loveless  heart  or  senses  cold  ? 

No— many  a  throb  of  bliss  and  pain, 
For  many  a  maid,  my  soul  hath  prov'd ; 

With  some  I  wantnn'd  wild  and  vain, 
While  some  1  truly,  dearly  lov'd ! 

The  cheek  to  thine  I  fondly  lay, 
To  theirs  hath  been  as  fondly  laid ; 

The  words  to  thee  I  warmly  say, 
To  them  have  been  as  warmly  said. 

Then,  scorn  at  once  a  languid  heart, 
Which  long  hath  lost  its  early  spring ; 

Think  of  the  pure,  bright  soul  thou  art, 
And— keep  the  ring,  oh !  keep  the  ring. 

Kswsjb— »ow,  turn  thine  eyes  again ; 

What,  still  that  look,  and  still  that  sigh  ! 
Do«t  thou  not  feel  my  counsel  then? 

Oh !  no,  beloved !— nor  do  I. 

\  While  thus  to  mine  thy  bosom  lies, 

While  thus  our  breaths  commingling  glow, 
Twere  more  than  woman  to  be  wise, 
Twere  more  than  man  to  wish  thee  so ! 

Did  we  not  love  so  true,  so  dear, 
This  lapse  could  never  be  forgiven ; 

fhtt  hearts  so  fond  and  lips  so  near 

•  me  the  ring,  and  DOW — Oh  heaven ! 


TO 


ON   SEEING   HER    WITH    A  WHITE    VEIL   AND   i 
RICH    GIRDLE. 

MAPFAPITAI  AHAOTil  AAKPTCN  POOM. 
jip.  .\iccphor.  in  Oncrucritico. 

PUT  off  the  vestal  veil,  nor,  oh ! 

Let  weeping  angels  view  it ; 
Your  cheeks  belie  its  virgin  snow, 

And  blush  repenting  through  it. 

Put  off  the  fatal  zone  you  wear; 

The  lucid  pearls  around  it 
Are  tears,  that  fell  from  Virtue  there, 

The  hour  that  Love  unbound  it. 


THE  RESEMBLANCE. 


-vo  cercand'  io 


Donna,  quant' e  possibile,  in  altrni 
La  desiata  vostra  forma  vera. 

Petrarc.  Sonett.  H 

YES,  if  'twere  any  common  love, 

That  led  my  pliant  heart  astray, 
I  grant,  there  'a  not  a  power  above 

Could  wipe  the  faithless  crime  away  ! 

But,  'twas  my  doom  to  err  with  one 

In  every  look  so  like  to  thee, 
That,  oh !  beneath  the  blessed  sun, 

So  fair  there  are  but  thou  and  she ! 

Whate'er  may  be  her  angel  birth, 
She  was  thy  lovely  perfect  twin, 

And  wore  the  only  shape  on  earth, 
That  could  have  charrn'd  my  soul  to  sin ! 

Your  eyes ! — the  eyes  of  languid  doves 
Were  never  half  so  like  each  other ! 

The  glances  of  the  baby  loves 

Resemble  less  their  warm-ey'd  mother ! 

Her  lip ! — oh,  call  me  not  false  hearted, 

When  such  a  lip  I  fondly  prest ; 
'Twas  Love  some  melting  cherry  parted, 

Gave  thee  one  half  and  her  the  rest ! 

And  when,  with  all  thy  murmuring  tone, 
They  sued,  half  open,  to  be  kiss'd, 

I  could  as  soon  resist  thine  own — 
And  them,  heaven  knows !  1  ne'er  resist 

Then,  scorn  me  not,  though  false  I  be, 
'Twas  love  that  wak'd  the  dear  excess ; 

My  In-art  had  been  more  true  to  thee, 
Had  mine  eye  priz'd  thy  beauty  less  J 


TO 


WHEN  I  lov'd  you,  I  can't  but  allow 
I  had  many  an  exquisite  minute  ; 

But  the  scorn  that  I  feel  for  you  now 
Hath  even  more  luxury  in  it ! 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


Ill 


Thus,  whether  we're  on  or  we're  off, 
Some  witchery  seems  to  await  you ; 

To  love  you  is  pleasant  enough, 
And,  oh !  'tis  delicious  to  hate  you ! 


FROM  THE  GREEK  OF  MELEAGER.1 

FILL  high  the  cup  with  liquid  flame, 
And  speak  my  HELIODORA'S  name ! 
Repeat  its  magic  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  let  the  sound  my  lips  adore, 
Sweeten  the  breeze,  and  mingling  swim 
On  every  bowl's  voluptuous  brim  ! 

Give  me  the  wreath  that  withers  there; 

It  was  but  last  delicious  night 
It  hung  upon  her  wavy  hair, 

Anil  caught  her  eyes'  reflected  light ! 
Oh !  haste,  and  twine  it  round  my  brow ; 
It  breathes  of  HELIODORA  now ! 

The  loving  rose-bud  drops  a  tear, 
To  see  the  nymph  no  longer  here, 
No  longer,  where  she  used  to  lie, 
Close  to  my  heart's  devoted  sigh ! 


LINES, 

WRITTEN    IN   A   STORM   AT   SEA. 

THAT  sky  of  clouds  is  not  the  sky 
To  light  a  lover  to  the  pillow 

Of  her  he  loves — 

The  swell  of  yonder  foaming  billow 
Resembles  not  the  happy  sigh 

That  rapture  moves. 

Yet  do  I  feel  more  tranquil  now 
Amid  the  gloomy  wilds  of  ocean, 

In  this  dark  hour, 

Than  when,  in  transport's  young  emotion, 
I've  slol'n,  beneath  the  evening  star, 

To  Julia's  bower. 

Oh  !  there  's  a  holy  calm  profound 
In  awe  like  this,  that  ne'er  was  given 

To  rapture's  thrill ; 
"Tis  as  a  solemn  voice  from  heaven, 
And  the  soul,  listening  to  the  sound, 

Lies  mute  and  still ! 

'Tis  true,  it  talks  of  danger  nigh, 

Of  slumbering  with  the  dead  to-morrow 

In  the  cold  deep, 

Where  pleasure's  throb  or  tears  of  sorrow 
No  more  shall  wake  the  heart  or  eye, 

But  ail  must  sleep ! 

Well ! — there  are  some,  thou  stormy  bed, 
To  whom  thy  sleep  would  be  a  treasure ! 
Oh  most  to  him, 


Erujick.  Jlnaiect.  torn.  L  p.  28. 


Whose  lip  hath  drain'd  life's  cup  of  pleasure, 
Nor  left  one  honey  drop  to  shed 
Round  misery's  brim. 

Yes — he  can  smile  serene  at  death : 

Kind  heaven  !  do  thou  but  chase  the  weeping 

Of  friends  who  love  him ; 
Tell  them  that  he  lies  calmly  sleeping 
Where  sorrow's  sting  or  envy's  breath 

No  more  shall  move  him. 


ODES  TO  NEA; 

WRITTEN  AT  BERMUDA. 


NEA  TTPANNEI. 

Euripid.  Medea,  v.  967 


NAY,  tempt  me  not  to  love  again, 

There  was  a  time  when  love  was  sweet ; 
Dear  NEA  !  had  I  known  thee  then, 

Our  souls  had  not  been  slow  to  meet ! 
But,  oh !  this  weary  heart  hath  run, 

So  many  a  time,  the  rounds  of  pain, 
Not  e'en  for  thee,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

Would  I  endure  such  pangs  again. 

If  there  be  climes,  where  never  yet 

The  print  of  Beauty's  foot  was  set, 

Where  man  may  pass  his  loveless  nights, 

Unfever'd  by  her  false  de4ights, 

Thither  my  wounded  soul  would  fly, 

Where  rosy  cheek  or  radiant  eye 

Should  bring  no  more  their  bliss,  their  pain, 

Or  fetter  me  to  earth  again  ! 

Dear  absent  girl,  whose  eyes  of  light, 

Though  little  priz'd  when  all  my  own, 
Now  float  before  me,  soft  and  bright 

As  when  they  fir:  t  enamouring  shone  ! 
How  many  hours  of  idle  waste, 
Within  those  witching  arms  embraced, 
Unmindful  of  the  fleeting  day, 
Have  I  dissolv'd  life's  dream  away ! 
O  bloom  of  time  profusely  shed! 
O  moments  !  simply,  vainly  fled, 
Yet  sweetly  too — for  love  perfum'd 
The  flame  which  thus  my  life  consum'd; 
And  brilliant  was  the  chain  of  flowers, 
In  which  he  led  my  victim  hours! 

Say,  NEA,  dear !  could'st  thou,  like  her, 
When  warm  to  feel  and  quick  to  err, 
Of  loving  fond,  of  roving  fonder, 
My  thoughtless  soul  might  wish  to  wander 
Could'st  thou,  like  her,  the  wish  reclaim, 

Endea.     •'  still,  reproaching  never. 
Till  all  my  neart  should  burn  with  shame, 

And  be  thine  own,  more  fix'd  than  ever? 
No,  no — on  earth  there's  only  one 

Could  bind  such  faithless  folly  fast: 
And  sure  on  earth  'tis  I  alone 

Could  make  such  virtue  false  at  last ! 
NEA  !  the  heart  which  she  forsook. 

For  thee  were  but  a  worthless  shrine- 
Go,  lovely  girl,  that  angel  look 

Must  thrill  a  soul  more  pure  than  mine 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  thoo  shah  be  ill  else  to  me, 
That  heart  can  fee!  or  tongue  ran  feign; 

Til  pn*f,  admire,  and  worship  thee, 
But  must  not,  dare  not,  love  again. 


».  EUg.  8 


I  MAY  you,  let  us  roam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore, 

re  late  we  thoughtless  stray'd  ; 
Twas  not  for  us,  whom  heaven  intends 
To  be  no  more  than  simple  friends, 

Such  lonely  walks  were  made. 
That  little  bay,  where,  winding  in 
From  ocean's  rude  and  angry  din, 

(As  lovers  steal  to  bliss,) 
The  billows  kiss  the  shore,  and  then 
Flow  calmly  to  the  deep  again, 
As  though  they  did  not  kiss  ! 
Remember,  o'er  its  circling  flood 
In  what  a  dangerous  dream  we  stood — 

The  silent  sea  before  us, 
Around  us,  all  the  gloom  of  grove, 
That  e'er  was  spread  for  guilt  or  love, 

No  eye  but  nature's  o'er  us  ! 
I  saw  you  blush,  you  felt  me  tremble, 
In  vain  would  formal  artxlissemble 

All  that  we  wish'd  and  thought ; — 
Twas  more  than  tongue  could  dare  reveal, 
Twas  more  than  virtue  ought  to  feel, 

But  all  that  passion  ought ! 
1  stoop' d  to  cull,  with  faltering  hand, 
A  shell  that  on  the  golden  sand 

Before  us  faintly  gleam'd ; 
I  rais'd  it  to  your  lips  of  dew, 
You  kiss'd  the  shell,  I  kiss'd  it  too- 
Good  heaven,  how  sweet  it  seem'd  ! 
O,  trust  roc,  'twas  a  place,  an  hour, 
The  worst  that  e'er  temptation's  pov»er 

Could  tangle  me  or  you  in  ! 
Sweet  NBA  '.  let  us  roam  no  more 
Along  that  wild  and  lonely  shore- 
Such  walks  will  be  our  ruin  ! 


!  it  in  my  languid  eyes, 
•  •re  alone  should  love  be  read; 
You  hear  me  say  it  ail  in  sighs, 
And  thus  alone  should  love  be  said 

Then  dread  no  more ;  I  will  not  speak ; 

Although  my  heart  to  anguish  thrill, 
I'll  spare  the  burning  of  your  cheek, 

And  look  it  all  in  silence  still ! 

Heard  you  the  wish  I  dar'd  to  name, 
To  murmur  on  that  luckless  n 

When  passion  broke  the  bonds  of  shame, 
Ami  love  grew  madness  in  your  sight  ? 

DivinHy  through  the  graceful  dance, 
You  seem'd  to  float  in  silent  song, 


Oh!  how  could  others  dare  to  touch 

That  hallow'd  form  with  hand  so  free, 
When  but  to  look  was  bliss  too  much, 
Too  rare  for  all  but  heaven  and  me  I 
With  smiling  eyes,  that  little  thought 

How  fatal  were  the  beams  they  threw, 
My  trembling  hands  you  lightly  caught, 

And  round  me,  like  a  spirit,  flew. 
Heedless  of  all,  I  wildly  turn'd, 

My  soul  forgot— nor,  oh !  condemn, 
That  when  such  eyes  before  me  burn'd 

My  soul  forgot  all  eyes  but  them ! 
I  dar'd  to  speak  in  sobs  of  bliss, 

Rapture  of  every  thought  bereft  me, 
I  would  have  clasp'd  you— oh,  even  this  !- 
But,  with  a  bound,  you  blushing  left  me. 
Forget,  forget  that  night's  offence, 

For-rive  it,  if,  alas  !  you  can ; 
'Twas  love,  'twas  passion — soul  and  sense— 

'Twas  all  the  best  and  worst  of  man ! 
That  moment,  did  the  mingled  eyes 

Of  heaven  and  earth  my  madness  view, 
I  should  have  seen,  through  earth  and  skiea, 

But  you  alone,  but  only  you! 
Did  not  a  frown  from  you"  reprove, 

Myriads  of  eyes  to  me  were  none; 
%  I  should  have — oh,  my  only  love ! 

My  life!  what  should  I  not  have  done ! 


A  DREAM  OF  ANTIQUITY 

JUST  had  turn'd  the  classic  page. 

And  trac'd  that  happy  period  over, 
When  love  could  warm  the  proudest  sage, 

And  wisdom  grace  the  tenderest  lover ! 
tefore  I  laid  me  down  to  sleep, 

Upon  the  bank  awhile  I  stood, 
And  saw  the  vestal  planet  weep 

Her  tears  of  light  on  Ariel's  flood. 

lly  heart  was  full  of  Fancy's  dream, 
And,  as  I  watch'd  the  playful  stream, 
Entangling  in  its  net  of  smiles 
So  fair  a  group  of  elfin  isles, 
[  felt  as  if  the  scenery  there 

Were  lighted  by  a  Grecian  sky — 
As  if  I  breath'd  the  blissful  air 

That  yet  was  warm  with  Sappho's  sigh . 

And  now  the  downy  hand  of  rest 
Her  signet  on  my  eyes  imprest, 
And  still  the  bright  and  balmy  spell 
Like  star-dew,  o'er  my  fancy  fell ! 
I  thought  that,  all  enrapt,  I  stray  rt 
Through  that  serene  luxurious  shade,' 


1  Gawendi  thinks  thai  ihe.  gardens.  «liicli  PaMnaiai  m>  n- 
tioni,  in  his  first  Book,  •  -         •'  ^tim't 

•ays,  in  his  Ant'niii.tn  s  of  Atlions,  "  N.'nr  this  convent  (the 
Convent  of  Hai-ios  Assoirmtos)  is  the  plnco  called  at  |. resent 
Kepoi,  or  tins  Uardcn* ;  and  Ampelm  Krpos,  or  the  Vino- 
'••  probnlily  the  gardens  which  Pau 
i&niaj  vuited."  Chap.  ii.  Vol.  I. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


113 


Where  Epicurus  taught  the  Loves 
To  polish  virtue's  native  brightness, 

Just  as  the  beak  of  .playful  doves 

Can  give  to  pearls  a  smoother  whiteness  !' 

'Twas  one  of  those  delicious  nights 

So  common  in  the  climes  of  Greece, 
When  day  withdraws  but  half  its  lights, 

And  all  is  moonshine,  balm,  and  peace! 
And  tliou  wert  there,  my  own  belov'd ! 
And  dearly  by  thy  side  I  rov'd 
Through  many  a  temple's  reverend  glo.om, 
And  many  a  bower's  seductive  bloom, 
Where  beauty  blush'd  and  wisdom  taught, 
Where  lovers  sigh'd  and  sages  thought, 
Where  hearts  might  feel  or  heads  discern, 

And  all  was  Ibrm'd  to  sooth  or  move, 
To  make  tiie  dullest  love  to  learn, 

To  make  the  coldest  learn  to  love  ! 

And  now  the  fairy  pathway  seem'd 

To  lead  us  through  enchanted  ground, 
Where  all  that  bard  has  ever  dream'd 

Of  love  or  luxury  bloom'd  around  ! 
Oh  !  'twas  a  bright  bewildering  scene — 
AJong  the  alley's  deepening  green, 
Soft  lamps,  that  hung  like  burning  flowers, 
And  scented  and  illum'd  the  bowers, 
Seem'd,  as  to  him,  who  darkling  roves 
Amid  the  lone  Hercynian  groves, 
Appear  the  countless  birds  of  light, 
That  sparkle  in  the  leaves  at  night, 
And  from  thair  wings  diffuse  a  ray 
Along  the  traveller's  weary  way  !2 
'Twas  light  of  that  mysterious  kind, 

Through  which  the  soul  is  doom'd  to  roam, 
When  it  has  left  this  world  behind, 

And  gone  to  seek  its  heavenly  home ! 
And,  NEA,  thou  didst  look  and  move, 

Like  any  blooming  soul  of  bliss, 
That  wanders  to  its  home  above 

Through  mild  and  shadowy  light  like  this  ! 

But  now,  mothought,  we  stole  along 

Through  halls  of  more  voluptuous  glory 
Than  ever  liv'd  in  Teian  song, 

Or  wanton'd  in  Milesian  story  !3 
And  nymphs  were  there,  whose  veryeyea 
Seem'd  almost  to  exhale  in  sighs  ; 
Whose  every  little  ringlet  thrill'd, 
As  if  with  soul  and  passion  fill'd! 
Some  flew,  with  amber  cups,  around, 

Shedding  the  flowery  wines  of  Crete,4 
And,  as  they  pass'd  with  youthful  bound, 

The  onyx  shone  beneath  their  feet  !s 


1  Tlii*  method  of  polishing  pearls,  by  leaving  them  awhile 
to  he  p, uyed  with  by  doves,   ia  mentioned  by  the  fanciful 
Calciums,  di-  Keni'ii  Varietal.     Lib.  vii.  cap.  34. 

2  In   Hercynio  Germania>  sallu   imisitata   genera  alitum 
accepinui-,  riianirn  pliimii!,  ignium  rnodo,  colluceant  nocti- 
ous.     I'lin.  Lib.  x.  cap.  47. 

3  The  Mili-«incs,  or  Milesian  Fables,  had  their  origin  in 
Viilatus,  a  luxurious  town  of  Ionia.     Aristides  was  the  most 

,1  author  of  these  licentious  fictions.   See  Plutarch. 
(in  Cias-o)  who  calls  them  X^-\XTTX  CiSMa. 

4  Some  of  tin!  Cn-taii  wines,  which  AthuniBUS  calls  «ivo{ 
••Soir/iia;,    from    their  fragrancy    resembling   that   of  the 
finest  flowers.     Barry  on  Winfs,  chap.  vii. 

5  l>  appear*,  that  in  very  splendid  mansions  the  floor  or 
pavement  was  frei|iiently  of  onyx.     Thus  Martial :  "  Calca- 
tusnuo  tun  sub  undo  lucet  onyx."    Epig.  50.  Lib.  xii. 

P 


While  others,  waving  arms  of  snow 

Entwin'd  by  snakes  of  buiAish'd  gold,1 
And  showing  limbs,  as  loth  to  show, 

Through  many  a  thin  Tarentian  fold,* 
Glided  along  the  festal  ring 
With  vases,  all  respiring  spring, 
Where  roses  lay,  in  langour  breathing, 
And  the  young  bee-grape,3  round  them  wreathing. 
Hung  on  their  blushes  warm  and  meek, 
Like  curls  upon  a  rosy  cheek  ! 
Oh,  NEA  !  why  did  morning  break 

The  spell  that  so  divinely  bound  me  ? 
Why  did  I  wake  !  how  could  1  wake 

With  thee  my  own  and  heaven  around  me  ? 


WELL — peace  to  thy  heart,  though  another's  it  be, 
And  health  to  thy  cheek,  though  it  bloom  not  for  mo  . 
To-morrow,  I  sail  for  those  cinnamon  groves, 
Where  nightly  the  ghost  of  the  Carribee  roves, 
And,  far  from  thine  eye,  oh  !  perhaps,  I  may  yet 
Its  seduction  forgive  and  its  splendour  forget ! 
Farewell  to  Bermuda,4  and  long  may  the  bloom 
Of  the  lemon  and  myrtle  its  vallies  perfume ; 
May  spring  to  eternity  hallow  the  shade, 
Where  Ariel  has  warbled  and  Waller4  has  stray'd  ! 
And  thou — when,  at  dawn,  thou  shall  happen  to  roam 
Through  the  lime-cover'd  alley  that  leads  to  thy  home, 
Where  oft,  -when  the  dance  and  the  revel  were  done, 
And  the  stars  were  beginning  to  fade  in  the  sun, 
I  have  led  thee  along,  and  have  told  by  the  way 
What  my  heart  all  the  night  had  been  burning  to  say — 
Oh  !  think  of  the  past — give  a  sigh  to  those  times, 
And  a  blessing  for  me  to  that  alley  of  limes  ! 


IF  I  were  yonder  wave,  my  dear, 
And  thou  the  isle  it  clasps  around, 

I  would  not  let  a  foot  come  near 
My  land  of  bliss,  my  fairy  ground ! 


1  Bracelets  of  this  shape  were  a  favourite  ornament  among 
the  women  of  antiquity.  O«  «a-ixafario»  o<f«.jx*i  «i  xp<""«» 
*•<£»«    fc»«iJoj    x*i    AfXTTxyofxt    x<*«     AxiSof    $»(pxxa. 
Philostrat.  Epist.  xl.    Lucian  too  tells  of  the  Cpx^ioio-i  Sfx- 
xovrif.     See  his  Amores,  where  he  describes  the  dressing- 
room  of  a  Grecian  lady,  and  we  find  the  "  silver  vase,"  the 
rouge,  the  tooth-powder,  and  all  the  "  mystic  order"  of  a 
modern  toilet. 

2  Txpavfivifiov,    Xix<fxvif    ivfv/ta,    a>rt/i»fffiitir    ttn-o 
r>|{  Txfxmvuir  Xf<l<riuiS  *»'  ffvsti. — Pollux. 

3  Apiana,  mentioned  by  Pliny,  Lib.  xiv.  and  "now  called 
the  Muscatel)  (a  muscarum  lehsh")  says  Pancirollus,  Book 
i.  Sect.  1.  dhap.  17. 

4  The  inhabitants  pronounce  the  name  as  if  it  were  writ- 
ten Bermooda.     See  the  commentators  on  the  words  "  still- 
vex'd  Bermoothes,"  in  the  Tempest.     I  wonder  it  did  not 
occur  to  some  of  those  all-reading  gentlemen  that,  possibly, 
the  discoverer  of  this  "island  of  hogs  and  devils"  might 
have  been  no  less  a  personage  than  the  great  John  Rcrnm- 
dez,  who,  about  the  same  period,  (the  beginning  of  the  six- 
teenth century,)  was  sent  Patriarch  of  the  Latin  Cnurch  to 
Ethiopia,   and   has  led  us  most  wonderful  stories  of  the 
Amazons  and  the  Griffins,  which  he  encountered.     Travrlt 
of  the  Jesuits,  Vol.   I.     I  am  afraid,  however,  it  would 
take  the  Patriarch  rather  too  much  out  of  his  way. 

5  Johnson  does  not  think  that  Waller  wns  ever  at  Bermu 
da;  but  the  "Account  of  the   European  Settlement*   in 
America,"  affirms  it  confidently.    (Vol.11.)     I  mention  thii 
work,  however,  less  for  its  authority,  than  for  the  pleasure  1 
feel  in  quitting  an  unacknowledg^a  production  of  hi  great 
Edmund  Burke. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


If  I  were  yonder  couch  of  gold, 

And  thou  th«  pearl  within  it  plac'd, 
J  would  not  let  tn  eye  behold 

The  sacred  gem  my  arnw  embrac  d 
If  I  were  yonder  orange-tree, 

And  thou  th«  blossom  blooming  there, 
I  would  no*  yield  a  breath  of  thee, 

To  scent  the  most  imploring  air ! 
Oh !  bend  not  o'er  the  water's  brink, 

Give  not  the  wave  that  rosy  sigh, 
Nor  let  its  burning  mirror  drink 
1  The  soft  reflection  of  thine  eye. 

Tint  glossy  hair,  that  glowing  check, 
Upon  the  billows  pour  their  beam 

So  warmly,  that  my  soul  could  seek 
Its  NBA  in  the  painted  stream. 

The  painted  stream  ray  chilly  grave 
And  nuptial  bed  at  once  may  be, 

Til  wed  thee  in  that  mimic  wave, 
And  die  upon  the  shade  of  thee  ! 

Behold  the  leafy  mangrove,  bending 
O'er  the  waters  blue  and  bright, 

Like  NKA'S  silky  lashes,  lending 
Shadow  to  her  eyes  of  light1 

Oh,  my  beloved !  where'er  1  turn, 
Some  trace  of  thee  enchants  mine  eyes, 

In  every  star  thy  glances  burn, 
Thy  blush  on  every  flow  ret  lies. 

But  then  thy  breath ! — not  all  the  fire, 
That  lights  the  lone  SemendaV  death 

In  eastern  climes  could  e'er  respire 
An  odour  like  thy  dulcet  breath ! 

I  pray  thee,  on  those  lips  of  thine 

To  wear  this  rosy  leaf  for  me, 
And  breathe  of  something  not  divine, 

Since  nothing  human  breathes  of  thee ! 

All  other  charms  of  thine  I  meet 

In  nature,  but  thy  sigh  alone ; 
Then  take,  oh !  take,  though  not  so  sweet, 

The  breath  of  roses  for  thine  own ! 

So,  while  I  walk  the  flowery  grove, 
The  bud  that  gives,  through  morning  dew, 

The  lustre  of  the  lips  I  love, 
May  seem  to  give  their  perfume  too  ! 


ON  SEEING  AN  INFANT  IN  NEA'S  ARMS. 

THE  first  ambrosial  child  of  bliss, 

That  Psyche  to  her  bosom  prest, 
Was  not  a  brighter  babe  than  thia, 

Nor  blush'd  upon  a  lovelier  breast ! 
Hi»  little  snow-white  fingers,  straying 

Along  her  lips'  luxuriant  flower, 
Look'd  like  a  flight  of  ring-doves  playing, 

Silvery  through  a  roseate  bower ! 
And  when,  to  shade  the  playful  boy, 

H.T  dark  hair  fell,  in  mazes  bright, 


1  R«4Wunt  Uimn  quidim  in  inteiiure  India  avem  ess 
A»m.  etc.    Cardin.  10  tie  Subtilitat.    Cow 
to  think  Senwodt  but  inollicr  name  for  ti 
ExrrtitaL  233. 


Oh !  'twas  a  type  of  stolen  joy, 
'Twas  love  beneath  the  veil  of  night ! 

Soft  as  she  smil'd,  he  smil'd  again  ;  ^ 

They  seem'd  so  kindred  in  their  charms, 

That  one  might  think,  the  babe  had  then 
Just  budded  in  her  blooming  arms ! 


THE  SNOW  SPIRIT. 

Tu  poles  insulitas,  Cynthia,  ferre  nives  ? 

Propert   Lib.  i.  Eleg.  8. 

o,  ne'er  did  the  wave  in  its  element  steep 
An  island  of  loveuer  charms ; 
blooms  in  the  giant  embrace  of  the  deep, 
Like  Hebe  in  Hercules'  arms ! 
he  tint  of  your  bowers  is  balm  to  the  eye, 
Their  melody  balm  to  the  ear ; 
ut  the  fiery  planet  of  day  is  too  nigh, 
And  the  Snow-Spirit  never  com<;s  here  ! 
he  down  from  his  wing  is  as  white  as  the  pearl 
Thy  lips  for  their  cabinet  stole, 
nd  it  falls  on  the  green  earth  as  melting,  my  girl, 

As  a  murmur  of  thine  on  the  soul ! 
h,  fly  to  the  clime,  where  he  pillows  the  death, 

As  he  cradles  the  birth  of  the  year ; 

right  are  your  bowers  and  balmy  their  breath, 

But  the  Snow-Spirit  cannot  come  here  ! 
How  sweet  to  behold  him,  when  borne  on  the  gale, 

And  brightening  the  bosom  of  morn, 
H(*  flings,  like  the  priest  of  Diana,  a  veil 

O'er  the  brow  of  each  virginal  thorn  ! 
fet  think  not,  the  veil  he  so  chillingly  casts, 

Is  a  veil  of  a  vestal  severe ; 
STo,  no, — thou  wilt  see,  what  a  moment  it  lasts, 

Should  the  Snow-Spirit  ever  come  here  ! 

Jut  fly  to  his  region — lay  open  thy  zone, 

nd  he'll  weep  all  his  brilliancy  dim, 
7o  think  that  a  bosom,  as  white  as  his  own, 

Should  not  melt  in  the  day-beam  like  him ! 
Oh  !  lovely  the  print  of  those  delicate  feet 

O'er  his  luminous  path  will  appear — 
f\y  !  my  beloved !  this  island  is  sweet, 

But  the  Snow-Spirit  cannot  come  here  ! 


oux  oij»-  Xfv<ri|  J' 


niv.  xai  o,  ri  /icv  ove/t*  rtf  nffi 
rpo;  yi  s«=u  01  c/^acCoiTO. 
Philostrat.  Icon.  17.  Lib.  2. 


I  STOLE  along  the  flowery  bank, 
While  many  a  bending  sea-grape1  drank 
The  sprinkle  of  the  feathery  oar 
That  wing'd  me  round  this  fairy  shore  ! 
'Twas  noon  ;  and  every  orange  bud 
Hung  languid  o'er  the  crystal  flood, 
Faint  as  the  lids  of  maiden  eyes 
Beneath  a  lover's  burning  sighs  ! 
Oh  for  a  naiad's  sparry  bower, 
To  shade  me  in  that  glowing  hour! 

A  little  dove,  of  milky  hue, 
Before  me  front  a  plantain  flew, 


1  The  sea-side  or  manjrrovt,  grape,  a.  native  of  the  \V«»» 
Indies. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


115 


And,  light,  along  the  water's  brim, 

I  steered  my  gentle  bark  by  Mm ; 

For  Fancy  told  me,  Love  had  sent 

This  snowy  bird  of  blandishment, 

To  lead  me  where  my  soul  should  meet — 

I  knew  not  \vliat,  but  something  sweet. 

Blest  be  the  little  pilot  dove ! 
He  had  indeed  been  sent  by  Love, 
To  guide  me  to  a  scene  so  dear, 
As  Fate  allows  but  seldom  here  : 
One  of  those  rare  and  brilliant  hours, 
Which,  like  the  aloe's'  lingering  flowers, 
May  blossom  to  the  eye  of  man 
But  once  in  all  his  weary  span ! 

Just  where  the  margin's  opening  shade 

A  vista  from  the  waters  made, 

My  bird  repos'd  his  silver  plume 

Upon  a  rich  banana's  bloom. 

Oh,  vision  bright !  oh,  spirit  fair ! 

What  spell,  what  magic  rais'd  her  there  ? 

'Twas  NEA  !  slumbering  calm  and  mild, 

And  bloomy  as  the  dimpled  child 

Whose  spirit  in  elysium  keeps 

Its  playful  sabbath,  while  he  sleeps  ! 

The  broad  banana's  green  embrace 
Hung  shadowy  round  each  tranquil  grace ; 
One  little  beam  alone  could  win 
The  leaves  to  let  it  wander  in, 
And,  stealing  over  all  her  charms, 
From  lip  to  cheek,  from  neck  to  arms, 
It  glanc'd  around  a  fiery  kiss, 
All  trembling,  as  it  went,  with  bliss! 

Her  eyelid's  black  and  silken  fringe 
Lay  on  her  cheek,  of  vermil  tinge, 
Like  the  first  ebon  cloud,  that  closes 
Dark  on  evening's  heaven  of  roses  ! 
Her  glances,  though  in  slumber  hid, 
Seem'd  glowing  through  their  ivory  lid, 
And  o'er  her  lip's  reflecting  dew 
A  soft  and  liquid  lustre  threw, 
Such  as,  declining  dim  and  faint, 
The  lamp  of  some  beloved  saint 
Doth  shed  upon  a  flowery  wreath, 
Which  pious  hands  have  hung  beneath. 
Was  ever  witchery  half  so  sweet ! 
Think,  think  how  all  my  pulses  beat, 
As  o'er  the  rustling  bank  I  stole — 
Oh  !  you,  that  know  the  lover's  soul, 
It  is  for  you  to  dream  the  bliss, 
The  tremblings  of  an  hour  like  this ! 


ON  THE  LOSS  OF  A  LETTER  INTENDED 
FOR  NEA. 

OH  !  it  was  fill'd  with  words  of  flame, 

With  all  the  wishes  wild  and  dear, 
Which  love  may  write,  but  dares  not  name, 

Which  woman  reads,  but  must  not  hear ! 


1  The  Agave,  I  know  lh:it  this  is  nn  erroneous  itlen,  but 
It  is  i|iiile  true  enough  for  poetry.  Plato,  I  think,  allows  a 
poet  to  bo  "three  removes  from  truth;"  T{IT«TO{  «^o 


Of  many  a  nightly  dream  it  told, 

When  all  that  chills  the  heart  by  day, 
The  worldly  doubt,  the  caution  cold, 

In  Fancy's  fire  dissolve  away  ! 
When  soul  and  soul  divinely  meet, 

Free  from  the  senses'  guilty  shame, 
And  mingle  in  a  sigh  so  sweet, 

As  virtue's  seJf  would  blush  to  blame ! 

How  could  he  lose  such  tender  words  ? 

Words !  that  of  themselves  should  spring 
To  NEA'S  ear,  like  panting  birds, 

With  heart  and  soul  upon  their  wing1 

Oh  !  fancy  what  they  dar'd  to  speak ; 

Think  all  a  virgin's  shame  can  dread, 
Nor  pause  until  thy  conscious  cheek 

Shall  burn  with  thinking  all  they  said ! 
And  I  shall  feign,  shall  fancy,  too, 

Some  dear  reply  thou  might'st  have  given- 
Shall  make  that  lip  distil  its  dew 

In  promise  bland  and  hopes  of  heaven ! 
Shall  think  it  tells  of  future  days, 

When  the  averted  cheek  will  turn, 
When  eye  with  eye  shall  mingle  rays, 

And  lip  to  lip  shall  closely  burn ! — 

Ah  !  if  this  flattery  is  not  thine, 
If  colder  hope  thy  answer  brings, 

I'll  wish  thy  words  were  lost  like  mine, 
Since  I  can  dreain  such  dearer  things 


I  FOUND  her  not — the  chamber  seem'd 

Like  some  divinely  haunted  place, 
Where  fairy  forms  had  lately  beam'd 

And  left  behind  their  odorous  trace  ! 
It  felt,  as  if  her  lips  had  shed 
A  sigh  around  her,  ere  she  fled, 
Which  hung,  as  on  a  melting  lute, 
When  all  the  silver  chords  are  mute, 
There  lingers  still  a  trembling  breath 
After  the  note's  luxurious  death, 
A  shade  of  song,  a  spirit  air 
Of  melodies  which  had  been  there  ! 
I  saw  the  web,  which  all  the  day, 

Had  floated  o'er  her  cheek  of  rose ; 
I  saw  the  couch,  where  late  she  lay 

In  languor  of  divine  repose ! 
And  I  could  trace  the  hallow'd  print 

Her  limbs  had  left,  as  pure  and  warm 
As  if  'twere  done  in  rapture's  mint, 

And  love  himself  had  stamp'd  tha  form  . 
Oh,  NEA  !  NEA  !  where  wcrt  thou  7 

In  pity  fly  not  thus  from  me  ; 
Thou  art  my  life,  my  essence  now, 

And  my  soul  dies  of  wanting  thee  ! 


A  KISS  A  L' ANTIQUE. 

BEHOLD,  my  love,  the  curious  gem 
Within  this  simple  ring  of  gold  ; 

'Tis  hallow'd  by  the  touch  of  them 
Who  liv'd  in  classic  hours  of  old 


116 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Some  frir  Athenian  girl,  perhaps, 

Upon  her  band  this  gem  display'd, 
Nor  thought  that  time',  eternal  lapse 

Should  *ee  it  (race  a  lovelier  maid ! 
Look,  darling,  what  a  tweet  design  ! 

The  more  we  gate,  it  charms  the  more : 
Come,— closer  bring  that  cheek  to  mine, 

And  trace  with  me  iu  beauties  o'er. 

Thou  tee'tt,  it  it  a  simple  youth 
By  some  enamour'd  nymph  embrac'd — 

Look,  NKA,  lore !  and  say,  in  sooth, 
Is  not  her  hand  moat  dearly  plac'd ! 

Upon  his  curled  head  behind 
It  teems  in  careless  play  to  lie,1 

Yet  presses  gently,  half  inclin'd 
To  bring  his  lip  of  nectar  nigh  ! 

Oh  happy  maid !  too  happy  boy ! 
The  one  to  fond  and  family  loath, 

The  other  yielding  slow  to  joy- 
Ob,  rare  indeed,  but  blissful  both ! 

Imagine,  lore,  that  I  am  he, 
And  just  at  warm  as  he  is  chilling ; 

Imagine,  too,  that  thou  art  she, 
But  quite  as  cold  at  she  is  willing : 

So  may  we  try  the  graceful  way 
In  which  their  gentle  arms  are  twin'd, 

And  thus,  like  her,  my  hand  I  lay 
Upon  thy  wreathed  hair  behind : 

And  thus  I  feel  thee  breathing  sweet, 
At  slow  to  mine  thy  head  I  more ; 

And  thus  our  lips  together  meet, 
Aad — thus  I  kiss  thee — oh,  my  love ! 


Jirittol.  Rketor.  Lib.  iii.  Cap.  4. 
THERE  '•  not  a  look,  a  word  of  thine 

My  soul  hath  e'er  forgot ; 
Thou  ne'er  hast  bid  a  ringlet  shine, 
Nor  gir'n  thy  locks  one  graceful  twine, 

Which  I  remember  not ! 
There  never  yet  a  murmur  fell 

From  that  beguiling  tongue, 
Which  did  not,  with  a  lingering  spell, 
Upon  my  charmed  senses  dwell, 

Like  something  heaven  had  sung ! 
Ah !  that  I  could,  at  once,  forget 

All,  all  that  haunts  me  so— 
And  yet,  thou  witching  girl !— and  yet, 
To  die  were  tweeter,  than  to  let 

The  lor'd  remembrance  go ! 
No ;  if  this  slighted  heart  mutt  tee 

Its  faithful  pul«e  decay, 
Oh!  let  it  die,  remembering  thee, 
And,  like  the  burnt  aroma,  be 

Consum'd  in  tweed  away ! 


EPISTLE  V. 
TO  JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ. 

FROM   BERMUDA.1 

March. 

"  THK  daylight  is  gone — but,  before  we  depart, 
One  cup  shall  go  round  to  the  friend  of  my  heart, 
To  the  kindest,  the  dearest — oh !  judge  by  the  tear, 
That  I  shed  while  I  name  him,  how  kind  and  how 
dear!"     , 

'Twos  thus,  by  the  shade  of  a  calabash-tree, 
With  a  few  who  could  feel  and  remember  like  me, 
The  charm,  that  to  sweeten  my  goblet  I  threw, 
Was  a  tear  to  the  past  and  a  blessing  on  you  ! 

Oh !  say,  do  you  thus,  in  the  luminous  hour 
Of  wine  and  of  wit,  when  the  heart  is  in  flower, 
And  shoots  from  the  lip,  under  Bacchus 's  dew, 
In  blossoms  of  thought  ever  springing  and  new ! 
Do  you  sometimes  remember,  and  hallow  the  brim 
Of  your  cup  with  a  sigh,  as  you  crown  it  to  him, 
Who  is  lonely  and  sad  in  these  vallies  so  fair, 
And  would  pine  in  elysium,  if  friends  were  not  there 


of. 

°f 


Florenti- 


1  Pinkertun  has  said  that  "  a  good  history  and  descriptiot 
of  the  Bermudas  might  afford  a  pleasing  addition  to  the 
geographical  library;"  but  there  certainly  are  not  materials 
;or  such  a  work.  The  island,  since  the  time  of  iu  disco- 
very, has  experienced  so  very  few  vicissitudes,  the  people 
lave  been  so  imlolent,  and  their  trade  so  limited,  that  there 
u  but  little  which  the  historian  could  amplify  into  impor- 
tance; and,  with  respect  to  the  natural  productions  of  the 
country,  the  few  which  the  inhabitants  can  be  induced  to 
:ultivate  are  so  common  in  the  West  Indies,  that  they  have 
>>een  described  by  every  naturalist,  who  has  written  any 
account  of  those  islands. 

It  is  often  asserted  by  the  transatlantic  politicians,  that 
this  little  colony  deserves  more  attention  from  the  mother- 
country  than  it  receives ;  and  it  certainly  possesses  advan- 
tages of  situation,  to  which  we  should  not  be  long  insensible, 
if  it  were  once  in  the  hands  of  an  enemy.  I  was  told  by  a 
celvrated  friend  of  Washington,  at  New- York,  that  they 
bad  formed  a  plan  for  its  capture,  towards  the  conclusion  of 
:he  American  War;  "with  the  intention  (as  he  expressed 
limself,)  of  making  it  a  nest  of  hornets  for  the  annoyanco 
of  British  trade  in  that  part  of  the  world."  And  there  is 
no  doubt,  it  lies  so  fairly  in  the  track  to  the  West  Indies,, 
that  an  enemy  might  with  ease  convert  it  into  a  very  haras- 
sing impediment. 

The  plan  of  Bishop  Berkeley  for  a  college  at  Bermuda, 
where  American  savages  might  be  converted  and  educated, 
though  concurred  in  by  the  government  of  the  day,  was  a 
wild  and  useless  speculation.  Mr.  Hamilton,  who  was  go- 
vernor of  the  island  some  years  since,  proposed,  if  I  mistake 
not,  the  establishment  of  a  marine  academy  for  the  instruc- 
tion of  those  children  of  West  Indians,  who  might  be  in- 
tended for  any  nautical  employment.  This  was  a  more 
rational  idea,  and  for  something  of  this  nature  the  island  is 
admirnbly  calculated.  But  the  plan  should  be  much  more 
extensive,  and  embrace  a  general  system  of  education, 
which  would  entirely  remove  the  alternative,  in  which  the 
colonists  are  involved  at  present,  of  either  sending  their  sons 
to  England  for  instruction,  or  entrusting  them  to  colleges  in 
the  States  of  America,  where  ideas  by  no  means  favour- 
able to  Great  Britain,  are  very  sedulously  inculcated. 

The  wompn  of  Bermuda,  though  not  generally  handsome, 
have  an  affectionate  languor  in  their  look  and  manner, 
which  is  always  interesting.  What  the  French  imply  by 
their  epithet  aimante  seems  very  much  the  character  of  the 
ynungBermudiangirl* — that  predisposition  to  loving,  which, 
without  being  awakened  by  any  particular  object,  diffuses 
itself  through  the  general  manner  in  a  tone  of  tenderness 
that  never  fails  to  htewate,  The  men  of  the  island,  [  con 
few,  ire  not  very  civilized;  and  the  old  philosopher,  who 
imsg'.-ied  th«t,  after  this  life,  men  would  be  changed  into 
mules,  and  women  into  turtle-doves,  would  find  the  uieta 
morphosis  in  some  degree  anticipated  at  Bermuda. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


117 


Last  night,  when  we  came  from  the  calabash-tree, 
When  my  limbs  were  at  rest  and  my  spirit  was  free, 
The  glow  of  the  grape  and  the  dreams  of  the  day, 
Put  the  magical  springs  of  my  fancy  in  play ; 
And  oh  ! — such  a  vision  as  haunted  me  then 
I  could  slumber  for  ages  to  witness  again ! 
The  many  I  like,  and  the  few  I  adore, 
The  friends,  who  were  dear  and  beloved  before, 
But  never  till  now  so  beloved  and  dear, 
At  the  call  of  my  fancy  surrounded  me  here ! 
Soon,  soon  did  the  flattering  spell  of  their  smile 
To  a  paradise  brighten  the  blest  little  isle  ; 
Serener  the  wave,  as  they  look'd  on  it,  flow'd, 
And  warmer  the  rose,  as  they  galher'd  it,  glow'd  ! 
Not  the  vallies  Ileraan  (though  water'd  by  rills 
Of  the  pearliest  flow,  from  those  pastoral  hills,1 
Where  the  song  of  the  shepherd,  primaeval  and  wild, 
Was  taught  to  the  nymphs  by  their  mystical  child,) 
Could  display  such  a  bloom  of  delight,  as  was  given 
By  the  magic  of  love  to  this  miniature  heaven ! 

Oh,  magic  of  love  !  unembellish'd  by  you, 

Has  the  garden  a  blush  or  the  herbage  a  hue  ? 

Or  blooms  there  a  prospect  in  nature  or  art, 

Like  the  vista  that  shines  through  the  eye  to  the  heart? 

Alas  !  that  a  vision  so  happy  should  fade  ! 
That,  when  morning  around  me  in  brilliancy  play'd, 
The  rose  and  the  stream  I  had  thought  of  at  night 
Should  still  be  before  me,  unfadingly  bright ; 
While  the  friends,  who  had  seem'd  to  hang  over  the 

stream, 
And  to  gather  the  roses,  had  fled  with  my  dream ! 

But  see,  through  the  harbour,  in  floating  array, 
The  bark  that  must  carry  these  pages  away,2 
Impatiently  flutters  her  wings  to  the  wind, 
And  will  soon  leave  the  bowers  of  Ariel  behind! 
What  billows,  what  gales  is  she  fated  to  prove, 
Ere  she  sleep  in  the  lee  of  the  land  that  I  love ! 
Yet  pleasant  the  swell  of  those  billows  would  be, 
And  the  sound  of  those  gales  would  be  music  to  me  ! 
Not  the  tranquillest  air  that  the  winds  ever  blew, 
Not  the  silvery  lapse  of  the  summer-eve  dew, 
vVere  as  sweet  as  the  breeze,  or  as  bright  as  the  foam 
Of  the  wave,  that  would  carry  your  wanderer  home  ! 


LOVE  AND  REASON. 

Quand  1'liomme  commence  a  raisonner,  il  cessc  de  soiitir.' 
J.  ./.  Kousscau.3 

'TWAS  in  the  summer-time  so  sweet, 

When  hearts  and  flowers  are  both  in  season, 

That — who,  of  all  the  world,  should  meet, 
One  early  dawn,  but  Love  and  Reason ! 

Love  told  his  dream  of  yester-night, 
While  Reason  talk'-?  about  the  weather; 

The  morn,  in  sooth,  was  fair  and  bright, 
And  on  they  took  their  way  together. 


\  Mountains  of  Sicily,  upon  which  Daphni?,  the  fir>t  m- 
*tntor  of  bucolic  poi.:r>,  «us  n..rscd  by  tlie  nynr  h 
tLi  lively  (!oscri;>t:oi:  of  these  mountains  in  Diod .  .- 
uN,  Lib   iv.     HfXia  yaj    t^n   X.ZTX  T>[I>  i-'ixs/.ixn  i«-ri»,  » 
9 <xo'»  xx\Xc*  x    v.  X. 

2  A  »hio,  Toai'v  *o  sail  for  Knslaml. 

3  Quoted  i ouie -vucio  IH  Sn.  Pierre's  Etudes  de  la  Nature,  i 


The  boy  in  many  a  gambol  flew, 
While  Reason,  like  a  Juno  stalk'd, 

And  from  her  portly  figure  threw 
A  lengthen'd  shadow,  as  she  walk'd. 

No  wonder  Love,  as  on  they  pass'd, 
Should  find  that  sunny  morning  chill, 

For  still  the  shadow  Reason  cast 
Fell  on  the  boy,  and  cool'd  him  still. 

In  vain  he  tried  his  wings  to  warm, 

Or  find  a  pathway  not  so  dim, 
For  still  the  maid's  gigantic  form 

Would  pass  between  the  sun  and  him ! 

"  This  must  not  be,"  said  little  Love — 
"  The  sun  was  made»for  more  than  you  * 

So,  turning  through  a  myrtle  grove, 
He  bid  the  portly  nymph  adieu  I 

Now  gaily  roves  the  laughing  boy 

O'er  many  a  mead,  by  many  a  stream ; 

In  every  breeze  inhaling  joy, 
And  drinking  bliss  in  eve'ry  beam. 

From  all  the  gardens,  all  the  bowers, 
He  cull'd  the  many  sweets  they  shaded, 

And  ate  the  fruits,  and  smelt  the  flowers, 
Till  taste  was  gone  and  odour  faded ! 

But  now  the  sun,  in  pomp  of  noon, 
Look'd  blazing  o'er  the  parched  plains  ; 

Alas  !  the  boy  grew  languid  soon, 
And  fever  thrill'd  through  all  his  veins ' 

The  dew  forsook  his  baby  brow, 

No  more  with  vivid  bloom  he  smil'd — 

Oh  !  where  was  tranquil  Reason  now, 
To  cast  her  shadow  o'er  the  child  1 

Beneath  a  green  and  aged  palm, 

His  foot  at  length  for  shelter  turning, 

He  saw  the  nymph  reclining  calm, 
With  brow  as  cool  &  his  was  burning ! 

"  Oh  !  take  me  to  that  bosom  cold," 
In  murmurs  at  her  feet  he  said  : 

And  Reason  op'd  her  garment's  fold, 
And  flung  it  round  his  fever'd  head. 

He  felt  her  bosom's  icy  touch, 

And  soon  it  lull'd  his  pulse  to  rest ; 

For,  ah  !  the  chill  was  quite  too  much, 
And  Love  expir'd  on  Reason's  breast ! 


NAT,  do  not  weep,  my  FANNY  dca  ! 

While  in  these  arms  you  lie, 
The  world  hath  not  a  wish,  a  fear, 
That  ought  to  claim  one  precious  tear 

From  that  beloved  eye ! 

The  world! — ah,  FANNY!  love  must  shun 

The  p:ith  where  many  rove ; 
One  bosom  to  recline  upon, 
One  heart  to  be  his  only  one, 

Are  quite  enough  for  love ! 

What  can  wo  wish,  that  is  not  hrre 
Between  your  arms  and  mine  ? 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1*  there,  on  earth,  •  *pace  so  dear, 
A»  lhat  within  the  bleased  sphere 
Two  loving  arm*  entwine ! 

For  me  there  '•  not  a  lock  of  jet 

Along  your  temple*  curl'd, 
Within  who**  glos*y,  tangled  net, 
My  soul  doth  not,  at  once,  forget 
All,  all  the  worthless  world ! 

Ti»  in  your  eyes,  my  sweetest  lore! 

My  only  worlds  1  see ; 
Let  but  their  orbs  in  sunshine  move, 
And  earth  below  and  skies  above 

May  frown  or  smile  for  me ! 


ASPASIA. 

TWAS  in  the  fair  ASPASIA'S  bower, 
That  Lore  and  Learning  many  an  hour, 
in  dalliance  met,  and  Learning  smil'd, 
With  rapture  on  the  playful  child, 
Who  wanton  stole  to  find  his  neat 
Within  a  fold  of  Learning's  vest ! 

There,  as  the  listening  statesman  hung 
In  transport  on  ASPASIA'S  tongue, 
The  destinies  of  Athens  took 
Their  colour  from  ASPASIA'S  look. 
Oh  happy  time !  when  laws  of  state, 
When  all  that  rul'd  the  country's  fate, 
Its  glory,  quiet,  or  alarms, 
Was  plann'd  between  two  snowy  arms ! 

Sweet  time*  !  you  could  not  always  last — 
And  yet,  oh !  yet,  you  ore  not  past ; 
Though  we  have  lost  the  sacred  mould, 
In  which  their  men  were  cast  of  old, 
Woman,  dear  woman,  still  the  same, 
While  lip*  are  balm,  and  looks  are  flame, 
While  man  possesses  heart  or  eyes, 
Woman's  bright  empire  never  die* ! 

FANXT,  my  love,  they  ne'er  shall  say, 
That  beauty's  charm  hath  pasa'd  away ; 
No— give  the  universe  a  soul 
Attun'd  to  woman's  soft  control, 
And  FANNY  hath  the  charm,  the  skill, 
To  wiekl  a  universe  at  will ! 


THE  GRECIAN  GIRL'S  DREAM  OF  THE 
BLESH.I)  1SI.\NUS.' 

TO  HER   LOVER. 


:pon  my  breath  thy  sigh  yet  faintly  hung; 
Thy  name  yet  died  in  whispers  o'er  my  tongue , 
heard  thy  lyre,  which  thou  hadst  left  behind, 
n  amorous  converse  with  the  breathing  wind ; 
Quick  to  my  heart  I  press'd  the  shell  divine, 
And,  with  a  lip  yet  glowing  warm  from  thine, 

kiss'd  its  every  chord,  while  every  kiss 
Shed  o'er  the  chord  some  dewy  print  of  bliss. 
Then  soft  to  thee  1  touch'd  the  fervid  lyre, 
rVhich  told  such  melodies,  such  notes  of  fire 
As  none  but  chords,  that  drank  the  burning  dews 
Of  kisses  dear  as  ours,  could  e'er  diffuse: 
Oh  love !  how  blissful  is  the  bland  repose, 
Hiat  soothing  follows  upon  rapture's  close, 
jke  a  soft  twilight,  o'er  the  mind  to  shed 
Mild  melting  traces  of  the  transport  fled  ! 

While  thus  I  lay,  in  this  voluptuous  calm, 
4  drowsy  languor  steep'd  my  eyes  in  balm, 
Upon  my  lap  the  lyre  in  murmurs  fell, 
While,  faintly  wandering  o'er  its  silver  shell, 
tfy  fingers  soon  their  own  sweet  requiem  play'd, 
And  slept  in  music  which  themselves  had  made ! 
Then,  then,  my  THEON,  what  a  heavenly  dream ' 

saw  two  spirits,  on  the  lunar  beam, 
Two  winged  boys,  descending  from  above, 
And  gliding  to  my  bower  with  looks  of  love, 
Like  the  young  genii,  who  repose  their  wings 
All  day  in  Amatha's  luxurious  springs,1 
And  rise  at  midnight,  from  the  tepid  rill 
To  cool  their  plumes  upon  some  moon-light  hill ! 

Soft  o'er  my  brow,  which  kindled  with  their  sighs, 
Awhile  they  play'd ;  then  gliding  through  my  eyes, 
(Where  the  bright  babies,  for  a  moment,  hung, 
Like  those  thy  Up  hath  kiss'd,  thy  lyre  hath  sung,) 
To  that  dim  mansion  of  my  breast  they  stole, 
Where,  wreath'd  in  blisses  lay  my  captive  souL 
Swift  at  their  touch  dissolv'd  the  ties  that  clung 
So  sweetly  round  her,  and  aloft  she  sprung ! 
Exulting  guides,  the  little  genii  flew 
Through  paths  of  light,  refresh'd  with  starry  dew. 
And  fann'd  by  airs  of  that  ambrosial  breath, 
On  which  the  free  soul  banquets  after  death ! 

Thou  know'st,  my  love,  beyond  our  clouded  skies, 
As  bards  have  dream' d,  the  spirits'  kingdom  lies. 
Through  that  fair  clime  a  sea  of  ether  rolls2 
Gemm'd  with  bright  islands,  where  the  hallow'd  souls, 


*>:•  TI  icakc; 
trrii  TI  X«f"  rrtifi 


fi  IU.T.H.    OranL  Marie. 
m  Joan.  Opstp.  Collect*. 


WAI  h  the  moon,  or  wa*  h  morningYray, 
Thai  caU'd  thee,  dear**,  from  the*e  arms  away  ? 
I  Ingci'd  Kill,  in  all  the  murmuring  rest, 
The  languor  of  a  soul  too  richly  blest  ! 


sou*  of  UM  ancient,  that  there  i 
M  Mhrml  oeM*  abort  «*,  and  that  the  sun  and  moon  are 


two  floating,  luminous  islands,  in  which  the  spirits  of  the 
blessed  reside.  Accordingly  we  rind  ihul  (he  word  ilxixi :; 
wai  sometimes  synonymous  with  *'.(,  and  death  was  not 
unfrequuntly  called  Uxiavgto  srofof,  or  "  the  passage  of  the 
ocean." 

I  Eunapius,  in  hig  life  of  Jamblichus,  tells  us  of  two 
beautiful  little  spirits  or  loves,  which  Jamblichus  raised  liv 
enchantment  from  the  warm  springs  at  Gadara;  "cliccni 
utantibus  (says  the  author  of  the  Dii  Fatidici,  p.  1GO)  iliiu 
es»e  loci  Genios:"  which  words  however  are  not  in  Euna- 
pius. 

I  find  from  Cellarius,  that  Amatha,  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  Gardara,  was  also  celebrated  for  its  warm  sprii^'- 
hare  preferred  it  as  a  more  poe;ical  name  than  Godara. 
Cellarius  quotes  Hieronymus.  "  Est  et  alia  villa  in  vicinia 
Gadane  nomine  Amatha,  ubi  calidx  aquie  erumpunt." — 
Geograph.  Antiq.  I,ib.  in.  cap.  13. 

!ielief  of  an  ocean  in  the  heavens,  or"  waters  above 
the  firmament,"  was  one  of  the  many  physical  errors  in 
which  the  early  fathers  bewildered  themselves.  Le  P.  Haltu*, 
in  his  "Defense  den  minis  Peres  accuses  de  Plalonisme," 
'.akinj  it  for  prnntod  that  the  ancients  were  more  correct  in 
their  notions,  (which  by  no  means  appears  from  whul  I  have 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


II J 


Whom  life  hath  wearied  in  its  race  of  hours 

Repose  for  ever  in  unfading  bowers  ! 

That  very  orb,  whose  solitary  light 

So  often  guides  thee  to  my  amis  at  night, 

Is  no  chill  planet,  but  an  isle  of  love, 

Floating,  in  splendour,  through  those  seas  above  ! 

Thither,  I  thought,  we  wiug'd  our  airy  way, 

Mild  o'er  its  valley  s  stream'd  a  silvery  day, 

While,  all  around,  on  lily  beds  of  rest, 

Reclin'd  the  spirits  of  the  immortal  Blest !' 

Oh  !  there  I  met  those  few  congenial  maids, 

Whom  love  hath  warm'd,  in  philosophic  shades ; 

There  still  Lenutium-  on  her  sage's  breast, 

Found  lore  and  love,  was  tutor'd  and  caress'd ; 

And  there  the  twine  of  Pythias'3  gentle  arms 

Repaid  the  zeal  which  deified  her  charms ! 

The  Attic  .Master,4  in  Aspasia's  eyes 

Forgot  the  toil  of  less  endearing  ties  ; 

While  fair  Theano,"  innocently  fair, 

PKiy'd  with  the  ringlets  of  her  Samian's  hair.' 


llready  quoted;  adduces  the  obstinacy  of  the  lathers  in  this 
whimsical  opinion,  as  a  proof  of  their  repugnance  to  even 
Tilth  from  the  hands  of  the  philosophers.  This  is  a  strange 
way  of  defending  the  lathers,  and  attributes  much  more  than 
i  vi-  to  i  he  philosophers.  For  an  abstractor  this 
work  of  Baltus,  (the  opposer  of  Fonteneiie,  Van  Dale,  etc. 
in  the  famous  oracle  controversy)  see  "  liibliotheque  des 
Auteurs  Ecclesiast.  du  IS.  siecle,'1  1  Part.  Tom.  ii. 
.  1  There  were  various  opinions  among  the  ancients  with 
•  )  their  lunar  establishment;  sume  make  it  an  elysi- 
um,  iin'd  others  a  purgatory;  while  some  suppose  it  to  be  a 
kind  of  entnput  between  heaven  and  earth,  where  souls 
which  had  left  their  bodies,  and  those  which  were  on  their 
way  to  join  them,  were  deposited  in  the  valleys  of  Hecate, 
and  remained  till  further  orders.  TOIJ  vt^t  crt.mv  xspt 
*.iyiiv  OCUTXJ  xxTOixnr,  *xt  air'  au-n;,-  x*r»  xu{im  nj 
T(I/  x-ifi^itoy  yino-iv.  Slob.  lib.  1.  Eclog.  Pin 

2  The  pupil  and  mistress  of  Epicurus,  who  called  her  his 
"dear  little  Leontium"  (Anvraftov)  as  appears  by  a  frag- 
nu-nt  of  one  of  his  letters  in  Laertius.    This  Leonlium  was 
a  woman  of  talent;  '•  she  had  the  impudence  (says  Cicero) 
to   write  against  Theophraslus ;"   and,  at  the   same  time 
Cicero  gives  her  a  name  which  is  neither  polite  nor  trans- 
lateable,  "  Meretricula  etiam  Leontium  contra  Theophras- 
tum   scribere  ausn   est." — De   Jfatur.  Dear.     She    left    a 
daughter  called  Uanae,  who  was  just  as  rigid  an  Epicurean 
as  her  mother ;  something  like  Wieland's  Danae  in  Agathon. 

It  would  sound  much  better,  I  think,  if  the  name  wen- 
Leontia,  as  it  occurs  the  first  time  in  Laertius ;  but  M.  Me- 
nage will  not  hear  of  this  reading. 

3  Pythias  was  a  woman  whom  Aristotle  loved,  and  to 
whom  after  her  death  he  paid  divine  honours,  solemnizing 

.ory  by  the  4ume  sacrifices  which  the  Athenians 
offered  to  the  goddesit  Ceres.  For  this  impious  gallantry  the 
philosopher  was,  of  course,  censured  ;  it  would  be  well  how- 
ever if  some  of  oi>r  modern  8t:i^irites  had  a  little  of  this 
sup-Tuition  a'loiit  the  memory  of  their  mistresses. 

4  Socrates;  w.'io  used  to  console  himself  in  tlio  society  of 

for  those  "  less  endearing  ties"  which  he  found  at 
home  with  Xantippe.  For  an  account  of  this  extraordinary 
creature,  ,*4nasiii,  and  her  school  of  erudite  luxury  at 

-ee  L,'Ilistoiro  de  I'Acadumie,  e;c.  Tom.  xxxi.  p. 

:r  ra:h>-r  fails  on  the  subject  of  Aspasia,  "Les 
Femmes."  Torn.  i.  p.  li-J. 

The  author  of  the  "  Voyage  du  Monde  de  Descartes"  has 

also  placed  th'-se  philosophers  in  tlie  moon,  and  has  allotted 

Seiglteuriei  to  tnein,  as  well  as  to  ilie  a-tronomers  :  (:>  p;irt. 

p.  in.)  but  lie  onjrht  not  to  have  forgotten  their  wives  and 

•""     ''  L-ur;e  nor.  ipsa  in  morte  rt- lin<|iumt." 

5  Tin.  j  are  some  sensible  letters  extant  under  the  name 
of  this  f.iir  Pythagorean.     They  are  addressed  to  her  fenrile 
friends  ii]ion  the  education  of  children,  the  treatment  of  ser- 
vants, etc.     O:i".  in   particular,  to  Nicostrata,  whose  hus- 
bnud  had  liven  her  reasons  tor  jealousy,  contains  such  truly 
considerate  and  rational  advice,  that  it  oueht  to  be  trans- 
lated for  the  edification  of  all  married  ladies.    See  Gale's 
Opuscul.  Myth.  Phys.  p.  741. 

(i  Pythagoras  was  remarkable  for  fine  hair,  and  Doctor 
Thiers  (in  his  Histoirc  d'-s  Perruqu-  ike  it  for 

(ranted  it  was  all  his  own    as  he  has  not  mentioned  him 


Who,  fix'd  by  love,  at  length  was  all  her  own, 
And  pass'd  his  spirit  through  her  lips  alone  ! 

Oh  Samian  sage  !  whate'er  tliy  glowing  thought 
Of  mystic  Numbers  hath  divinely  wrought; 
The  One  that 's  form'd  of  Two  who  dearly  love, 
Is  the  best  number  heaven  can  boast  above  ! 
But  think,  my  Theon,  how  this  soul  was  thrill'd. 
When  near  a  fount,  which  o'er  the  vale  distill'd, 
3Iy  fancy's  eye  beheld  a  form  recline, 
Of  lunar  race,  but  so  resembling  thine, 
That,  oh ! — 'twas  but  fidelity  in  me, 
To  fly,  to  clasp,  and  worship  it  for  thee  ! 
No  aid  of  words  the  unbodied  soul  requires, 
To  waft  a  wish,  or  embassy  desires ; 
But,  by  a  throb  to  spirits  only  given, 
By  a  mute  impulse,  only  felt  in  heaven, 
Swifter  than  meteor  shaft  through  summer  skies, 
From  soul  to  soul  the  glanc'd  idea  flies ! 

We  met — like  thee  the  youthful  vision  smil'd ; 
But  not  like  thee,  when  passionately  wild, 
Thou  wak'st  the  slumbering  blushes  of  my  cheek, 
By  looking  things  thyself  would  blush  to  speak ! 
No  !  'twas  the  tender,  intellectual  smile, 
Flush'd  with  the  past  and  yet  serene  the  while, 
Of  that  delicious  hour  when,  glowing  yet, 
Thou  yield'st  to  nature  with  a  fond  regret, 
And  thy  soul,  waking  from  its  wilder'd  dream, 
Lights  in  thine  eye  a  mellower,  chaster  beam ! 

Oh  my  beloved  !  how  divinely  sweet 
Is  the  pure  joy,  when  kindred  spirits  meet ! 
Th'  Elean  god,1  whose  faithful  waters  How, 
With  love  their  only  light,  through  caves  below, 
Waiting  in  triumph  all  the  flowery  braids, 
And  festal  rings,  with  which  Olympic  maids 
Have  deck'd  their  billow,  as  an  offering  meet 
To  pour  at  Arethusa's  crystal  feet ! 
Think,  when  he  mingles  with  his  fountain-bride 
What  perfect  rapture  thrills  the  blended  tide  ! 
Each  melts  in  each,  till  one  pervading  kiss 
Confound  their  current  in  a  sea  of  bliss  ! 
'Twas  thus— 

But,  Theon,  'tis  a  weary  theme, 
And  thou  delight's!  not  in  my  lingering  dream. 
Oh  !  that  our  lips  were,  at  this  moment,  near, 
And  I  would  kiss  thee  into  patience,  dear ! 
And  make  thee  smile  at  all  the  magic  tales 
Of  star-light  bowers  and  planetary  vales, 
Which  my  fond  soul,  inspir'd  by  thee  and  love, 

slumber's  loom  hath  exquisitely  wove. 
But  no  ;  no  more — soon  as  to-morrow's  ray 
O'er  soft  Ilissus  shall  dissolve  away, 
I'll  fly,  my  Theon,  to  thy  burning  breast, 
And  there  in  murmurs  tell  thee  all  the  rest : 
Then  if  too  weak,  too  cold  the  vision  SOCHH, 
Thy  lip  shall  teach  me  something  more  than  dreams ! 


among  those  ancients  who  were  obliged  to  have  recourse  to 
Jbe  "  coma  appoMlitia."     L'Hirt.  de«  Perruqnet,  Chap  I 

1  The  river  Alphens;  whirh  flowed  by  I'isa  or  Olympia, 
and  into  which  it  was  ni-tomnry  to  throw  ollering*  of  dif-  • 
l-rent  kinds,  during  the  celebration  of  the  Olympic  game*. 
In  the  pretty  romance  of  Clitophon  and  Leucipiit1,  the  river 
is  supposed  to  carry  these  offerings  as  bridal  gifts  to  the 
fountain  Arethusa.  Xai  nri  ^rv  Afi J»r=tv  KTJ,  T:»  A>.;,.tf 

-VU-XJT5/.II'  OT»V  Kf  ))  T<0>  OXu/«3-l*V   fC(T>!,X.  T    X..    Lib    , 


i*> 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  SENSES. 

A  DREAM. 

IMBOWM'D  in  the  vernal  shades 

And  circled  all  by  rosy  fence*, 
I  MW  the  five  luxurious  maids, 

WbB«  mortals  love,  and  call  T«  SENSES. 

Many  and  blissful  were  the  ways, 

la  which  they  »eem'd  to  pass  their  hours— 
O»r  wander'd  through  the  garden's  maze, 

Inhaling  all  the  soul  of  flowers  ; 
Like  those,  who  lite  upon  the  smell 

Of  rose*,  by  the  Ganges'  stream,1 
With  perfume  from  the  flowret's  bell, 

She  fed  her  life's  ambrosial  dream ! 

Another  touch'd  the  silvery  lute, 
To  chain  a  charmed  sister's  ear, 

Who  hung  beside  her,  still  and  mute, 
Gating  as  if  her  eyes  could  hear  ! 

The  nymph  who  thrill'd  the  warbling  wire, 

Would  often  raise  her  ruby  lip, 
As  if  it  pouted  with  desire 

Some  cooling,  nectar'd  draught  to  sip. 

Nor  yet  was  she,  who  heard  the  lute, 
I'nmindful  of  the  minstrel  maid, 

But  press'd  the  sweetest,  richest  fruit 
To  bathe  her  ripe  lip  as  she  play'd! 

But,  oh !  tlie  fairest  of  the  group 
Was  one,  who  in  the  sunshine  lay, 

And  op'd  the  cincture's  golden  loop 
That  hid  her  bosom's  panting  play  I 

And  still  her  gentle  hand  she  stole 

Along  the  snows,  so  smoothly  orb'd, 
And  look'  tin-  while,  as  if  her  soul 

.:i  that  heavenly  touch  absorb'd ! 

Another  nymph,  who  linger'd  nigh, 
And  held  a  prism  of  various  light, 

Now  put  the  rainbow  wonder  by, 
To  look  upon  this  lovelier  sight. 

And  still  as  one's  enamour' d  touch 

Adown  the  lapsing  ivory  fell, 
The  irther's  eye,  cntranc'd  as  much, 

lluug'fiddy  o'er  its  radiant  swell ! 

wildly  charm'd,  I  would  have  fled — 
Rut  site,  who  in  the  sunshine  lay, 
Rrpl  ir'd  her  golden  loop,  and  said, 
"  We  pray  thee  for  a  moment  stay. 

"If  true  my  cmmtinif  pulses  beat, 
It  most  be  MOW  almost  the  hour, 
.1  Love,  with  visitation  sweet, 
Descends  upon  our  bloomy  bower. 

*  And  with  him  from  the  sky  he  brings 

Our  sister-nymph  who  dwells  above—- 
Oh !  never  may  she  haunt  these  springs, 
With  any  other  god  but  Love ! 


«  When  he  illumes  her  magic  urn, 

And  sheds  his  own  enchantments  in  it, 

Though  but  a  minute's  space  it  burn, 
'Tis  heaven  to  breathe  it  but  a  minute. 

«  Not  all  the  purest  power  we  boast, 
Not  silken  touch,  nor  vernal  dye, 

Nor  music,  when  it  thrillsnhe  most, 
Nor  balmy  cup,  nor  perfume's  sigh, 
Such  transport  to  the  soul  can  give, 
Though  felt  till  time  itself  shall  wither, 

As  in  that  one  dear  moment  live, 
When  Love  conducts  our  sister  hither . 

She  ceas'd— the  air  respir'd  of  bliss— 

A  languor  slept  in  every  eje  ; 
And  now  the  scent  of  Cupid's  kiss 

Declar'd  the  melting  power  was  nigh! 

saw  them  come— the  nymph  and  boy, 

In  twisted  wreaths  of  rapture  bound  ; 
I  saw  her  light  the  urn  of  joy, 

While  all  her  sisters  languished  round  ! 
A  sigh  from  every  bosom  broke— 

I  felt  the  flames  around  me  glide, 
Till  with  the  glow  1  trembling  woke, 

And  found  myself  by  FAXXV'S  side  ! 


>  fonlrni  GanfM  Aitomorum  grnlum h 

isoMMl  tivwrtuia  «t  wlora  quem  natitnu  Italian). 
»t»  »u. 


THE  STEERSMAN'S  SONG. 

WRITTEX  ABOARD  THB  BOSTON  FRIGATE  28tll  APRIV 

WHEN  freshly  blows  the  northern  gale, 

And  under  coursers  snug  we  fly ; 
When  lighter  breezes  swell  the  sail, 

And  royals  proudly  sweep  the  sky ; 
'Longside  the  wheel,  unwearied  still 

I  stand,  and  as  my  watchful  eye 
Doth  mark  the  needle's  faithful  thrill, 

I  think  of  her  I  love,  and  cry, 

Port,  my  boy  !  port. 

When  calms  delay,  or  breezes  blow 

Right  from  the  point  we  wish  to  steer ; 
When  by  the  wind  close-haul'd  we  go, 

And  strive  in  vain  the  port  to  near  ; 
I  think  'tis  thus  the  Fates  defer 

My  bliss  with  one  that's  far  away, 
And  while  remembrance  springs  to  her, 

1  wutch  the  sails  and  sighing  say, 

Thus,  my  boy  !  thus. 

But  see !  the  wind  draws  kindly  aft, 

All  hands  are  up  the  yards  to  square, 
And  now  the  floating  slu'n-sails  waft 

Our  stately  ship  through  waves  and  air. 
Oh  !  then  1  think  that  yet  for  me 

Some  breeze  of  Fortune  thus  may  spring, 
Some  breeze  to  waft  me,  love,  to  thee ! 

And  in  that  .hope  I  smiling  sing, 

Steady,  boy !  so. 


1  1  lifft  Bermuda  in  the  IJosion,  about  tlie  middle  of  April, 
in   company  wilh  the  Cambrian  and  Leander,  aboard  tlw 
•Aliicli  was  the  Admiral,  Sir  Andrew  Mitchi-ll  wl'C 
divide*  hi*  year  between  Halifax  and  Hi-rnuida,  and  is  the 
very  soul   of  society   anil   <;.>od-trllowiihi|>  to   both.      We 
1  in  a  li-w  dny§.  and  the  UoMoii  afier  a  short  cruue 
ew-York. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


TO  CLOE. 

IMITATED   FROM    MARTIAL. 

I  rnn.n  re-%n  that  eye  of  blue, 

Howe'er  it  burn,  howe'er  it  thiill  me; 

And,  though  your  lip  be  rich  with  dew, 
To  lose  it,  CLOE,  scarce  would  kill  me. 

That  snowy  neck  I  ne'er  should  miss, 
However  warm  I've  twin'd  about  it! 

And  though  your  bosom  l>eat  with  bliss, 
I  think  my  soul  could  live  without  it. 

In  short,  I've  learn'd  so  well  to  fast, 
That,  sooth  my  love,  I  know  not  whether 

I  might  not  bring  myself  at  last, 
To — do  without  you  altogether ! 


TO  THE  FIRE-FLY.1 
THIS  morning,  when  the  earth  and  sky 

Were  burning  with  the  blush  of  spring, 
I  saw  thee  not,  thou  humble  fly ! 

Nor  thought  upon  thy  gleaming  wing. 

But  now  the  skies  have  lost  their  hue, 
And  sunny  lights  no  longer  play, 

I  see  thee,  and  I  bless  thee  too 
For  sparkling  o'er  the  dreary  way. 

Oh  !  let  me  hope  that  thus  for  me, 

When  life  and  love  shall  lose  their  bloom, 

Some  milder  joys  may  come,  like  thee, 
To  light,  if  not  to  warm,  the  gloom ! 


THE  VASE. 

THERE  was  a  vase  of  odour  lay 

For  many  an  hour  on  Beauty's  shrine, 

So  sweet  that  Love  went  every  day 
To  banquet  on  its  breath  divine. 

And  not  an  eye  had  ever  seen 

The  fragrant  charm  the  vase  conceal 'd — 
Oh  Love  !  how  happy  'twould  have  been, 

If  thou  hadst  ne'er  that  charm  reveal'd ! 

But  Love,  like  every  other  boy, 

Would  know  the  spell  that  lurks  within; 
lie  wish'd  to  break  the  crystal  toy, 

But  Beauty  murmur'd  "  'twas  a  sin  !" 

He  swore,  with  many  a  tender  plea, 
That  neither  heaven  or  earth  forbad  it ; 

She  told  him,  Virtue  kept  the  key, 

And  look'd  as  if— she  wish'd  he  had- it ! 

He  stole  the  key  when  Virtue  slept, 

(E'en  she  can  sleep,  if  Love  but  ask  it!) 

And  Beauty  sigh'd,  and  Beauty  wept, 
While  silly  Love  unlock'd  the  casket. 


1  Tin,'  lively  iiiul  varying  illuminations,  with  which  those 
fire-lli<  s  li^'lil  i,|>  tin-  woods  lit  iiiiiht.  ;.'.\es  cjiute  isti  iili  u  o! 
enchantment.  "  I'nis  IT-  nn  .  ..ippant  tie  1'ob- 

•nirite  ile  res  ai  fires  et  s'upprochant   lie   nous,  nous   les 
vnyiuns  sur  les  oniiiinTs  voisins,  c|u'ils   mettnient  tout  en 
feu,  iiou>  rriidant  l;i  vue  de  lenrs  heaiix  fruits  do:'  I 
nnit  avail   ravie,"  etn.  etc. — See  C llistoire  dcs  Antilles, 
A.-l.  -2.  Chap.  4.  Lie.  1. 

Q 


Oh  dulcet  air  that  vanish'd  then  ! 

Can  Beauty's  sigh  recall  thee  ever ! 
^Can  Love,  himself,  inhale  again 

A  breath  so  precious  ?  never !  ne^  er ! 

Go,  maiden,  weep — tfie  tears  of  woe 
By  Beauty  to  repentance  given, 

Though  bitterly  on  earth  they  flow, 
Shall  turn  to  fragrant  balm  in  heaven ! 


THE  WREATH  AND  THE  CHAIN 
I  BRING  thee,  Love,  a  golden  Chain, 

I  bring  thee  too  a  flowery  Wreath ; 
The  gold  shall  never  wear  a  stain, 

The  flow'rets  long  shall  sweetly  breathe  ' 
Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

The  Chain  is  of  a  splendid  thread, 

Stol'n  from  Minerva's  yellow  hair, 
Just  when  the  setting  sun  had  shed 

The  sober  beam  of  evening  there. 
The  Wreath  's  of  brightest  myrtle  wove, 

With  brilliant  tears  of  bliss  among  it, 
And  many  a  rose-leaf,  cull'd  by  Love, 

To  heal  his  lip  when  bees  have  stung  it! 
Come,  tell  me  which  the  tie  shall  be, 
To  bind  thy  gentle  heart  to  me. 

Yes,  yes,  I  read  that  ready  eye, 

Which  answers  when  the  tongue  is  loatn, 
Thou  lik'st  the  form  of  either  tie, 

And  hold'st  thy  playful  hands  for  both. 
Ah  ! — if  there  were  not  something  wrong, 

The  world  would  see  them  blended  oft, 
The  Chain  would  make  the  Wreath  so  strong 

The  Wreath  would  make  the  Chain  so  soft ! 
Then  might  the  gold,  the  flow'rets  be 
Sweet  fetters  for  my  love  and  me  ! 

But,  FANNY,  so  unblest  they  twine, 

That  (heaven  alone  can  tell  the  reason) 
When  mingled  thus  they  cease  to  shine, 

Or  shine  but  for  a  transient  season  ! 
Whether  the  Chain  may  press  too  much, 

Or  that  the  Wreath  is  slightly  braided, 
Let  but  the  gold  the  flow'rets  touch, 

And  all  their  glow,  their  tints,  are  faded ! 
Sweet  FANNY,  what  would  Rapture  do, 

When  all  her  blooms  had  lost  their  grace  i 
Might  she  not  steal  a  rose  or  two, 

From  other  wreaths,  to  fill  their  place  ? — 
Oh  !  better  to  be  always  free, 
Than  thus  to  bind  my  love  to  thee 

THE  timid  girl  now  hung  her  head, 

And,  as  she  turn'd  an  upward  g1  ,nce, 
I  saw  a  doubt  its  twilight  spread 

Along  her  brow's  divine  expanse. 
Just  then,  the  garland's  dearest  rose 

Gave  one  of  its  seducing  sighs — 
Oh  !  who  can  ask  how  FANNY  chosr, 

That  ever  look'd  in  FANNY'S  • 
"The  Wreath,  my  life,  the  Wreath  shall  bf 
The  tie  to  bind  mv  soul  to  thee. !" 


.TO 


Am>  nat*  thou  mark'd  the  pensive  shade,     ^ 
That  many  a  time  obscures  ray  brow, 

Midst  all  the  blisses,  darling  maid, 
Which  thou  canst  gife,  and  only  thou  ? 

Oh !  'tis  not  that  I  then  forget 

The  endearing  charms  that  round  me  twine — 
There  ne»er  throbb'd  a  bosom  yet 

Could  feel  their  witchery,  like  mine ! 

When  bashful  on  my  bosom  hid, 
And  blushing  to  have  felt  so  blest, 

Thou  dost  but  lift  thy  languid  lid, 
Again  to  close  it  on  my  breast ! 

Oh !  these  are  minutes  all  thine  own, 
Thine  own  to  give,  and  mine  to  feel; 

Yet  e'en  in  them,  my  heart  has  known 
The  sigh  to  rise,  the  tear  to  steal. 

For  I  have  thought  of  former  hours, 
When  he  who  first  thy  soul  possess'd, 

Like  me  awak'd  its  witching  powers, 
Like  me  was  lov'd,  like  me  was  blest ! 

Upon  his  name  thy  murmuring  tongue 
Perhaps  bath  all  as  sweetly  dwelt ; 

For  him  that  snowy  lid  hath  hung 
In  ecstasy,  as  purely  felt ! 

For  him — yet  why  the  past  recall 
To  wither  blooms  of  present  bliss  ! 

Thou'rt  now  my  own,  I  clasp  thee  all, 
And  Heaven  can  grant  no  more  than  this ! 

Forgive  me,  dearest,  oh !  forgive ; 

I  would  be  first,  be  sole  to  thee ; 
Thou  should'st  but  have  begun  to  live, 

The  hour  that  gave  thy  heart  to  me. 

Thy  book  of  life  till  then  eflac'd, 

Lore  should  have  kept  that  leaf  alone, 

On  which  he  first  so  dearly  trac'd 
That  thou  wert,  soul  and  all,  my  own ! 


EPISTLE  VI. 
TO  LORD  VISCOUNT  FORBES. 

THE   CITT   Or  WASHINGTON. 


WAI    MM    6ATMAIHIS    MHT*    El   MAJCPOTEPAN  TE 
IfA*A  THX   KlilJITOAHM,  MHA'  El  TI  IlEPIEPFO 
TEFONH  IIPEVBITIKUTEPON  EIPHKAMEK  EATTH 
liocrat.  F.pitt.  4. 

Ir  former  time*  had  never  left  a  trace, 
Of  human  frailly  in  their  shadowy  race, 

•  r  their  pathway  written,  as  they  ran, 
!  of  th«  crimes  of  man  ; 
i?'-,  in  now  unconscious  primp, 
Row,  like  a  pli<rnii,  from  the  fires  of  time, 
To  wing  its  way  unguided  and  alono, 
The  fiuure  smiling,  and  the  past  unknown— 
-.Irnt  man  would  to  himself  be  new, 
Earth  at  lij*  foot,  and  hearen  within  his  view, 


Well  might  the  novice  hope— the  sanguine  scheme 

Of  full  perfection  prompt  his  daring  dream, 
ire  cold  experience,  with  her  veteran  lore, 
^ould  tell  him,  fools  had  dream'd  as  much  before ' 
Jut  tracing,  as  we  do,  through  age  and  clime 
The  plans  of  virtue  'midst  the  deeds  of  crime, 
The  thinking  follies,  and  the  reasoning  rage 

Of  man,  at  once  the  idiot  and  the  sage ; 

When  still  we  see,  through  ever}'  varying  frame 

Of  arts  and  polity,  his  course  the  same, 

\nd  know  that  ancient  fools  but  died  to  make 

\  space  on  earth  for  modern  fools  to  take  ; 
Tis  strange,  how  quickly  we  the  past  forget ; 

That  wisdom's  self  should  not  be  tutor'd  yet, 
'for  tire  of  watching  for  the  monstrous  birth 

Of  pure  perfection  'midst  the  sons  of  earth ! 

Oh  !  nothing  but  that  soul  which  God  has  given, 
•ould  lead  us  thus  to  look  on  earth  for  heaven ; 
O'er  dross  without  to  shed  the  flame  within, 
And  dream  of  virtue  while  we  gaze  on  sin  ! 

Cven  here,  beside  the  proud  Potomac's  stream, 
Might  sages  still  pursue  the  flattering  theme 
)f  days  to  come,  when  man  shall  conquer  fate, 
lise  o'er  the  level  of  this  mortal  state, 
3elie  the  monuments  of  frailty  past, 
\nd  stamp  perfection  on  this  world  at  last ! 
Here,"  might  they  say, "  shall  power's  divided  reign 
Evince  that  patriots  have  not  bled  in  vain. 
Elere  godlike  liberty's  herculean  youth, 
Cradled  in  peace,  and  nurtur'd  up  by  truth 
To  full  maturity  of  nerve  and  mind, 
Shall  crush  the  giants  that  bestride  mankind  !' 
Here  shall  religion's  pure  and  balmy  draught, 
In  form,  no  more  from  cups  of  state  be  quafTd ; 
But  flow  for  all,  through  nation,  rank,  and  sect, 
Free  as  that  heaven  its  tranquil  waves  reflect. 
Around  the  columns  of  the  public  shrine 
Shall  growing  arts  their  gradual  wreath  entwine, 
Nor  breathe  corruption  from  their  flowering  braid, 
Nor  mine  that  fabric  which  they  bloom  to  shade. 
No  longer  here  shall  justice  bound  her  view, 
Or  wrong  the  many,  while  she  rights  the  few ; 
But  take  her  range  through  all  the  social  frame, 
Pure  and  pervading  as  that  vital  flame, 
Which  warms  at  once  our  best  and  meanest  part, 
And  thrills  a  hair  while  it  expands  a  heart !" 

Oh  golden  dream !  what  soul  that  loves  to  soan 
The  brightness  rather  than  the  shades  of  man, 
That  own  the  good,  while  smarting  with  the  ill 
And  loves  the  world  with  all  its  frailty  still — 
What  ardent  bosom  does  not  spring  to  in<><>t 
The  generous  hope  with  all  that  heavenly  heat, 
Which  makes  the  soul  unwilling  to  resign 
The  thoughts  of  growing,  even  on  earth,  divine  . 
Yes,  dearest  FORBES,  I  see  thee  glow  to  think 
The  chain  of  ages  yet  may  boast  a  link 


1  Thus  Morse: — "  Here  the  sciences  and  Iho  arts  of  ci- 
x-ilized  life  are  to  receive  their  highest  improvi  inputs  ;  here 
civil  ami  religion*  liberty  :iro  to  flourish,  nrKlirckud  by  the 
rruel  hand  of  civil  or  ecclesiastical  tyranny;  here  genius,  aided 
by  all  the  improvements  of  former  aj  -crted  in 

hmnanixtM  mankind,  in  expanding  and  enriching  thoii 
minds  with  religious  and  philosophical  knowledge,"  eto 
etc.  p.  509 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


123 


Of  purer  texture  than  the  world  has  known, 
And  fit  to  bind  us  to  a  Godhead's  throne ! 

But,  is  it  thus  ?  doth  even  the  glorious  dream 
Borrow  from  truth  that  dim  uncertain  gleam, 
Which  bids  us  give  such  dear  delusion  scope, 
As  kills  not  reason,  while  it  nurses  hope? 
No,  no,  believe,  me,  'tis  not  so — e'en  now, 
While  yet  upon  Columbia's  rising  brow 
The  showy  smile  of  young  presumption  plays, 
Her  bloom  is  poison'd  and  her  heart  decays  ! 
Even  now,  in  dawn  of  life,  her  sickly  breath 
Burns  with  the  taint  of  empires  near  their  death, 
And,  like  the  nymphs  of  her  own  withering  clime, 
She's  old  in  youth,  she's  blasted  in  her  prime!1 

Already  has  the  child  of  Gallia's  school, 
The  foul  Philosophy  that  sins  by  rule, 
With  all  her  train  of  reasoning,  damning  arts 
Begot  by  brilliant  heads  or  worthless  hearts, 
Like  things  that  quicken  after  Nilus'  flood, 
The  venom'd  birth  of  sunshine  and  of  mud ! 
Already  has  she  pour'd  her  poison  here 
O'er  every  charm  that  makes  existence  dear— • 
Already  blighted,  with  her  black'ning  trace, 
The  opening  bloom  of  every  social  grace, 
And  all  those  courtesies,  that  love  to  shoot 
Round  Virtue's  stem,  the  flow' rets  of  her  fruit ! 

Oh  !  were  these  errors  but  the  wanton  tide 

Of  young  luxuriance  or  unchasten'd  pride ; 

The  fervid  follies  and  the  faults  of  such 

As  wrongly  feel,  because  they  feel  too  much  ; 

Then  might  experience  make  the  fever  less, 

Nay,  gratl  a  virtue  on  each  warm  excess : 

But  no ;  'tis  heartless,  speculative  ill — 

All  youth's  transgression  with  all  age's  chill — 

The  apathy  of  wrong,  the  boaorn's  ice, 

A  slow  and  cold  stagnation  into  vice ! 

Long  has  the  love  of  gold,  that  meanest  rage, 
And  latest  folly  of  man's  sinking  age, 
Which,  rarely  venturing  in  the  van  of  life, 
While  nobler  passions  wage  their  heated  strife, 
Comes  skulking  last,  with  selfishness  and  fear, 
And  dies,  collecting  lumber  in  the  roar ! 
Long  has  it  palsied  every  grasping  hand 
And  greedy  spirit  through  this  bartering  land ; 
Turn'cl  life  to  traffic,  set  the  demon  gold 
So  loose  abroad,  that  Virtue's  self  is  sold, 
And  conscience,  truth,  and  honesty,  are  made 
To  rise  and  fall,  like  other  wares  of  trade  !2 

Already  in  this  free,  this  virtuous  state, 

Which,  Frenchmen  tell  us,  was  ordain'd  by  fate, 


1  "  Whnt  will  lie  the  old  age  of  this  government,  if  it  is 
fl:  is  earlv  decrepit  !"     Such    was  this  remark  of  Fauchet, 
the  French  minister  at  Philadelphia, in  thai  famous  despatch 
to   his   "overiiinent  which   \v:is   intercepted   hy  one  of  our 
emi-.'TT  i:i  ill"  v  :ir  1'iM.     This  curious  memorial  may  he 
found  in  l'<  rcnpiue's  Works,   vol.  i.  p.  -270.     It  re 
itrikiii"  monument  of  republican  intriirne,  on  one  gide,  and 
republican  profligacy  on  the  other;  and  I  would  recommend 
the  perusal  of  il  lo  «OTV  honc>t  politician,  who  may  labour 
under  a  moment's  delusion  with  respect  to  the  purity  of 
American  patriotism. 

2  "  Nous  voyons  quo  d:\ns  les  pavs  on  Ton  n'est  afTecte 
flue  tie  I'esprit  de  commerce,  on  trafique  do  tonics  les  actions 
hmnaines  et  de  tonies  ]es  veiius  morale!  "     Montesquieu,  de 
''Esprit  des  Lois,  Liv.  20.  Chap.  2. 


To  show  the  world,  what  high  perfection  springs 
P'rom  rabble  senators,  and  merchant  kings — 
Even  here  already  patriots  learn  to  steal 
Their  private  perquisites  from  public  weal, 
And,  guardians  of  the  country's  sacred  fire, 
Like  Afric's  priests,  they  let  the  flame  for  hire ! 
Those  vaunted  demagogues,  who  nobly  rose 
From  England's  debtors  to  be  England's  foes,1 
Who  could  their  monarch  in  their  purse  forget, 
And  break  allegiance,  but  to  cancel  debt,2 
Have  prov'd,  at  length,  the  mineral's  tempting  hue, 
Which  makes  a  patriot,  can  unmake  him  too.3 
Oh !  freedom,  freedom,  how  I  hate  thy  cant ! 
Not  eastern  bombast,  nor  the  savage  rant 
Of  purpled  madmen,  were  they  number'd  all 
From  Roman  Nero  down  to  Russian  Paul, 
Could  grate  upon  my  ear  so  mean,  so  base, 
As  the  rank  jargon  of  that  factious  race, 
Who,  poor  of  heart,  and  prodigal  of  words, 
Born  to  be  slaves  and  struggling  to  be  lords, 
But  pant  for  licence  while  they  spurn  control, 
And  shout  for  rights  with  rapine  in  their  soul . 
Who  can,  with  patience,  for  a  moment  see 
The  medley  mass  of  pride  and  misery, 
Of  whips  and  charters,  manacles  and  right*, 
Of  slaving  blacks  and  democratic  white*,* 
And  all  the  pye-bald  polity  that  reigns 
In  free  confusion  o'er  Columbia's  plains  ? 
To  think  that  man,  thou  just  and  gentle  God 
Should  stand  before  thee,  with  a  tyrant's  rod 
O'er  creatures  like  himself,  with  soul  from  the*, 
Yet  dare  to  boast  of  perfect  liberty : 
Away,  away — I'd  rather  hold  my  neck 
By  doubtful  tenure  from  a  sultan's  beck, 
In  climes,  where  liberty  has  scarce  been  nans  d 
IS" or  any  right  but  that  of  ruling  claim'd, 
Than  thus  to  live,  where  bastard  freedom  waver 
Her  fustian  flag  in  mockery  over  slaves ; 
Where  (motley  laws  admitting  no  degree 
Betwixt  the  vilely  slav'd  and  madly1  free) 


1  I  trust  I  shall  not  he  suspected  of  a  wish  to  justify  thoi 
arbitrary  steps  of  the  English  government  which  the  CoU>- 
rites  found  it  so  necessary  to  resist ;  my  only  object  hero  if 
to  expose  the  selfish  motives  of  some  of  the  leading  Ameri- 
can demagogues. 

2  The  most  persevering  enemy  to  the  interests  of  this 
country,  among  the  politicians  of  the  western  world,  hat 
been  a  Virginian  merchant,  who,  finding  it  easier  to  settle 
his  conscience  than  his  debts,  was  one  of  the  first  to  raise 
the  standard  against  Great  Britain,  and  has  ever  since  en- 
dea\u>ured  to  revenge  upon  the  whole  country  the  obliga- 
tionTwhich  he  lies  under  to  a  few  of  its  merchants. 

3  See  Porcupine's  account  of  the  Pennsylvania  Insurrec- 
tion in  17!)4.     In  short,  see  Porcupine's  Works  throughout 
for  ample  corroboration  of  every  sentiment  which  I  have 
ventured  to  express.     In  saying  this,  I  refer  less  to  the  com- 
ments of  that  writer,  than  to  the  occurrences  which  be  IMS 
related,  and   the  documents  which  lie  has  preserved.     Opi- 
nion may  be  suspected  of  bias,  but  i'acu  speak  for  tncm 
selves. 

4  Tn  Virginia  the  effects  of  this  system  bcjin  to  !>e  felt 
rather  seriously.     While   the   master   raves   of  liberty,   the 
slave  cannot  but  catch  the  contagion,  and  a(vordini:l\  '!>•  rn 
seldom  elapses  a  month  without  some  alarm  of  insurrection 
•Mimi'L'st    the  ncjirors.     The    accession   of  Louisiana,  it  is 
feared,  will  increase  this  embarrassment;  as  the  numerous 

.113  which  an?  expected  to  take  place  from  tha 
southern  states  to  this  newly  acquired  territory,  wil  -on- 
siderably  diminish  the  white  population,  and  thus  strenpihen 
the  proportion  of  negroes  to  a  degree  which  must  ultiiiiateli 
be  ruinous. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Alike  the  bondage  and  the  licence  suit, 

The  brute  made  ruler  and  the  roan  made  brute ! 

But,  oh  my  FORBW!  while  thus,  in  rlowerless  song, 

1  feebly  paint,  what  yet  I  feel  so  strong,     ^ 

The  ilk,  the  vices  of  the  land,  where  first 

Those  rebel  fiends,  that  rack  the  world,  were  nuret ! 

Where  treason's  arm  by  royalty  was  nerv'd, 

And  Frenclunen  learn'd  to  crush  the  throne  they 

•erv'd — 

Thou,  gently  lull'd  in  dreams  of  classic  thought, 
By  bards  illumin'd  and  by  sages  taught, 
Pant'si  to  be  all,  upon  this  mortal  scene, 
That  bard  hath  fancied  or  that  sage  hath  been ! 
Why  should  1  wake  thee  ?  why  severely  chace 
The  lovely  forms  of  virtue  and  of  grace, 
That  dwell  before  thee,  like  the  pictures  spread 
By  Spartan  matrons  round  the  genial  bed, 
Moulding  thy  fancy,  and  with  gradual  art 
Brightening  the  young  conceptions  of  thy  heart ! 

Forgive  me,  FORBES— and  should  the  song  destroy 

One  generous  hope,  one  throb  of  social  joy, 

One  high  pulsation  of  the  zeal  for  man, 

Which  few  can  feel,  and  bless'd  that  few  who  can ! 

Oh  !  turn  to  him,  beneath  whose  kindred  eyes 

Thy  talents  open  and  thy  virtues  rise, 

Forget  where  nature  has  been  dark  or  dim, 

And  proudly  study  all  her  lights  in  him ! 

Yes,  yes,  in  him  the  erring  world  forget, 

And  feel  that  man  may  reach  perfection  yet ! 


SONG. 
Tm  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Is  fair — but  oh  !  how  fair, 
If  Pity's  hand  had  stolen  from  Love 

One  leaf  to  mingle  there ! 

If  every  rose  with  gold  were  tied, 

Dim  gems  for  dew-drops  fall, 
One  faded  leaf  where  love  had  sigh'd 

Were  tweedy  worth  them  all ! 

The  wreath  you  wove,  the  wreath  you  wove 

Oar  emblem  well  may  be ; 
It*  bloom  is  yours,  but  hopeless  love 

Must  keep  its  lean  for  me ! 


LYING. 

• 

Che  eon  le  lor  bujie  pajon  divini. 

Maura  d'.'lrcana. 

I  DO  eonfesi,  in  many  a  sigh, 

My  lips  have  brcath'd  you  many  a  lie, 

And  who,  with  such  delights  in  view, 

Would  lose  them  for  a  lie  or  two? 

Nay — look  not  thus,  with  brow  reproving ; 

Lie*  are,  my  dear,  the  tout  of  loving ! 

If  half  we  tell  the  girls  were  true, 

If  half  we  swear  to  think  and  do, 

Were  aught  but  lying's  bright  illusion, 

Tin?  world  would  IK-  in  stranire  confusion! 

If  ladies'  cy« 

As  lovers  swear,  a  radiant  nun 


Astronomy  should  leave  the  skies, 
To  learn  her  lore  in  ladies'  eyes ! 
Oh  no!— believe  me,  lovely  girl, 
When  nature  turns  your  teeth  to  pearl, 
Your  neck  to  snow,  your  eyes  to  fire, 
Your  yellow  locks  to  golden  wire, 
Then,  only  then,  can  heaven  decree, 
That  you  should  live  for  only  me, 
Or  I  for  you,  as  night  and  morn, 
We've  swearing  kiss'd,  and  kissing  sworn  ; 

And  now,  my  gentle  hints  to  clear, 
.  For  once,  I'll  tell  you  truth,  my  dear ! 
Whenever  you  may  chance  to  meet 
A  loving  youth,  whose  love  is  sweet, 
Long  as  you're  false  and  he  believes  you 
Long  as  you  trust  and  he  deceives  you, 
So  long  the  blissful  bond  endures; 
And  while  he  lies,  his  heart  is  yours : 
But,  oh  !  you've  wholly  lost  the  youth 
The  instant  that  h"  tells  you  truth ! 


ANACREONTIC. 
I  FILL'D  to  thee,  to  thee  I  drank, 

I  nothing  did  but  drink  and  fill ; 
The  bowl  by  turns  was  bright  and  blank, 

'Twas  drinking,  filling,  drinking  still ! 
At  length  I  bid  an  artist  paint 

Thy  unage  in  this  ample  cup, 
That  I  might  see  the  dimpled  saint 

To  whom  I  quaff 'd  my  nectar  up. 
Behold  how  bright  that  purple  lip 

Is  blushing  through  the  wave  at  me ! 
Every  roseat  drop  I  sip 

Is  just  like  kissing  wine  from  thee ! 
But,  oh !  I  drink  the  more  for  this ; 

For,  ever  when  the  draught  I  drain, 
Thy  lip  invites  another  kiss, 

And  in  the  nectar  flows  again ! 
So,  here's  to  thee,  my  gentle  dear ! 

And  may  that  eye  for  ever  shine 
Beneath  as  soft  and  sweet  a  tear 

As  oatb.es  it  in  this  bowl  of  mine! 


TO 


'S  PICTURE. 


Go  then,  if  she  whose  shade  thou  art 

No  more  will  let  thee  soothe  my  pain — 
Yet  tell  her,  it  has  cost  this  heart 

Some  pangs,  to  give  thee  back  again  ! 
Tell  her  the  smile  was  not  so  dear, 

With  which  she  made  thy  semblance  mine, 
As  bitter  is  the  burning  tear, 

With  which  1  now  the  gift  resign ! 
Yet  go — and  could  she  still  restore, 

As  some  exchange  for  taking  thee, 
The  tranquil  look  which  first  I  wore, 

When  her  eyes  found  me  wild  and  free: 
Coirld  she  <iive  back  the  careless  flow, 

The  spirit  which  my  fancy  knew — 
^  i-t,  ah  !  'tis  vain — go,  picture,  go — 

Smile  at  me  once,  and  then — adieu ! 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


FlUGMENT  OF  A  MYTHOLOGICAL  HYMN 
TO  LOVE.1 

BLEST  infant  of  eternity  ! 
Before  the  day-star  learn'd  to  move, 
In  pomp  of  lire,  along  his  grand  career, 

Glancing  the  beamy  shafts  of  light 
From  his  rich  quiver  to  the  farthest  sphere, 

Thou  wert  alone,  oh  Love ! 
Nestling  beneath  the  wings  of  ancient  night 
Whoso  horrors  seem'd  to  smile  in  shadowing  thee  ! 
No  form  of  beauty  sooth'd  thine  eye, 

As  through  the  dim  expanse  it  wander'd  wide; 
No  kindred  spirit  caught  thy  sigh, 

As  o'er  the  watery  waste  it  lingering  died. 
Unfelt  the  pulse,  unknown  the  power, 

That  latent  in  his  heart  was  sleeping; 
Oli  Sympathy  !  that  lonely  hour 

Saw  Love  himself  thy  absence  weeping  ! 
But  look  what  gtory  through  the  darkness  beams  ! 
Celestial  airs  along  the  water  glide  : 
What  spirit  art  thou,  moving  o'er  the  tide 
So  lovely  ?  Art  thou  but  the  child 

Of  the  young  godhead's  dreams, 
That  mock  his  hope  with  fancies  strange  and  wild? 
Or  were  his  tears,  as  quick  they  fell, 
Collected  in  so  bright  a  form, 
Till,  kindled  by  the  ardent  spell 

Of  his  desiring  eyes, 
And  all  impregnate  with  his  sighs, 
They  spring  to  life  in  shape  so  fair  and  warm ! 

*Tis  she ! 

Psyche,  the  first  born  spirit  of  the  air ! 
To  thee,  oh  Love  !  she  turns, 
On  thee  her  eye-beam  burns  : 
Blest  hour  of  nuptial  ecstacy  ! 

They  meet — 
The  blooming  god — the  spirit  fair— 

Oh  !  sweet,  oh  heavenly  sweet  1 
Now,  Sympathy,  the  hour  is  thine ; 
All  nature  feels  the  thrill  divine, 
The  veil  of  Chaos  is  withdrawn, 
And  their  first  kiss  is  great  Creation's  dawn ! 


TO  HIS  SERENE  HIGHNESS 

THE  DUKE  OF  MONTPENSIER, 

O»  HIS  PORTRAIT  OF  THE  LADY  ADELAIDE  F-RB-S. 

Donington  Park,  1802. 

To  catch  the  thought,  by  painting's  spell, 

Howe'er  remote,  howe'er  refin'd, 
And  o'er  the  magic  tablet  tell 

The  silent  story  of  the  mind ; 


1  Love  and  Psyche  are  here  considered  as  the  active  and 
passive  principles  of  creation,  and  the  universe  is  supposed 
lo  have  received  its  first  harmonizing  impulse  from  the 
nuptial  sympathy  between  these  two  powers.  A  marriage 
is  generally  the  first  step  in  cosmogony.  Timseus  held  Form 
to  be  the  lather,  and  Matter  the  mother  of  the  world ;  Klion 
mid  Berouth,  I  think,  are  Sanchoniatho's  first  spiritual 
lovers,  and  Manco  capac  and  his  wife  introduced  creation 
amongst  the  Peruvians.  In  short,  Harlequin  seems  to  have 
Rtii^ied  cosmogonies,  when  he  said  "  tutto  il  mondo  e  fatlo 
come  la  nostra  famiglia." 


O'er  Nature's  form  to  glance  the  eye, 
And  fix,  by  mimic  light  and  shade, 

Her  morning  tinges,  ere  they  fly, 
Her  evening  blushes,  ere  they  fade  ! 

These  afce  the  pencil's  grandest  theme, 

Divinest  of  the  powers  divine 
That  light  the  Muse's  flowery  dream, 

And  these,  oh  Prince  !  are  richly  thine  ! 

Yet,  yet,  when  Friendship  sees  thee  trace, 

In  emanating  soul  express'd, 
The  sweet  memorial  of  a  face 

On  which  her  eye  delights  to  rest ; 

While  o'er  the  lovely  look  serene, 
The  smile  of  Peace,  the  bloom  of  youth, 

The  cheek,  that  blushes  to  be  seen, 
The  eye,  that  tells  the  bosom's  truth ; 

While  o'er  each  line,  so  brightly  true, 
Her  soul  with  fond  attention  roves, 

Blessing  the  hand,  whose  various  hue 
Could  imitate  the  form  it  loves ; 

She  feels  the  value  of  thy  art, 
And  owns  it  with  a  purer  zeal, 

A  rapture,  nearer  to  her  heart, 
Than  critic  taste  can  ever  feel ! 


THE  PHILOSOPHER  ARISTIPPUS' 

TO  A  LAMP  WHICH  WAS  GIVEN  HIM  BY  LAIS. 

Dulcis  conscia  lectuli  lucerna. 

Martial,  Lib.  xiv.  Epig.  39. 

"  OH  !  love  the  Lamp  (my  mistress  said) 
The  faithful  Lamp  that,  many  a  night, 

Beside  thy  Lais'  lonely  bed 
Has  kept  its  little  watch  of  light 

"  Full  often  has  it  seen  her  weep, 

And  fix  her  eyes  upon  its  flame, 
Till,  weary,  she  has  sunk  to  sleep, 

Repeating  her  beloved's  name  ! 

"  Oft  has  it  known  her  check  to  burn 

With  recollections,  fondly  free, 
And  seen  her  turn,  impassion'd  turn, 

To  kiss  the  pillow,  love !  for  thee, 


1  It  was  not  very  difficult  to  become  a  philosopher 
amongst  the  ancients.  A  moderate  store  of  learning,  with 
a  considerable  portion  of  confidence,  and  wit  enough  to  pro- 
duce an  occasional  apophthegm,  were  all  the  in 
qualifications  for  the  purpose.  The  principles  of  moral 
science  were  so  very  imperfectly  understood,  that  tin-  I'run- 
ler  of  a  new  sect,  in  forming  his  ethical  code,  might  consult 
either  fancy  or  temperament,  and  adapt  it  to  his  own  piis- 
lions  and  propensities;  so  that  Mahomet,  with  a  little  mure 
earning  might  have  flourished  as  a  philosopher  in  those 
lavs,  and  would  have  required  but  the  polish  of  the  school! 
to  become  the  rival  of  Aristippusin  morality.  In  the  science 
of  nature  too,  though  they  discovered  some  valuable  truths, 
tel  they  seemed  not  to  know  ihoy  were  truths,  or  at  least 
wore  as  well  satisfied  with  errors  ;  and  Xenophanes,  who  as- 
ed  that  the  stars  were  igneous  clouds,  lighted  up  every 
t  and  extinguished  again  in  the  morning,  was  thought 
•iiid  styl'-d  a  philosopher,  as  generally  as  he  who  anticipated 
Newton  in  developing  the  arrangement  of  the  universe. 

For  this  opinion  of  Xenophanes,  sec  Plutarch  de  Placit. 
'hilosoph.  lib.  ii.  cap.  13.  It  is  impossible  to  read  this  treatise 
if  Plutarch,  without  alternately  admiring  and  smiling  at  the 
[enius,  the  absurdities  of  the  philosophers 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


__ — — — — 

And,  in  a  murmur,  wish  thee  there,        f 
That  k«  to  feel,  that  thought  to  share ! 

•Then  love  the  Lamp— 'twill  often  lead 
Thy  »tep  through  learning's  sacred  way ; 
And,  lighted  by  its  happy  ray, 
Whene'er  those  darling  eyes  shall  read    / 
Of  thing*  sublime,  of  Nature's  birth 
Of  all  that  '•  bright  in  heaven  or  earth, 
Oh!  think  that  she,  by  whom  'twas  given, 
Adores  the*  more  than  earth  or  heaven  ! 

Yei— dearest  Lamp !  by  every  charm 
On  which  thy  midnight  beam  has  hung ; 

The  neck  reclin'd,  the  graceful  arm 
Across  the  brow  of  ivory  flung; 

The  hearing  bosom,  partly  hid, 
The  sever'd  lip's  delicious  sighs, 

The  fringe,  tt  it  from  the  snowy  lid 
Along  the  cheek  of  rows  lies : 

By  these,  by  all  that  bloom  untold, 
And  long  as  all  shall  charm  my  heart, 

I'll  love  my  little  Lamp  of  gold, 
My  Lamp  and  I  shall  never  part ! 

And  often,  as  she  smiling  said, 

In  fancy's  liour,  thy  gentle  rays 
Shall  guide  my  visionary  tread 

Through  poesy's  enchanting  maze ! 

Thy  flame  shall  light  the  page  refin'd, 
Where  still  we  catch  the  Chian's  breath, 
Where  still  the  bard,  though  cold  in  death, 

Has  left  his  burning  soul  behind ! 

Or,  o'er  thy  humbler  legend  shine, 
Oh  man  of  Ascra's  dreary  glades  !* 

To  whom  the  nightly-warbling  Nine* 
A  wand  of  inspiration  gave,* 

Pluck' d  from  the  greenest  tree  that  shades 
The  crystal  of  Castalia's  wave. 

Then,  turning  to  a  purer  lore, 

We'll  cull  the  •ages'  heavenly  store, 

From  Science  steal  her  golden  clue, 

And  e/cry  mystic  path  pursue, 

ro  Nature,  far  from  vulgar  eyes 

Through  labyrinths  of  wonder  flies  ! 

Tis  thus  my  heart  shall  learn  to  know 
The  passing  world's  precarious  flight, 

Where  all,  that  meets  the  morning  glow, 
Is  chang'd  before  the  fall  of  night  !* 


1  Tli"  ancient)  hud  their  lucernae  cnliiciilnrlip,  or  be< 

chamber  lmii|>n,  which,  at  the  Kni|»  ror  (Jalienus  said,  "  n 

eras  raeminere,     and  with  the  tame  comm<-u<kiiii>n  o 

,  Praxagora  addrciM*  her  lump,  in  Aristophanes 

•'••:*  how  fanciful  they  were,  in  the  us 

•nd  einbelliihnu-ni  of  their  lamp*,  from  the  fmiioiii  nymuol 

Locerna  which  we  find  in  the  Komanum  Museum,  Mir 

-iml,  who  K-lli  a*  in  melancholy  term*  of  hi*  father 
Tifht  to  the  wretched  Tillage  of  Aicra.    Eav.  xx< 
r .  Bl 

3  E«n>X'«<  criixt*,  »if.«»>,Xi«  trim  iur»i,— Theo 
w.   Ill 

4  K»<  tut  r*iwTf*r  iJ«»,  Jar»»{  ip.  3v>.i»  o£o,.  M.  r.  3( 

5  Pi<»  T«  •».*  nr*ntv  t>o>,  a*  expre»«.'il    umoiij   tl 

1   rnrlitm  tho  Kpbe<ian,   anil    with    n 

whom  we  find  n  beautiful  diffusion  < 
<ke  tboujh'     "  Nemo  eat  mane,  qui  fuit  pridie.     ' 


I'll  tell  thee,  as  I  trim  thy  fire, 

"  Swift  the  tide  of  being  runs, 
And  Time,  who  bids  thy  flame  expire, 
Will  also  quench  yon  heaven  of  suns  1' 

Oh  !  then  if  earth's  united  power 
Can  never  chain  one  feathery  hour ; 
If  every  print  we  leave  to-day 
To-morrow's  wave  shall  steal  away ; 
Who  pauses,  to  inquire  of  Heaven 
Why  were  the  fleeting  treasures  givfen, 
The  sunny  days,  the  shady  nights, 
And  all  their  brief  but  dear  delights, 
Which  Heaven  has  made  for  man  to  use, 
And  man  should  think  it  guilt  to  lose  1 
Who,  that  has  cull'd  a  weeping  rose, 
Will  ask  it  why  it  breathes  and  glows, 
Unmindful  of  the  blushing  ray, 
In  which  it  shines  its  soul  away ; 
Unmindful  of  the  scented  sigh, 
On  which  it  dies  and  loves  to  die  1 

Pleasure !  thou  only  good  on  earth  \l 
One  little  hour  resign'd  to  thee — 

Oh  !  by  my  LAIS'  lip,  'tis  worth, 
The  sage's  immortality ! 

Then  far  be  all  the  wisdom  hence, 
And  all  the  lore,  whose  tame  control 

Would  wither  joy  with  chill  delays  ! 

Alas  !  the  fertile  fount  of  sense, 

At  which  the  young,  the  panting  soul 

Drinks  life  and  love,  too  soon  decays  ! 

Sweet  Lamp!  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  shed 
Thy  splendour  on  a  lifeless  page — 

Whate'er  my  blushing  LAIS  said 
Of  thoughtful  lore  and  studies  sage 

'Twas  mockery  all — her  glance  of  joy 

Told  me  thy  dearest,  best  employ  !2 

And,  soon  as  night  shall  close  the  eye 
Of  Heaven's  young  wanderer  in  the  west, 

When  seers  are  gazing  on  the  sky, 
To  find  their  future  orbs  of  rest ; 

Then  shall  I  take  my  trembling  way, 
Unseen,  but  to  those  worlds  above, 


rostra  rapiuntur  fluminum  more;  quicquid  vides  currit  o\inj 
tempore.  Nihil  ex  hisquse  videmns  maiiet.  Egoipse,diim 
loquor  mutari  ipsa,  mutnlus  sum,"  etc. 

1  Aristippus  considered  motion  as  the  principle  of  happi- 
ness, in  which  idea  he  differed  from  the  Epicureans,  who 
looked  to  a  slate  of  repose  as  the  only  true  voluptuousness 
and  avoided  even  the  too  lively  agitation*  of  pleasure,  as  a 
violent  and  ungraceful  derangement  of  the  senses. 

2  Maupertuis  has  been  still  more  explicit  than  this  phi 
losopher,  in  ranking  the  pleasures  of  sense  above  the  subli- 
mest  pursuits  of  wisdom.     Speaking  of  the  infant  man,  in 
his  production,  he  calls  him,  "  une  nouvelle  creature,  qui 
pourra  comprendre  les  choses  les  plus  sublimes,  et  ce  qui 
est  bien  au-dessus,  qui  pourra  pouter  les   nietnes   plaisiri.*1 
See  his  Venus  Physique.    This  appears  to  be  one  of  the 
efforts  at  Fonteneiie's  gallantry  of  manner,  for  which  the 
learned   President  is  so  well  ridiculed   in  the  ,1kakia  of 
Voltaire. 

Maupertuii  may  be  thousht  to  have  borrowed  from  the 
ancient  Aristippus  that  indiscriminate  theory  of  pleasures 
which  he  has  sot  forth  in  hi*  F.."/<ii  tie  Philasnphif  Morale, 
and  for  which  he  was  so  very  justly  condemned.  AricuifpO*, 
:irciirdin«  to  Ij.vrtiux,  helil  /KI  Xixftpuv  TI  nJovin'  H^»v>If, 
which  irrational  sentiment  has  been  adopted  by  MnupTtnis; 
"Tant  qu'on  no  c.on-hlere  que  1'etat  present,  tous  les 
plaisirs  sont  du  ineine  genre,"  ect.  er,t. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


And,  led  by  thy  mysterious  ray, 
Glide  to  the  pillow  of  my  love. 

Calm  be  her  sleep,  the  gentle  dear ! 
Nor  let  her  dream  of  bliss  so  near, 
Till  o'er  her  cheek  she  thrilling  feel 
My  sighs  of  fire  in  murmurs  steal, 
And  I  shall  lift  the  locks,  that  flow 
Unbraided  o'er  her  lids  of  snow, 
And  softly  kiss  those  sealed  eyes, 
And  wake  her  into  sweet  surprise  ! 

Or  if  she  dream,  oh !  let  her  dream 

Of  those  delights  we  both  have  known 
And  felt  so  truly,  that  they  seem 

Form'd  to  be  felt  by  us  alone  ! 
And  I  shall  mark  her  kindling  cheek, 

Shall  see  her  bosom  warmly  move, 
And  hear  her  faintly,  lowly  speak 

The  murmur'd  sounds  so  dear  to  love  ! 
Oh  !  I  shall  gaze,  till  even  the  sigh, 
That  wafts  her  very  soul,  be  nigh, 
And  when  the  nymph  is  all  but  blest, 
Sink  in  her  arms  and  share  the  rest ! 
Sweet  LAIS  !  what  an  age  of  bliss 

In  that  one  moment  waits  for  me  ! 
Oh  sages  !  think  on  joy  like  this, 

And  where's  your  boast  of  apathy  ! 


TO  MRS.  BL— H— D. 

WRITTEN  IN  HER  ALBJM. 


TKTO  J»  TI  SITT 


Cebelis  Tabula. 


THEY  say  that  Love  had  once  a  book, 
(The  urchm  likes  to  copy  you,) 

Whore,  all  who  came  the  pencil  took, 
And  wrote,  like  us,  a  line  or  two. 

'Twas  Innocence,  the  maid  divine, 
Who  kept  this  volume  bright  and  fair, 

And  saw  that  no  unhallow'd  line, 

Or  thought  profane  should  enter  there 

And  sweetly  did  the  pages  fill 
With  fond  device  and  loving  lore, 

Ami  every  leaf  she  turn'd  was  still 
More  bright  than  that  she  turn'd  before . 

Beneath  the  touch  of  Hope,  how  soft, 
How  light  the  magic  pencil  ran  ! 

Till  Fear  would  coino,  alas  !  as  oft, 
And  trembling  close  what  Hope  began 

A  tear  or  two  had  dropp'd  from  Grief, 
And  .Jealousy  would,  now  and  then, 

Riitilo  in  haste  seme  snowy  leaf, 

Which  Love  had  still  to  smooth  again  ! 

But,  oh  !  there  was  a  blooming  boy, 
Who  often  turn'd  the  pages  o'er. 

And  wrote  therein  such  words  of  joy, 
As  all  who  read  still  sigh'd  for  morft 

And  Pleasure  was  this  spirit's  name, 
And  though  so  soft  his  voice  and  look, 


Yet  Innocence,  whene'er  he  came, 
Would  tremble  for  her  spotless  book ! 

For  still  she  saw  his  pJayful  fingers 
Fill'd  with  sweets 'and  wanton  toys  ; 

And  well  she  knew  the  stain  that  lingers 
After  sweets  from  wanton  boys  ! 

And  so  it  chanc'd,  one  luckless  night 

He  let  his  honey  goblet  fall 
O'er  the  dear  book,  so  pure,  so  white, 

And  sullied  lines  and  marge  and  alT! 

In  vain  he  sought,  with  eager  lip, 
The  honey  from  the  leaf  to  drink, 

For  still  the  more  the  boy  would  sip, 
The  deeper  still  the  blot  would  sink  ! 

Oh  !  it  would  make  you  weep  to  see 

The  traces  of  this  honey  flood 
Steal  o'er  a  page  where  Modesty 

Had  freshly  drawn  a  rose's  bud! 

And  Fancy's  emblems  lost  their  glow, 
And  Hope's  sweet  lines  were  all  defac'd, 

And  Love  himself  could  scarcely  know 
What  Love  himself  had  lately  trac'd ! 

At  length  the  urchin  Pleasure  fled, 
(For  how,  alas  !  could  pleasure  stay  ?) 

And  Love,  while  many  a  tear  he  shed, 
In  blushes  flung  the  book  away ! 

The  index  now  alone  remains, 

Of  all  the  pages  spoil'd  by  Pleasure, 

And  though  it  bears  some  honey  stains, 
Yet  Memory  counts  the  leaf  a  treasure ! 

And  oft,  they  say,  she  scans  it  o'er, 
And  oft,  by  this  memorial  aided, 

Brings  back  the  pages  now  no  more, 
And  thinks  of  lines  that  long  have  faded ! 

I  know  not  if  this  tale  be  true, 

But  thus  the  simple  facts  are  stated ; 

And  I  refer  their  truth  to  you, 
Since  Love  and  you  are  near  related ! 


EPISTLE  VII. 
TO  THOMAS  HUME,  ESQ.  M.  D. 

FROM  THE  CITY  OF  WASHINGTON. 

AIHfHSOMAI  AIHFHMATA  imS  AITIZTA,  KOINI1NA 
liN  IIE1IONOA  DTK  EXiiN. 

Xenophont.  Kphes.  Ephesiac.  lib.  *. 

'Tis  evening  now ;  the  heats  and  cares  of  day 
In  twilight  dews  are  calmly  wept  away 
The  lover  now,  beneath  the  western  star, 
Sighs  through  the  medium  of  his  sweet  sesrar, 
And  fills  the  ears  of  some  consenting  she 
With  pud's  and  vows,  with  smoke  and  constancy  ; 
The  weary  statesman  for  repose  hath  fled 
From  halls  of  council  to  his  negro's  shed. 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Whfre  blest  he  woo«  tome  black  Aspasia's  grace, 
And  dreams  of  freedom  in  his  slave's  embrace  . 

In  fcncy  now,  beneath  the  twilight  gloom, 
Come,  let  me  lead  thee  o'er  this  modem  Rome  . 
Where  tribune,  rule,  where  dusky  Davi  bow, 
And  what  was  Goo«e-Creek  once  is  Tiber  now  !3— 
This  fam'd  metropolis,  where  fancy  sees 
Squares  in  morasses,  obelisks  in  trees ; 
Which  traTclling  fools  and  gazetteers  adorn 
With  shrines  unbuilt,  and  heroes  yet  unborn, 
Though  nought  but  wood*  and  ********  they  see, 
Where  streets  should  run,  and  sages  ought  to  be  ! 

And  look,  how  soft  in  yonder  radiant  wave, 

The  dying  sun  prepares  his  golden  grave  ! — 

Oh  great  Potomac !  oh  you  banks  of  shade  ! 

You  mighty  scenes,  in  nature's  morning  made, 

While  still,  in  rich  magnificence  of  prime, 

She  pour'd  her  wonders,  lavishly  sublime, 

Nor  yet  had  learn'd  to  stoop  with  humbler  care, 

From  grand  to  soft,  from  wonderful  to  fair ! 

Say,  were  your  towering  hills,  your  boundless  floods, 

Your  rich  savannas,  and  majestic  woods, 

Where  bardf  should  meditate,  and  heroes  rove, 

And  woman  charm,  and  man  deserve  her  love ! 

Oh !  was  a  world  so  bright  but  born  to  grace 

Its  own  half-organiz'd,  half-minded  race* 


1  The  "black  Aspasia"  of  the  present  *»*»*****  of  the 
United  State*,  "  inter  Avernales  baud  ignottsgimii  ny alphas" 
hu  given  tor  to  much  pleasantry  among  the  anti-democrat 
wiu  in  America. 

2  "On  the  original  location  of  the  ground  now  allotted 
for  the  lent  of  the  Federal  City  (gays  Mr.  Weld,)  the  iden- 
tical ipot  on  which  the  capitol  now  stand*  wag  called  Rome. 
Thii  anecdote  is  related  by  many  as  a  certain  prognostic  of 
the  future  magnificence  of  this  city,  which  is  to  be,  as  it 
were,  a  second  Rome."—  Welft  Travels,  Letter  iv. 

3  A  little  stream  that  runs  through  thu  city,  which  with 
•tolerable  affectation,  they  have  styled  the  Tiber.    It  was 
originally  called  Goose-Creek. 

4  "  To  be  under  the  necessity  of  going  through  a  deep 
wood  for  one  or  two  miles,  perhaps,  in  order  to  see  a  next 
door  neighbour,  and  in  the  same  city,  is  a  curious,  and  1  be- 
lieve a  novel  circumstance." — H'rU,  Letter  iv. 

The  Federal  City  (if  it  must  be  called  a  city,)  lias  not 
been  much  increased  since  Mr.  Weld  visited  it  Moat  of  the 
public  buildings,  which  were  then  in  some  degree  of  forward- 
ness, have  been  since  utterly  suspended.  The  Hotel  is  al- 
ready a  ruin;  a  great  part  of  itsjopf  has  fallen  in,  and  the 
rooms  are  ten  to  be  occupied  gratuitously  by  the  miserable 
Scotch  and  Irish  emigrants.  The  President's  House,  a  very 
noble  structure,  is  by  no  means  suited  to  the  philosophical 
humility  of  its  present  possessor,  who  inhabits  but  a  corner  ol 
the  mansion  himself,  and  abandons  the  rest  to  a  state  of  un- 
cleanly desolation,  which  those  who  are  not  philosophers 
rannot  look  at  without  regret.  This  grand  edifice  is  en- 
circled by  a  very  rude  pale,  through  which  a  common  rustic 
Mile  introduces  the  visitors  of  the  fir»t  man  in  America 
With  respect  to  all  that  is  in  the  house,  I  shall  imitate  the 
fimkml  Mfbearanc*  of  Herodotus,  and  say,  r*  it  i»  nx-op 
fir*. 

The  private  building*  exhibit  the  same  characteristic  dis 
play  of  arrof  nnt  speculation  and  premature  ruin,  and  the 


few  ranges  of  booses  which  weie  begun  rome  years  ago 
have  remained  so  long  waste  and  unfinished,  that  they  are 
now  for  the  most  pan  dilapidated. 

S  TbJ  picture  which  Ruflon  and  He  Panw  have  drawn 
of  the  American  Indian,  though  very  humiliating,  is,  as  fa 
as  I  can  jodce,  modi  mot*  correct  than  the  fluttering  repre- 
sentations which  Mr.  Jefferson  has  given  us.  See  ti 

"  »i«.  where  this  gentleman  endeavours  to  disprove 
j"  l»iwli  the  opinion  maintained  so  strongly  by  some  phi 
Imppnen,  that  nature  (as  Mr.  Jefferson  expresses  i:. 
(Its  her  productions  in  the  western  world.  M.  de  Pauw 
attributes  the  imperfection  of  animal  life  in  America  to  ill 
ravages  of  a  v*ry  recent  <1.  <i:  .  ,,,„,„  j( 

toil  and  atmosphere  it  has  not  yet  sufficiently  re. 
8ee  kie  RttiercJUi  mr  let  Jtmericaiiu,  Part  i.  torn.  i.  p.  102 


Of  weak  barbarians,  swarming  o'er  its  breast, 
Jke  vermin,  gender'd  on  the  lion's  crest  ? 
,Vere  none  but  brutes  to  call  that  soil  their  home, 
iVhere  none  but  demi-gods  should  dare  to  roam  * 

Or  worse,  thou  mighty  world  !  oh  !  doubiy  NvoraC, 
)id  Heaven  design  thy  lordly  land  to  nurse 
The  motly  dregs  of  every  distant  clime, 

ch  blast  of  anarchy  and  taint  of  crime 

Which  Europe  shakes  from  her  perturbed  sphere, 
n  full  malignity  to  rankle  here  ? 

Jut  hush  ! — observe  that  little  mount  of  pines, 
Vhere  the  breeze  murmurs,  and  the  fire-fly  shines 
There  let  thy  fancy  raise,  in  bold  relief, 
["he  sculptur'd  image  of  that  veteran  chief,1 
Who  lost  the  rebel's  in  the  hero's  name, 
And  slept  o'er  prostrate  loyalty  to  fame ; 
leneath  whose  sword  Columbia's  patriot  train 
?ast  off  their  monarch,  that  the  mob  might  reign 
low  shall  we  rank  thee  upon  glory's  page  ? 
fhoii  more  than  soldier,  and  just  less  than  sage  ! 
Too  form'd  for  peace  to  act  a  conqueror's  part, 
Too  train'd  in  camps  to  learn  a  statesman's  art — 
S'ature  design'd  thee  for  a  hero's  mould, 
Jut  ere  she  cast  thee,  let  the  stuff  grow  cold  ! 
iVhile  warmer  souls  command,  nay,  make  their  fato, 
Thy  fate  made  thee,  and  forc'd  thee  to  be  great. 
fefForiune,  who  so  oft,  so  blindly  sheds 
ier  brightest  halo  round  the  weakest  heads, 
bund  thee  undazzled,  tranquil  as  before, 
Droud  to  be  useful,  scorning  to  be  more; 
'jesa  prompt  at  glory's  than  at  duty's  claim, 
lenown  the  meed,  but  self-applause  the  aim; 
All  thou  hast  been  reflects  less  fame  on  thee, 
'ar  less,  than  all  thou  hast  forborne  to  be  ! 

Now  turn  thine  eye  where  faint  the  moonlight  falls, 
On  yonder  dome — and  in  those  princely  halls, 
[f  thou  canst  hate,  as,  oh !  that  soul  rfcist  hate, 
Which  loves  the  virtuous,  and  reveres  the  great, 
[f  thou  canst  loathe  and  execrate  with  me 
That  Gallic  garbage  of  philosophy, 
That  nauseous  slaver  of  these  frantic  times, 
With  which  false  liberty  dilutes  her  crimes ! 
If  thou  hast  got  within  thy  free-born  breast, 
One  pulse  that  beats  more  proudly  than  the  rest, 
With  honest  scorn  for  that  inglorious  soul, 
Which  creeps  and  winds  beneath  a  mob's  control, 
Which  courts  the  rabble's  smile,  the  rabble's  nod, 
And  makes,  like  Egypt,  every  beast  its  god ! 
There,  in  those  walls — but,  burning-  tongue,  forbear 
Rank  must  be  reverenc'd,  even  the  rank  that's  there 
So  here  I  pause — and  now,  my  HUME  !  we  part ; 
But  oh !  full  oft,  in  magic  dreams  of  heart, 
Thus  let  us  meet,  and  mingle  converse  dear 
By  Thames  at  home,  or  by  Potomac  here ! 
O'er  lake  and  marsh,  through  fevers  and  through  fogs, 
Midst  bears  and  yankees,  democrats  and  frogs, 
Thy  foot  shall  follow  me,  thy  heart  and  eyes 
With  me  shall  wonder,  and  with  me  despise  !2 


1  On  a  small  hill  near  the  rapitol,  there  is  to  be  an  eques 
trinn  statue  of  General  Washington. 

2  In  the  ferment  which   the  French  revolution  excited 
among  the  democrats  of  America,  and  the  licentious  sym- 
pathy with  which  they  shared  in  the  wildest  excesses  of 
jacobinism,  we  may  find  one  source  of  that  vulgarity  of 
vice,  that  hostility  'o  all  the  graces  of  life,  which  distio 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


129 


While  I,  as  oft,  in  witching  thought  shall  rove 
To  thee,  to  friendship,  and  that  land  I  love, 
Where,  like  the  air  that  fans  her  fields  of  green, 
Her  freedom  spreads,  unfever'd  and  serene  ; 
Where  sovereign  man  can  condescend  to  see 
The  throne  and  laws  more  sovereign  still  than  he  ! 


THE  SNAKE. 
1801. 

MY  love  and  I,  the  other  day, 
Within  a  myrtle  arbour  lay, 
When  near  us  from  a  rosy  bed, 
A  little  Snake  po*  forth  its  head. 

"  See,"  said  the  maid,  with  laughing  eyes — 
"  Yonder  the  fatal  emblem  lies  ! 
Who  could  expect  such  hidden  harm 
Beneath  the  rose's  velvet  charm  ? 

Never  did  mortal  thought  occur 

In  more  unlucky  hour  than  this ; 
For  oh  !  I  just  was  leading  her 

To  talk  of  love  and  think  of  bliss. 

I  rose  to  kill  the  snake,  but  she 
In  pity  pray'd,  it  might  not  be. 

"  No,"  said  the  girl — and  many  a  spark 

Flash1  d  from  her  eyelid,  as  she  said  it — 
"  Under  the  rose,  or  in  the  dark, 

One  might,  perhaps,  have  cause  to  dread  it ; 
But  when  its  wicked  eyes  appear, 

And  when  we  know  for  what  they  wink  so, 
One  must  be  very  simple,  dear, 

To  let  it  sting  one— don't  you  think  so  ?" 


LINES, 

WRITTEN   ON   LEAVING    PHILADELPHIA. 


-TYivSt  T>[V   7TO\*V   C)(\Wff 

Sophocl.  CEdip.  Colon  v.  758. 

ALONE  by  the  Schuylkill  a  wanderer  rov'd, 
And  bright  were  its  flowery  banks  to  his  eye  ; 

But  far,  very  far  were  the  friends  that  he  lov'd, 
And  he  gazM  on  its  flowery  banks  with  a  sigh ! 

Oh,  nature  !  though  blessed  and  bright  are  thy  rays, 
O'er  the  brow  of  creation  enchantingly  thrown, 

Yet  faint  are  they  all  to  the  lustre  that  plays 

In  a  smile  from  the  heart  that  is  dearly  our  own ! 


guishes  the  present  demagogues  of  the  United  States,  and 
has  lif  oine  indeed  too  generally  the  characteristic  of  their 
countrymen.  But  there  is  another  cause  of  the  corruption 
of  private  morals,  which,  encouraged  as  it  ig  by  the  govern- 
ment, ind  identified  with  the  intercuts  of  the  community, 
seems  to  threaten  the  decay  of  all  honest  principle  in  Ame- 
rica. I  allude  to  those  fraudulent  violations  of  neutrality 
lu  which  they  are  indebted  for  the  most  lucrative  part  of 
their  commerce,  and  by  which  they  have  so  long  infringed 
and  counteracted  *tho  maritime  rights  and  advantages  of 
this  country  This  unwarrantable  trade  is  necessarily  abet- 
ted by  such  a  system  of  collusion,  imposture,  and  perjury, 
is  cannot  fail  to  spread  rapid  contamination  around  it. 

R 


Nor  long  did  the  soul  of  the  stranger  remain 

Unbless'd  by  the  smile  he  had  languish'd  to  meet : 
Though  scarce  did  he  hope  it  would  soothe  him 

again, 

Till  the  threshold  of  home  had  been  k.ss'd  by  his 
feet! 

But  the  lays  of  his  boy-hood  had  stol'n  o  their  ear, 
And  they  lov'd  what  they  knew  of  so  humble  a 

name, 

And  they  told  him,  with  flattery  welcome  ana  dear, 
That  they  found  in  his  heart  something  sweeter 
than  lame ! 

Nor  did  woman — oh,  woman !  whose  form  and  whose 
soul 

Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  we  pursue ! 
Whether  sunn'd  in  the  tropics  or  chill'd  at  the  pole, 

If  woman  be  there,  there  is  happiness  too ! 

Nor  did  she  her  enamouring  magic  deny, 

That  magic  his  heart  had  relinquished  so  long, 

Like  eyes  he  had  loved  was  her  eloquent  eye, 
Like  them  did  it  soften  and  weep  at  his  song. 

Oh !  bltis'd  be  the  tear,  and  in  memory  oft 
May  its  sparkle  be  shed  o'er  his  wandering  dream 

Oh !  blest  be  that  eye,  and  may  passion  as  soil, 
As  free  from  a  pang,  ever  mellow  its  beam ! 

The  stranger  is  gone — but  he  will  not  forget, 
When  at  home  he  shall  talk  of  the  tcil  ne  has 
known, 

To  tell,  with  a  sigh,  what  endearments  he  met. 
As  he  stray'd  by  the  wave  of  the  Schuylkill  alone ! 


THE  FALL  OF  HEBE. 

A   DITHYRAMBIC   ODE.1 

'Twas  on  a  day 
When  the  immortals  at  their  banquet  lay ; 

The  bowl 

Sparkled  with  starry  dew, 
The  weeping  of  those  myriad  urns  of  light, 
Within  whose  orbs,  the  almighty  Power, 
At  Nature's  dawning  hour, 


1  Though  I  call  this  a  Dithyrambic  Ode,  I  cannot  presume 
to  say  that  it  possesses,  in  any  degree,  the  characteristics  of 
that  species  of  poetry.  The  nature  of  the  ancient  Dithy- 
rambic is  very  imperfectly  known.  According  to  M.  Bu- 
rette, a  licentious  irregularity  of  metre,  an  extravagant 
research  of  thought  and  expression,  and  a  rude  embarrassed 
construction,  are  among  its  most  distinguishing  features. 
He  adds,  "Ces  caracteres  des  dilyiambes  se  font  sentir  a 
ceux  qui  lisent  attentivement  les  odes  de  Pindare."  Me- 
moires  de  VJlcad.  vol.  x.  p.  306.  And  the  same  opinion  may 
be  collected  from  Schmidt's  dissertation  upon  the  subject. 
But  I  think  if  the  Uithyrumbics  of  Pindar  were  in  our  pos- 
session, we  should  find,  that,  however  wild  and  fanciful, 
they  were  by  no  means  the  tasteless  jargon  they  are  repre- 
sented, and  that  even  their  irregularity  was  what  Hoileau 
calls  "un  beau  desordre."  Chiabrera,  who  has  been  styled 
the  Pindar  of  Italy,  and  from  whom  all  its  poetry  upon  thu 
Greek  model  was  called  Chiabreresco  (as  Crescimbeni  in- 
forms us,  Lib.  i.  cap.  12.)  has  given  amongst  his  Veixlem 
mie,  a  Dithyrambic,  "  air  uso  de'  Greci :"  it  is  full  of  those 
compound  epithets  which,  we  are  told,  were  a  chief  charac- 
ter of  the  style  (<ruv3-|TOuj  SiKi^itf  fjroiouv.  SuiD  A'Jvfxfi- 
ZoSiS;)  such  as 

Briglindorato  Pegaso 

Nubicalpestator. 
But  I  cannot  suppose  that  Pindar,, eTen  amidst  all  the  li- 


130 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Stor'd  the  rich  fluid  of  ethereal  soul !' 

Around, 
Soft  oiirous  cloud*,  that  upward  wing  their  flight 

From  eastern  isles 

(Where  they  have  bathed  them  in  the  orient  ray, 
And  with  fine  fragrance  all  their  bosoms  fill'd,) 
In  circle*  flew,  and,  melting  as  they  flew, 
A  liquid  day-break  o'er  the  board  distill'd ! 

All,  all  wa«  luxury 

All  mxtt  be  luxury,  where  Lyzus  smiles! 
His  locks  divine 
Were  crown'd 
With  a  bright  meteor-braid, 
Which,  like  an  ever-springing  wreath  of  vine, 

Shot  into  brilliant  leafy  shapes, 
And  o'er  his  brow  in  lambent  tendrils  play'd ! 
While  'mid  the  foliage  hung, 

Like  lucid  grapes, 

A  thousand  clustering  blooms  of  light, 
Cull'd  fnyn  the  gardens  of  the  galaxy ! 
I'pon  his  bosom  Cytherea's  head 
Lay  lovely,  as  wnen  first  the  Syrens  sung 

Her  beauty's  dawn, 

And  all  die  curtains  of  the  deep,  undrawn, 
Rcvcal'd  her  sleeping  in  its  azure  bed. 

The  captive  deity 
Languish'd  upon  her  eyes  and  lip, 
In  chains  of  ecstacy ! 

Now  in  his  arm, 
In  blushes  she  reposed, 
And,  Awhile  her  zone  resign'd  its  every  charm, 
To  shade  his  burning  eyes  her  hand  in  dalliance  stole; 
And  now  she  raised  her  rosy  mouth  to  sip 
The  nectar'd  wave 
Lyspus  gave, 

And  from  her  eyelids,  gently  closed, 
Shed  a  dissolving  gleam, 
Which  fell,  like  sun-dew,  in  the  bowl ! 
While  her  bright  hair,  in  mazy  flow 

Of  gold  descending 
Along  her  cheek's  luxurious  glow, 
Waved  o'er  the  goblet's  side, 
And  was  reflected  by  its  crystal  tide, 

Like  a  sweet  crocus  flower, 
Whose  sunny  leaves,  at  evening  hour, 
With  roses  of  Cyrene  blending,1 


•  «••»•  of  dithyrambiet,  would  ever  have  descended  to  ballad- 
hafMfe  like  the  following  : 

Bell*  Filli,  e  belli  Clori 

Noo  pin  dat  pregio  a  tue  bellezze  e  taci, 

Cbe  n  Btcco  fa  vezxi  alle  mie  labbra 

Fo  le  fiche  a'  TO.IM  foci. 

—  --  eurr  vorrei  Coupier, 

E  w  rroppo  denro 

D«h  fbeu  io  BottijrliCT. 

Rime  del  CWoJrero,  part  ii.  p.  352. 

f>DCy:  , 

fo""^  "«  Mul  o>  the 
ion  of  olher  «">'«  :  >" 

were  not  quite  loTurn'Ti 

lhe  mi*tlire  wilh  «  »»'« 


*  '    .        * 


The  Olympian  cup 
Burn'd  in  the  hands 
Of  dimpled  Hebe,  as  she  wing'd  her  feet 

Up 

The  empyreal  mount, 
To  drain  the  soul-drops  at  their  stellar  fount ;' 

And  still, 

As  the  resplendent  rill 
Flamed  o'er  the  goblet  with  a  mantling  heat, 

Her  graceful  care 
Would  cool  its  heavenly  fire 
In  gelid  waves  of  snowy-feather' d  air, 
Such  as  the  children  of  the  pole  respire, 

Tn  those  enchanted  lands2 
Where  life  is  all  a  spring  and  north  winds  never  blo» 

But  oh ! 

Sweet  Hebe,  what  a  tear 
And  what  a  blush  were  thine, 
When,  as  the  breath  of  every  Grace 
Wafted  thy  fleet  career 
Along  the  studded  sphere, 
With  a  rich  cup  for  Jove  himself  to  drink 
Some  star,  that  glitter'd  in  the  way, 

Raising  its  amorous  head 
.  To  kiss  so  exquisite  a  tread, 
Check'd  thy  impatient  pace ! 
And  all  Heaven's  host  of  eyes 
Saw  those  luxuriant  beauties  sink 
In  lapse  of  loveliness,  along  the  azure  skies  !J 

Upon  whose  starry  plain  they  lay, 
Like  a  young  blossom  on  our  meads  of  gold, 

Shed  from  a  vernal  thorn 
Amid  the  liquid  sparkles  of  the  morn ! 
Or,  as  in  temples  of  the  Paphian  shade, 
The  myrtled  votaries  of  the  queen  behold 
An  image  of  their  rosy  idol,  laid 
Upon  a  diamond  shrine ! 

The  wanton  wind, 
Which  had  pursued  the  flying  fair, 

A-nd  sweetly  twin'd 
Its  spirit  with  the  breathing  rings 
Of  her  ambrosial  hair, 


1  Htraclitus  (Physicus)  held  the  soul  to  be  u  spark  of  the 
stellar  essence.     "  Scintilla  stellaris  essentiiB." — J\Iacrubi'j.s, 
in  Somn.  Scip.  Lib.  i.  cap.  14. 

2  The  country  of  the  Hyperboreans;  they  were  supposed 
to  be  placed  so  far  north,  that  the  north  wind  could  not  af- 
fect them ;  they  lived  longer  than  any  other  mortals  :  p;:ssod 
their  whole  time  in  music  and  dancing,  etc.  etc.     But  the 
most  extravagant  fiction  related  of  them  is  that  to  which  lhe 
two  lines  preceding  allude.    It  was  imagined,  that  instead 
of  our   vulgar    atmosphere,   the    Hyperboreans    breathed 
nothing  but  feathers!     According  to  Herodotus  and  Pliny, 
this  idea  was  suggested  by  the  quantity  of  snow  \vhirh  \v;is 
observed  to  fall  in  those  regions ;  thus  the  former :  T»  »» 

p*    IHCt^SVTXJ    Tf,V    VOV4     TOUC     2TxU  TXC     Tl      X;tl      TSy;      "I- 

nouf  Jsxi »  Xiynu,— //erorf,,t.  lib.  iv.  cap.  31.    Ovid  tells 
UN  ftbfe  othnrwise.     See  Metamorph.  lib.  xv. 

Mr.  O'Halloran,  and  come  other  Irish  Antiquarians,  have 
been  at  great  expense  of  learning  to  prove  thai  the  strange 
country,  where  they  took  snow  for  feathers,  was  Ireland, 
and  that  the  famous  Abaris  was  an  Irish  Druid.  Mr.  Row- 
land, however,  will  have  it  that  Abaris  was  a  Welshman, 
nd  that  his  name  is  only  a  cnrniption  of  Ap  Keen ! 

3  I  believe  it  is  Sorvi'us  who  mentions  this  unlucky  trip 
_vhich  Hebe  made  in  her  occupation  of  rup-boarcr ;    and 
Hoffman  tells  it  after  him;  "Cum  H.-be  t>onil,i  Jovi   ndmi- 
mstrans,  perque  lubricum  minus  mute  incedens,  cr.-id  s-rt 
rcvolutisqiie  vestibus"— in  short,  she  fell  in  a  very  a-vkward 
manner,  and  though  (as  the  Encycb.pedistes  thinV  it  would 
have  tunned  JOVK  at  any  other  time,  yei,  as  ho  hnnppned 
to  he  out  of  temper  on  that  day.  the  poor  girl  was  dismissed 
from  her  employment. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


131 


Soar'd  as  she  fell,  and  on  i's  ruffling  wings, 

(Oh  wanton  wind!)  f 

Wafted  the  robe,  whose  sacred  flow, 
Shadow'd  her  kindling  charms  of  snow, 
Pure,  as  an  Eleusinian  veil 

Hangs  o'er  the  mysteries  !' 

*  *  *  * 

•  the  brow  of  Juno  flushed — • 
Love  hless'd  the  breeze  ! 

The  Muses  blush'd, 

And  every  cln>ek  was  hid  behind  a  lyre, 
While  every  eye  was  glancing  through  the  strings. 
Drop*  of  ethereal  dew, 
That  burning  gush'd, 
As  the  great  goblet  flew 
From  Hebe's  nearly  ringers  through  the  sky ! 
Who  was  the  spirit  that  remember'd  Man 
In  that  voluptuous  hour? 

And  with  a  wing  of  Love 
Brush'd  off  your  scatter'd  tears, 
As  o'er  the  spangled  heaven  they  ran, 
And  sent  them  floating  to  our  orb  below  !* 
Essence  of  immortality ! 

The  shower 

Fell  glowing  through  the  spheres    ' 
While  all  around  new  tints  of  bliss, 
Now  perfumes  of  delight, 
Enrieh'd  its  radiant  flow ! 

Now,  with  a  humid  kiss, 
It  thrill' d  along  the  beamy  wire 
Of  Heaven's  illumin'd  lyre,3 
Stealing  the  soul  of  music  in  its  flight! 
And  now,  amid  the  breezes  bland, 
That  whisper  from  the  planets  as  they  roll, 
The  bright  libation,  softly  fann'd 
By  all  their  sighs,  meandering  stole  ! 
They  who,  from  Atlas'  height, 

Beheld  the  hill  of  flame 
Descending  through  the  waste  of  night, 
Thought  'twas  a  planet,  whose  stupendous  frame 

Had  kindled,  as  it  rapidly  revolv'd 
Around  its  fervid  axle,  and  dissolv'd 
Into  a  flood  so  bright! 
The  child  of  day, 
Within  his  twilight  bower, 
Lay  sweetly  sleeping 
On  the  flush'd  bosom  of  a  lotos-flower;4 


1  The  arcane  symbols  of  this  ceremony  were  deposited  in 
the  cisla,  where  they  lay  religiously  concealed  from  the  eyes 
of  tli«  profane.    They  were  generally  carried  in  the  proces 
sion  by  nn  ass;  and  hence  the  proverb,  which  one  may  so 
ol'ii-n  apply  in  the  world,  "  asinus  portal  mysteria."     See 
the  Divine  legation,  Book  ii.  sect.  4. 

2  In  the  fleoponica,  Lib.  ii.  cap.  17,  there  is  a  fable  some 
what  like  this  descent  of  the  nectar  to  earth.     E.V  oupxvoo 

nou,   «v»(rmpT>i<rai   %0ftt*    TOV    Epura    xxi    <rvir<riiirs£i    TOJ 

«TTtj>u)   TOU   Xf»THp8f    T1|V    /3«TIV,   XK1     7TI  fiTf  I  vj/al    ,UIV    HUTOV 
TO    St    VfXT*p   ll{   T>|V   y»V     IXXU^IK,  X.  T.  X.        See    JlUCtOT.  de 

Rr  Rust,  edit.  Cantab.  1704. 

3  The  constellation   Lyra.      The    astrologers    attribute 
great  virtues  to  this  sign  in  ascendenti,  which  are  enume- 
rated by  Pontano,  in  his  Urania: 

Ecce  novom  cum  pectine  chorda* 

Emodulans,  mulcet  qne  novo  vaga  sidera  cantu, 
duo  cnpt;p  nascent  inn  animae  concordia  ducunt 
Pcctora,  etc. 

4  The  Egyptians  represented  the  dawn  of  day  by  a  young 
hoy  rented  upon  a  lotos.     EITI    A>^UVTV$  <'joj>xxn>;  tepxnv 


When  round  him,  in  profusion  weeping, 
Dropp'd  the  celestial  shower, 

Steeping 
The  rosy  clouds,  that  curl'd 

About  his  infant  head, 
Like  myrrh  upon  the  locks  of  Cupid  shed ! 

But,  when  the  waking  boy 
Waved  his  exhaling  tresses  through  the  sky, 
O  morn  of  joy ! 
The  tide  divine, 

All  glittering  with  the  vermeil  dye 
It  drank  beneath  his  orient  eye, 
Distill'd  in  dews  upon  the  world, 
And  every  drop  was  wine,  was  heavenly  WINK  ' 

Bless'd  be  the  sod,  the  flow'ret  blest, 
That  caught,  upon  their  hallow'd  breast, 
The  nectar'd  spray  of  Jove's  perennial  springs ! 
Less  sweet  the  flow'ret,  and  less  sweet  the  sod 
O'er  which  the  Spirit  of  the  rainbow  flings 
The  magic  mantle  of  her  solar  god !' 


TO 


THAT  wrinkle,  when  first  I  espied  it, 
At  once  put  my  heart  out  of  pain, 

Till  the  eye  that  was  glowing  beside  it 
Disturb'd  my  ideas  again ! 

Thou  art  just  in  the  twilight  at  present 
When  woman's  declension  begins, 

When,  fading  from  all  that  is  pleasant. 
She  bids  a  good  night  to  her  sins  ! 

Yet  thou  still  art  so  lovely  to  me, 
I  would  sooner,  my  exquisite  mother ! 

Repose  in  the  sunset  of  thee 
Than  bask  in  the  noon  of  another! 


ANACREONTIC. 

"  She  never  look'd  so  kind  before — 
Yet  why  the  wanton's  smile  recall ! 

I've  seen  this  witchery  o'er  and  o'er, 
'Tis  hollow,  vain,  and  heartless  all !" 

Thus  I  said,  and,  sighing,  sipp'd 
The  wine  which  she  had  lately  tasted ; 

The  cup,  where  she  had  lately  dipp'd 
Breath,  so  long  in  falsehood  wasted. 

I  took  the  harp,  and  would  have  sung 
As  if  'twere  not  of  her  I  sang ; 


Plutarch,  nipt  TH  p*  Xf*"  ippiTf.  See  also  his  treatise 
laid,  et  Osir.  Observing  that  the  lotos  showed  its  head 
above  water  at  sun-rise,  and  sank  again  at  his  setting,  they 
conceived  the  idea  of  consecrating  it  to  Osiris,  or  the  sun. 

This  symbol  of  a  youth  sitting  upon  a  lotos,  is  very  fre- 
quent on  the  Abraxases,  or  Basiluliun  stones.  See  Mcnt- 
faucon,  Tom.  ii.  planche  158,  and  the  Supplement,  etc. 
Tom.  ii.  lib.  vii.  chap.  5. 

1  The  ancients  esteemed  those  flowers  and  trees  tho 
dweetest  upon  which  the  rainbow  had  appeared  to  rest,  and 
the  wood  they  chiefly  burned  in  sacrifices,  was  thnt  which 
the  smile  of  Iris  had  consecrated. —  Plutarch  Sympot,  Lib 
iv.  cap.  2,  where  (as  Vopsius  rnmaiks)  xaiuo-i,  instead  of 
K*X»<TI,  is  undoubtedly  the  genuine  reading.  Sec  ynxsivi 
for  some  curious  particularities  of  tAe  rainbow,  De  Origin 
:t  Progress,  Idololat.  Lib.  iii.  cap.  13. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


But  still  the  notes  on  LAMIA  hung— 
On  whom  out  LAMIA  amid  they  hang ! 

That  kiss,  for  whicn,  if  worlds  were  mine, 
A  world  for  every  kiss  I'd  give  her; 

Those  floating  eye*,  that  floating  shine 
Like  diamond*  in  an  eastern  river ! 

That  mould  so  fine,  so  pearly  bright, 

Of  which  luxurious  Heaven  hath  cast  her, 
Through  which  her  soul  doth  beam  as  white 

As  flame  through  lamps  of  alabaster ! 
Of  these  I  sung,  and  notes  and  words 

Were  sweet  as  if  'twas  LAMIA'S  hair 
That  lay  upon  my  lute  for  chords, 

And  LAMIA'S  lip  that  warbled  there ! 

But  when,  alas !  I  turn'd  the  theme, 

And  when  of  vows  and  oaths  1  spoke, 
Of  truth,  and  hope's  beguiling  dream— 

The  chord  beneath  my  finger  broke ! 
False  harp !  false  woman  ! — such,  oh !  such 

Are  lutes  too  frail  and  maids  too  willing ; 
Every  hand's  licentious  touch 

Can  learn  to  wake  their  wildest  thrilling ! 

And  when  that  thrill  is  most  awake, 

And  when  you  think  heaven's  joys  await  you, 
The  nymph  will  change,  the  chord  will  break — 

Oh  Love !  oh  Music !  how  I  hate  you ! 


TO  MRS. . 

Oil  SOME  CALUMNIES  AGAINST  HER  CHARACTER. 

Is  not  thy  mind  a  gentle  mind  ? 

Is  not  thy  heart  a  heart  refin'd  ? 

Hast  thou  not  every  blameless  grace, 

That  man  should  love,  or  Heaven  can  trace  ? 

And  oh !  art  thou  a  shrine  for  Sin 

To  hold  her  hateful  worship  in  ? 

No,  no,  be  happy — dry  that  tear — 

Though  some  thy  heart  hath  harbour'd  near 

May  now  repay  its  love  with  blame ! 

Though  man,  who  ought  to  shield  thy  fame, 

Ungenerous  man,  be  first  to  wound  thee ! 

Though  the  whole  world  may  freeze  around  thee. 

Oh !  thou'h  be  like  that  lucid  tear,1 

Which,  bright,  within  the  crystal's  sphere 

In  liquid  purity  was  found, 

Though  all  had  grown  congeal'd  around ; 

Floating  i*  frost,  it  mock'd  the  chill, 

<Vas  pure,  was  soft,  was  brilliant  stilL 


HYMN  OF  A  VIRGIN  OF  DELPHI, 

AT  THE  TOMB  OF  HER  MOTHER. 

On !  lort,  for  ever  lost !— no  more 
Shall  Vesper  light  our  dewy  way 

Along  the  rocks  of  Crissa's  shore, 
To  hymn  the  lading  fires  of  day ! 


upon 


No  more  to  Tempe's  distant  vale 

In  l^ly  musings  shall  we  roam, 
Through  summer's  glow,  and  winter's  gale, 

To  bear  the  mystic  chaplets  home  !' 
'Twas  then  my  soul's  expanding  zeal, 

By  nature  wann'd  and  led  by  thee, 
In  every  breeze  was  taught  to  feel 

The  breathings  of  a  deity ! 
Guide  of  my  heart !  to  memory  true, 

Thy  looks,  thy  words,  are  still  my  own 
I  see  thee  raising  from  the  dew, 

Some  laurel,  by  the  wind  o'erthrown, 
And  hear  thee  say,  "  This  humble  bough 

Was  planted  for  a  doom  divine, 
And,  though  it  weep  in  languor  now, 

Shall  flourish  on  the  Delphic  shrine  ! 
Thus,  in  the  vale  of  earthly  sense, 

Though  sunk  awhile  the  spirit  lies, 
A  viewless  hand  shall  cull  it  thence, 

To  bloom  immortal  in  the  skies  !" 

Thy  words  had  such  a  melting  flow, 

And  spoke  of  truth  so  sweetly  well, 
They  dropp'd  like  heaven's  serenest  snow, 

And  all  was  brightness  where  they  fell ! 
Fond  soother  of  my  infant  tear  ! 

Fond  sharer  of  my  infant  joy  ! 
Is  not  thy  shade  still  lingering  here  ? 

Am  I  not  still  thy  soul's  employ  ? 
And  oh  !  as  oft,  at  close  of  day 

When,  meeting  on  the  sacred  mount, 
Our  nymphs  awak'd  the  choral  lay, 

And  danc'd  around  Cassotis'  fount ; 
As  then,  'twas  all  thy  wish  and  care, 

That  mine  should  be  the  simplest  mien, 
My  lyre  and  voice  the  sweetest  there, 

My  foot  the  lightest  o'er  the  green  ; 
So  still,  each  little  grace  to  mould, 

Around  my  form  thine  eyes  are  shed, 
Arranging  every  snowy  fold, 

And  guiding  every  mazy  tread  ! 
And,  when  I  lead  the  hymning  choir, 

Thy  spirit  still,  unseen  and  free, 
Hovers  between  my  lip  and  lyre, 

And  weds  them  into  harmony  ! 
Flow,  Plistus,  flow  !  thy  murmuring  wave 

Shall  never  drop  its  silvery  tear 
Upon  so  pure,  so  blest  a  grave, 

To  memory  so  divinely  dear ! 


RINGS  AND  SEALS. 


Achilles  Tatius,  Lib.  ii 

"  Go  !"  said  the  angry  weeping  maid, 
"  The  charm  is  broken  !  —  once  betray'd, 


a  rarity  as  this  that  I  saw  at  Vend&me  in  France,  which 
they  there  pretend  is  a  tear  that  our  Saviour  shed  over  La- 
zarus, and  was  gathered  up  by  an  angel,  who  put  it  in  a  little 
crystal  vial^  and  ma<le  a  present  of  it  to  Mary  Magdalene." 
—Jilditon's  Kemurks  on  several  Parts  of  Italy. 

The  laurel,  for  the  common  uses  of  the  temple,  for 
dflornmg  the  altars  nud  sweeping  the  pavement,  was  sup- 
plied by  a  tree  Dear  the  fountain  of  Caatalia.  But  upon  a« 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


133 


Oh !  never  can  my  heart  rely 
On  word  or  look,  on  oath  or  sigh. 
Take  back  the  gifts,  so  sweetly  given, 
With  promis'd  faith  and  vows  to  Heaven ; 
That  little  ring,  which,  night  and  morn, 
With  wedded  truth  my  hand  hath  worn ; 
That  seal  which  oft,  in  moment  blest, 
Thou  hast  upon  my  lip  imprest, 
And  sworn  its  dewy  spring  should  be 
A  fountain  seal'd'  for  only  thee  ! 
Tike,  take  them  back,  the  gift  and  vow, 
All  sullied,  lost,  and  hateful,  now !" 

I  took  the  ring — the  seal  I  took, 
While  oh  !  her  every  tear  and  look 
Were  such  as  angels  look  and  shed, 
When  man  is  by  the  world  misled  ! 
Gently  I  whisper'd,  "  FANNY,  dear ! 
Not  half  thy  lovers  gifts  are  here : 
Say,  where  are  all  the  seals  he  gave 
To  every  ringlet's  jetty  wave, 
And  where  is  every  one  he  printed 
Upon  that  lip,  so  ruby-tinted — 
Seals  of  the  purest  gem  of  bliss, 
Oh !  richer,  softer,  far  than  this ! 

"  And  then  the  ring — my  love  !  recall 
How  many  rings  delicious  all, 
His  arms  around  that  neck  hath  twisted, 
Twining  warmer  far  than  this  did ! 
Where  are  they  all,  so  sweet,  so  many  ? 
Oh !  dearest,  give  back  all,  if  any  !" 

While  thus  I  murmur'd,  trembling  too 
Lest  all  the  nymph  had  vow'd  was  true, 
I  saw  a  smile  relenting  rise 
Mid  the  moist  azure  of  her  eyes, 
Like  day-light  o'er  a  sea  of  blue, 
While  yet  the  air  is  dim  with  dew  ! 
She  let  her  cheek  repose  on  mine, 
She  let  my  arms  around  her  twine — 
Oh !  who  can  tell  the  bliss  one  feels 
In  thus  exchanging  rings  and  seals ! 


TO  MISS  SUSAN  B— CKF— D. 

HER  SINGING. 

I  MORE  than  once  have  heard,  at  night, 
A  song,  like  those  thy  lips  have  given, 

And  it  was  sung  by  shapes  of  light, 
Who  seem'd,  like  thee,  to  breathe  of  heaven  ! 

But  this  was  all  a  dream  of  sleep, 
And  I  have  said,  when  morning  shone, 


important  occasions,  they  senft  to  Tempt;  for  their  laurel. 
We  finil  in  Puusanias,  that  this  valley  supplied  the  branches, 
of  which  the  temple  was  originally  constructed;  and  I'lu- 
tarch  says,  in  his  Dialogue  on  Mtisic,  "  The  youth  who 
brings  the  Tetnpic  laurel  to  Delphi  is  always  attended  by  a 
'jlayer  on  the  flute."  Ax.x.a  ptfv  xxi  TOJ  xjeT*xo,ui £OVTI  araiji 
f<(v  TtHTrixqv  Ja?v>|V  «i{  AsX$»s  trxpaftxprit  *U\-^T>);. 

1  "  There  are  gardens,  supposed  to  be  those  of  King  Solo- 
mon, in  the  neighbourhood  of  Bethlehem.  The  friars  >how 
u  fountain  which  they  say  is  the  'sealed  fountain,'  to  which 
the  holy  spouse  in  the  Canticlr.s  is  compared  ;  and  they  [ire- 
tend  a  tradition,  that  Solomon  shut  up  these  springs  and  put 
hia  signet  upon  the  door,  to  keep  them  for  his  own  drinking." 
—MaundrelCs  Travels.  See  also  ttie  Nates  to  Mr.  Gaud's 
Translation  of  the  Song  of  Solomon. 


"  Oh  !  why  should  fairy  Fancy  keep 
These  wonders  for  herself  alone  ?" 

I  knew  not  then  that  Fate  had  lent 
Such  tones  to  one  of  mortal  birth ; 

I  knew  not  then  that  Heaven  had  sent 
A  voice,  a  form  like  thine  on  earth  ! 

And  yet,  in  all  that  flowery  maze 

Through  which  my  life  has  lov'd  to  tread. 
When  I  have  heard  the  sweetest  lays 

From  lips  of  dearest  lustre  shed ; 

When  I  have  felt  the  warbled  word 

From  Beauty's  mouth  of  perfume  sighing, 

Sweet  as  music's  hallow'd  bird 
Upon  a  rose's  bosom  lying ! 

Though  form  and  song  at  once  combin'd 
Their  loveliest  bloom  and  softest  thrill, 

My  heart  hath  sigh'd,  my  heart  hath  pin'd 
For  something  softer,  lovelier  still ! 

Oh  !  I  have  found  it  all,  at  last, 
In  thee,  thou  sweetest,  living  lyre, 

Through  which  the  soul  hath  ever  pass'd 
Its  harmonizing  breath  of  fire  ! 

All  that  my  best  and  wildest  dream, 
In  Fancy's  hour,  could  hear  or  see 

Of  Music's  sigh  or  Beauty's  beam 
Are  realiz'd,  at  once,  in  thee  1 


LINES, 

WRITTEN  AT  THE  COHOS,  OR  FALL?  OP 
THE  MOHAWK  RIVER.1 

Gia  era  in  loco  ove  s'udia  '1  rimbombo 

Doll'  acqua.     *     *     *  Qante. 

FROM  rise  of  morn  till  set  of  sun, 

I've  seen  the  mighty  Mohawk  run, 

And  as  I  mark'd  the  woods  of  pine 

Along  his  mirror  darkly  shine, 

Like  lull  and  gloomy  forms  that  pass 

Before  the  wizard's  midnight  glass  ; 

And  as  I  view'd  the  hurrying  pace 

With  which  he  ran  his  turbid  race, 

Rushing,  alike  untir'd  and  wild, 

Through  shades  that  frown'd,  and  flowerg  tha. 

smil'd, 

Flying  by  every  green  recess 
That  woo'd  him  to  its  calm  caress, 
Yet,  sometimes  turning  with  the  wind, 
As  if  to  leave  one  look  behind ! 


1  There  is  a  dreary  and  savage  character  in  the  country 
immediately  above  these  Falls,  which  is  much  more  in  har- 
mony with 'the  wiMuoss  of  such  n  scene,  than  the  cultivated 
lands  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Niagara.  See  the  drawing 
of  them  in  Mr.  Weld's  book.  According  to  him,  the  per- 

ndicular  height  of  the  Cohos  Falls  is  titty  feet;  but  Urn 
•Maiqnis  de  ( ,'h:!sti'lln\  makes  it  sevflnty-six. 

The  fine  rainbow,  which  is  continually  terming  and  dis- 
solving as  the  spray  rises  into  the  li^ht  of  the  BUD,  is  per- 
haps the  most  interesting  baaiity  which  these  wonderful 
cataracts  exhibit. 


134 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  I  have  thought,  and  thinking,  sigh'd— 

How  like  13  the*,  thou  restless  tide ! 

May  be  the  lot,  the  life  or  him, 

Who  roam,  along  thy  water's  brim ! 

Through  what  alternate  shades  of  woe, 

And  flowers  of  joy  my  path  may  go  ! 

How  many  a  humble  still  retreat 

May  ri»e  to  court  my  weary  feet, 

While  still  pursuing,  still  unblest, 

I  wander  on,  nor  dare  to  rest ! 

But,  urgent  as  the  doom  that  calls 

Thy  water  to  its  destin'd  falls, 

I  see  the  world's  bewildering  force 

Hurry  my  heart's  devoted  course 

From  lapse  to  lapse,  till  life  be  done, 

And  the  last  current  cease  to  run ! 

Oh,  may  my  falls  be  bright  as  thine ! 

May  Heaven's  forgiving  rainbow  shine 

Upon  the  mist  that  circles  me, 

As  soil,  as  now  it  hangs  o'er  thee ! 


CLORIS  AND  FANNY. 

CI.ORIS  !  if  I  were  Persia's  king, 
I'd  make  my  graceful  queen  of  thee : 

While  IA.NNV,  wild  and  artless  thing, 
Should  but  my  humble  handmaid  be. 

There  is  but  one  objection  in  it — 
That,  verily,  I'm  much  afraid 

I  should,  in  some  unlucky  minute, 
Forsake  the  mistress  for  the  maid ! 


TO  MISS . 

WITH  woman's  form  and  woman's  tricks 
So  much  of  man  you  seem  to  mix, 

One  knows  not  where  to  take  you ; 
I  pray  you,  if  'tis  not  too  far, 
Go,  ask  of  Nature  which  you  are, 

Or  what  she  meant  to  make  you. 

Yet  stay— you  heed  not  take  the  pains— 
With  neither  beauty,  youth,  nor  brains 

For  man  or  maid's  desiring  : 
Pert  as  female,  fool  as  mile, 
AM  boy  too  green,  as  girl  too  stale — 

The  thing 's  not  worth  inquiring ! 


TO 


OH  HE*  ASKING  UK  TO  ADDRESS  A  POEM  TO  BEE. 

KM  veoera  fiifet  Apollo. 

JKgid.  Menagnu. 

How  can  I  sing  of  fragrant  sighs 

I  ne'er  have  felt  from  thee  7 
How  can  I  sing  of  smiling  eyes, 

That  ne'er  have  smil'd  on  me  ? 

The  heart,  'tis  true,  may  fancy  much, 
but,  oh  !  'tis  cold  and  seeming — 

One  moment's  real,  rapturous  touch 
b  worth  an  age  of  dreaming ! . 


Think'st  thou,  when  JULIA'S  lip  and  breast 

Inspir'd  my  youthful  tongue, 
I  coldly  spoke  cf  lips  unprest, 

Nor  felt  the  heaven  I  sung  ? 

No,  no,  the  spell,  that  warm'd  so  long, 

Was  still  my  JULIA'S  kiss, 
And  still  the  girl  was  paid,  in  song, 

What  she  had  giv'n  in  bliss  ! 

Then  beam  one  burning  smile  on  me, 

And  I  will  sing  those  eyes  ; 
Let  me  but  feel  a  breath  from  thee, 

And  I  will  praise  thy  sighs. 

That  rosy  mouth  alone  can  bring 
What  makes  the  bard  divine — 

Oh,  Lady  !   how  my  lip  would  sing, 
If  once  'twere  prest  to  thiue  ! 


SONG 

OF  THE  EVIL  SPIRIT  OF  THE  WOODS.1 

Qua  via  dilTicilis,  quaijiie  est  via  nulla.  . 

Odd.  Metam.  Lib.  iii.  T  TET. 

Now  the  vapour,  hot  and  damp, 
Shed  by  day's  expiring  lamp, 
Through  the  misty  ether  spreads 
Every  ill  the  white  man  dreads ; 
Fiery  fever's  thirsty  thrill, 
Fitful  ague's  shivering  chill ! 

Hark !  I  hear  the  traveller's  song, 
As  he  winds  the  woods  along, 
Christian !  'tis  the  song  of  fear ; 
Wolves  are  round  thee,  night  is  near, 
And  the  wild  thou  dar'st  to  roam — 
Oh  !  'twas  once  the  Indian's  home  !a 
Hither,  sprites,  who  love  to  harm, 
Wheresoe'er  you  work  your  charm, 
By  the  creeks,  or  by  the  brakes, 
Where  the  pale  witch  feeds  her  snakes 
And  the  cayman3  loves  to  creep,  - 
Torpid,  to  his  wintry  sleep  : 
Where  the  bird  of  carrion  flits, 
And  the  shuddering  murderer  sits,* 


1  The  idea  of  this  poem  occurred  to  me  in  passing  througb 
the  very  dreary  wilderness  between  Batavia,  a  new  settle- 
ment in  the  midst  of  the  woods,  and  the  little  village  of 
Buffalo  upon  Lake  Erie.    This   is  ihe  most  fatiguing  part 
of  the  route,  in  travelling  through  the  Genesee  country  tc 
Niagara. 

2  "  The  Five  Confederated   Nations  (of  Indians)  wera 
wattled  along  the  banks  of  the  Susquehanna  and  the  adja- 
cent country,  until  the  year   1779,  when  General  Sullivan, 
with  an  army  of  4000  men,  drove  them  from  their  country 
to  Niagara,  where,  being  obliged  to  live  on  salted  provisions, 
to  which  they  were  unaccustomed,  great  numbers  of  them 
died.    Two  hundred  of  them,  it  is  said,  were  buried  if  one 
grave,  where  they  had  encamped." — Morse's  American 
(icoirraptiy. 

3  The  alligator,  who  is  supposed  to  Se  in  a  torpid  state  all 
the  winter,  in  the  bank  of  some  creek  or  i.ond,  having  pro 
viously  swallowed  a  larsre  number  of  ;,.;,<r  Knots,  which  are 
hit  only  sustenance  during  the  time. 

4  This  was  ihe  mode  of  punishment  for  murder  (as  Father 
Charlevoii  tells  us)  among  the  Hurons.     "  Thry  laid  the 
dead  body  upon  poles  at  the  top  of  a  cabin,  nnd  the  mur- 
derer was  obliged  to  remain  several  days  together,  and  to 
receive  all  that  dropped  from  the  carcass,  not  only  on  him- 
self but  on  his  food." 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


135 


Lone  beneath  a  roof  of  blood, 
While  upon  his  poison'd  food, 
From  the  corpse  of  him  he  slew 
Drops  the  chill  and  gory  dew ! 

Hither  bend  you,  turn  you  hither 
Eyes  that  blast  and  wings  that  wither  ! 
Cross  the  wandering  Christian's  way, 
Lead  him,  ere  the  glimpse  of  day, 
Many  a  mile  of  madd'ning  error 
Through  the  maze  of  night  and  terror, 
Till  the  morn  behold  him  lying 
O'er  the  damp  earth,  pale  and  dying  ! 
Mock  him,  when  his  eager  sight 
Seeks  the  cordial  cottage-light ; 
Gleam  then,  like  the  lightning-bug, 
Tempt  him  to  the  den  that's  dug 
For  the  foul  and  famish'd  brood 
Of  the  she-wolf,  gaunt  for  blood  ! 
Or,  unto  the  dangerous  pass 
O'er  the  deep  and  dark  morass, 
Where  the  trembling  Indian  brings 
Belts  of  porcelain,  pipes,  and  rings, 
Tributes,  to  be  hung  in  air 
To  the  Fiend  presiding  there !' 
Then,  when  night's  long  labour  past, 
Wilder' d,  faint,  he  falls  .it  last, 
Sinking  where  the  causeway's  edge 
Moulders  in  the  slimy  sedge, 
Them  let  every  noxious  thing 
Trail  its  filth  and  fix  its  sting  ; 
Let  the  bull-toad  taint  him  over, 
Round  him  let  musquitoes  hover, 
In  his  ears  and  eye-balls  tingling, 
With  his  blood  their  poison  mingling, 
Till,  beneath  the  solar  fires, 
Rankling  all,  the  wretch  expires  ! 


TO  MRS.  HENRY  T— GHE, 

ON  READING  HER  "  PSYCHE.'' 

TEI.L  me  the  witching  tale  again, 
For  nt  ver  has  my  heart  or  ear 

Hung  on  (>o  sweet,  so  pure  a  strain, 
So  pure  to  feel,  so  sweet  to  hear ! 


Say,  Love  !  in  all  thy  spring  of  fame, 
When  the  high  heaven  itself  was  thine; 

When  piety  confess'd  the  flame, 
And  even  thy  errors  were  divine ! 

Did  ever  Muse's  hand,  so  fair 
A  glory  round  thy  temple  spread  ? 


1802. 


'  "  We  find  also  collars  of  porcelain,  tobacco,  ears  of 
mnize,skms.  etc.  l>y  thuside  of  difficult  and  dangerous  ways, 
on  rocks,  or  by  tbe  side  of  the  fulls  ;  and  these  are  so  many 
offerings  made  to  the  spirits  which  preside  in  these  places." 
See  Charlevoix's  letter  on  the  Traditions  and  the  Religion 
of  the  Savages  of  Canada. 

Father  Ilennepin  too  mentions  this  ceremony;  he  also 
»ays,  "  We  took  notice  of  one  barbarian,  who  made  a  kind 
of  sacrifice  upon  an  oak  at  the  Cascade  of  St.  Antony  of 
Pailua,  upon  the  river  Mississippi."  See  Hennepin's  Voyage 
into  JVbrtA  America. 


Did  ever  lip's  ambrosial  air 

Such  perfume  o'er  thy  altars  shed  ? 

One  maid  there  was,  who  round  her  lyre 
The  mystic  myrtle  wildly  wreath'd — 

But  all  her  sighs  were  sighs  of  fire, 
The  myrtle  wither'd  as  she  breath'd  ' 

Oh  !  you  that  love's  celestial  dream, 

In  all  its  purity,  would  know, 
Let  not  the  senses'  ardent  beam, 

Too  strongly  through  the  vision  glow ! 

Love  sweetest  lies,  conceal'd  in  night, 
The  night  where  Heaven  has  bid  him  lie ; 

Oh !  shed  not  there  unhallowed  light, 
Or  PSYCHE  knows,  the  boy  will  fly  !' 

Dear  PSYCHE  !  many  a  charmed  hour, 
Through  many  a  wild  and  magic  waste, 

To  the  fair  fount  and  blissful  bower2 
Thy  mazy  foot  my  soul  hath  trac'd ! 

Where'er  thy  joys  are  number'd  now, 
Beneath  whatever  shades  of  rest, 

The  Genius  of  the  starry  brow3 

Hath  chain'd  thee  to  thy  Cupid'*  breast , 

Whether  above  the  horizon  dim, 
Along  whose  verge  our  spirits  stray, 

(Half  sunk  within  the  shadowy  brim, 
Half  brighten'd  by  the  eternal  ray.)4 

Thou  risest  to  a  cloudless  pole  ! 

Or,  lingering  here,  dost  love  to  mark 
The  twilight  walk  of  many  a  soul 

Through  sunny  good  and  evil  dark  ; 

Still  be  the  song  to  PSYCHE  dear, 
The  song,  whose  dulcet  tide  was  given 

To  keep  her  name  as  fadeless  here, 
As  nectar  keeps  her  soul  in  heaven ! 


1  See  the  gtory  in  Apuleius.  With  respect  to  this  bfiautifu1 
allegory  of  Love  and  Psvche,  there  is  an  ingenious  idea 
suggested  by  the  senator  liuonurolti,  in  his  "  Ossernaiioni 
supra  alcuni  frammenti  di  vast  antichi."  lie  thinks  tha 
fable  is  taken  from  some  very  occult  mysteries,  which  had 
long  been  celebrated  in  honour  of  Love  ;  and  he  accounts, 
upon  this  supposition,  for  the  silence  of  the  more  ancient 
authors  upon  the  subject,  as  it  was  not  till  towards  the  de- 
cline of  pagan  superstition,  that  writers  could  venture  to 
reveal  or  discuss  such  ceremonies;  accordingly,  he  observe!, 
we  find  Lucian  and  Plutarch  treating,  without  reserve,  of 
the  Dca  Syria,  and  (sis  and  Osiris;  and  Apuleius,  who  hoi 
given  us  the  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche,  lias  also  detailed 
some  of  the  mysteries  of  Isis.  Sec  the  Giornaledi  I.ittirati 
d,' Italia,  torn,  xxvii.  articoi.  1.  See  also  the  Observation 
upon  the  ancient  Gems  in  the  Museum  FlorentinMii,  vol. 
i.  p  l.'iii. 

1  cannot  avoid  remarking  here  an  error  into  which  tha 
French  Encyclopedists  have  been  led  by  M.  Spon,  'n  their 
article  Psyche.    They  say,  "  Petron    fait   un   r^cit  de  iu 
pompe   nuptiale  de  ces  deux  amans  (Amour  et  Psychft.) 
Deja,  dit-il,"  etc.  etc.     The  Psyche  of  Petroniiis,  however, 
is  a  servant-mail),  and  the  mania:."'  which   he  deseiiliea  it 
that  of   the   young   Puniivrhis.     See   Span's   Kecherches 
Ciirifii.trs,  etc.  Dissrrtat.  5. 

2  Allusions  to  Mrs.  T — glie's  poem. 
T!  <  '(instancy. 

4  By  this  image  the  Platonists  expressed  the  middle  naM 
of  the  soul  between  sensible  and  intellectual  existence. 


IMPROMPTU,  UPON  LEAVING  SOME 

NUS. 


No,  new  shall  my  »oul  forget 

The  friends  1  found  BO  cordial-hearted ; 
DMT  (ball  be  the  day  we  met, 

And  dear  shall  be  the  night  we  parted ! 

Oh  !  if  regrets,  however  sweet, 
Must  with  the  lapse  of  time  decay, 

Yet  still,  when  thus  in  mirth  you  meet, 
Fill  high  to  him  that's  far  away  ! 

Long  be  the  flame  of  memory  found, 
Alive—  when  with  your  social  glass, 

Let  that  be  still  the  magic  round, 
O'er  which  oblivion  dares  not  pass ! 


EPISTLE  VIII. 
TO  THE  HONOURABLE  W.  R.  SPENCER, 

Nee  vtoit  ad  duro*  muu  rocala  getas. 

Odd  at  Panto,  Lib.  i.  ep.  5. 

FROM  BUFFALO  UPON  LAKE  ERIC. 

THOD  oft  hast  told  me  of  the  fairy  hours 
Thy  heart  baa  number' d  in  those  classic  bowers, 
Where  fancy  see*  the  ghost  of  ancient  wit 
Mid  cowls  and  cardinals  profanely  flit, 
And  pagan  spirits,  by  the  pope  unlaid, 
Haunt  every  stream  and  sing  through  every  shade  ! 
There  still  the  bard,  who,  (if  his  numbers  be 
His  tongue's  light  echo,)  must  have  talk'd  like  thee, 
The  courtly  bard,  from  whom  thy  mind  has  caught 
Those  playful,  sunshine  holidays  of  thought 
In  which  the  basking  soul  reclines  and  glows, 
Warm  without  toil  and  brilliant  in  repose. 
There  still  he  roves,  and  laughing  loves  to  see 
How  modem  monks  with  ancient  rakes  agree ; 
How  mitres  hang,  where  ivy  wreaths  might  twine, 
And  heathen  Music  's  damn'd  for  stronger  wine ! 
There  too  are  all  those  wandering  soula  of  song, 
With  whom  thy  spirit  hath  oommun'd  so  long, 
Whose  rarest  gems  are,  every  insiart,  hung 
By  memory's  magic  on  thy  sparkling  tongue. 
But  here,  aUs  !  by  Erie's  stormy  lake, 
\«  far  from  tbee,  my  lonely  course  I  take, 
No  bright  remembrance  o'er  the  fancy  playa 
No  cfaaaie  dream,  no  star  of  other  days 
Has  left  that  visionary  glory  here, 
That  relic  of  tu  light,  so  soft,  so  dea« 
Which  gilds  and  hallows  even  the  rudest  scene, 

Flic  humblest  shed,  where  genius  once  has  been! 

All  that  creation's  varying  mass  assumes 
Of  grand  or  lovely,  here  aspires  and  blooms ; 
Bold  ri*o  the  mountains,  rich  the  gardens  glow, 
Brifbt  lakes  expand,  and  conquering1  rivers  flow ; 


Mind,  mind  alone,  without  whose  quickening  ray. 
The  world  's  a  wilderness,  and  man  but  clay, 
Mind,  mind  alone,  in  barren,  still  repose, 
Nor  blooms,  nor  rises,  nor  expands,  nor  Mows  ! 
Take  Christians,  Mohawks,  Democrats  and  all 
From  the  rude  wigwam  to  the  congress-hall, 
From  man  the  savage,  whether  slav'd  or  tree, 
To  man  the  civiliz'd,  less  tame  than  he  ! 
Tis  one  dull  chaos,  one  unfertile  strife 
Betwixt  half-pohsh'd  and  halt-barbarous  life  ; 
Where  every  ill  the  ancient  world  can  brew 
Is  mix'd  with  every  grossness  of  the  new  ; 
Where  all  corrupts  though  little  can  entice, 
And  nothing 's  known  of  luxury,  but  vice  ! 

Is  this  the  region  then,  is  this  the  clime 
For  golden  fancy  ?  for  those  dreams  sublime, 
Which  all  their  miracles  of  light  reveal 
To  heads  that  meditate  and  hearts  that  feel  ? 
N'o,  no — the  muse  of  inspiration  plays 
3'er  every  scene ;  she  walks  the  forest-maze, 
And  climbs'  the  mountain ;  every  blooming  spot 
Hums  with  her  step,  yet  man  regards  it  not ! 
She  whispers  round,  her  words  are  in  the  air, 
But  lost,  unheard,  they  linger  free/ing  there, 
Without  one  breath  of  soul,  divinely  strong, 
One  ray  of  heart  to  thaw  them  into  song  ! 

Yet,  yet  forgive  me,  oh,  you  sacred  few  ! 
Whom  late  by  Delaware's  green  banks  I  knew , 
Whom,  known  and  lov'd  through  many  a  social  eve 
'Twas  bliss  to  live  with,  and  'twas  pain  to  leave  I1 
Less  dearly  welcome  were  the  lines  of  yore 
The  exile  saw  upon  the  sandy  shore, 
When  his  lone  heart  but  faintly  hop'd  to  find 
One  print  of  man,  one  blessed  stamp  of  mind ! 
Less  dearly  welcome  than  the  liberal  zeal, 
The  strength  to  reason  and  the  warmth  to  feel, 
The  manly  polish  and  the  illumin'd  taste, 
Which,  'mid  the  melancholy,  heartless  waste 
My  foot  has  wander'd,  oh  you  sacred  few  ! 
I  found  by  Delaware's  green  banks  with  you. 
Long  may  you  hate  the  Gallic  dross  that  runs 
O'er  your  fair  country  and  corrupts  its  sons  ; 
Long  love  the  arts,  the  glories  which  adorn 
Those  fields  of  freedom,  where  your  sires  were  born 
Oh  !  if  America  can  yet  be  great, 
If,  neither  chain'd  by  choice,  nor  damn'd  by  fate 


\  Tfch  *r>HhK 


ix'xtrikinjr  de 
I  of  UM  MuKMiri  with  tha  Mu*u 


cippi.  "  I  believe  this  is  the  finest  confluence  in  tlie  world. 
The  two  rivers  are  much  of  the  same  breadth,  each  about 
half  a  league;  but  the  Missouri  is  by  far  the  most  rapid,  and 
seems  to  enter  the  Mississippi  like  a  conqueror,  through 
which  it  carries  its  white  waves  to  the  opposite  shore  with- 
out mixing  them  :  afterwards  it  gives  its  colour  to  the  Mis- 
sissippi, which  it  never  loses  again,  but  carried  quite  down 
to  the  sea." — hrltfr  xxvii. 

1  In  the  society  of  Mr.  Dennie  and  his  friends,  at  Phila 
delphia,  I  passed  the  few  agreeable  moments  which  my  tour 
through  the  States  afforded  me.  Mr.  Dennie  hns  succeeded 
in  difliisin<»  through  this  elesant  little  circle  that  love  for 
good  literature  and  sound  politics,  which  he  feels  so  zea^ 
o'l-ly  himself,  ami  which  is  so  very  rarely  the  characteristic 
untrymen.  They  will  not,  I  trust,  accuse  me  of 
illiher.-ility  fur  the  picture  which  I  have  given  of  the  ifrno- 
rnnT  ar.;l  ;pmintii>n  that  surround  them.  It'  I  did  not  hale, 
as  I  oneht,  the  'm/Je  ••>  which  they  are  opposed,  I  could 
not  value,  as  I  do,  the  epiru  with  which  they  defy  it;  and, 
in  learning  from  them  what  Americans  fan  be,  I  but  8e« 
with  the  more  indignation  what  Americans  are 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


137 


To  the  mob-m;mia  which  imbrues  her  now, 

She  yet  can  raise  the  bright  but  temperate  brow 

Of  single  majesty,  can  grandly  place 

An  empire's  pillar  upon  freedom's  base, 

Nor  tear  the  mighty  shaft  will  feebler  prove 

For  the  fair  capital  that  flowers  above  ? — 

If  yd,  releas'd  from  all  that  vulgar  throng, 

So  vain  of  dulness  and  so  pleas'd  with  wrong, 

Who  hourly  teach  her,  like  themselves,  to  hide 

Folly  in  froth,  and  barrenness  in  pride, 

She  yet  can  rise,  can  wreath  the  attic  charms 

Of  soli  refinement  round  the  pomp  of  arms, 

And  see  her  poets  flash  the  fires  of  song, 

To  light  her  warriors'  thunderbolts  along! 

It  is  to  you,  to  souls  that  favouring  Heaven 

Has  made  like  yours,  the  glorious  task  is  given— 

Oh,  but  for  such,  Columbia's  days  were  done  ; 

Rank  without  ripeness,  quicken'd  without  sun, 

Crude  at  the  surface,  rotten  at  the  core, 

Her  fruits  would  fall,  before  her  spring  were  o'er  ! 

Believe  me,  SPE.VCER,  while  I  wing'd  the  hours 
Where  Schuylkill  undulates  through  banks  of  flow- 
ers, 

Though  few  the  days,  the  happy  evenings  few, 
So  warm  with  heart,  so  rich  with  mind  they  flew, 
That  my  full  soul  forgot  its  wish  to  roam, 
And  rested  there,  as  in  a  dream  of  home  ! 
And  looks  I  met,  like  looks  I  l<5v'd  before. 
And  voices  too,  which,  as  they  trembled  o'er 
The  chord  of  memory,  found  full  many  a  tone 
Of  kindness  there  in  concord  with  their  own.1 
Oh  !  we  had  nights  of  that  communion  free, 
That  flush  of  heart,  which  I  have  known  with  thee 
So  oft,  so  warmly;  nights  of  mirth  and  mind, 
Of  whims  that  taught,  and  follies  that  refin'd ; 
When  shall  we  both  renew  them?  when  restor'd 
To  the  pure  feast  and  intellectual  board, 
Shall  I  once  more  enjoy  with  thee  and  thine 
Those  whjms  that  teach,  those  follies  that  refine  ? 
Even  now,  as  wandering  upon  Erie's  shore, 
I  hear  Niagara's  distant  cataract  roar, 
I  sigh  for  England — oh  !  these  weary  feet 
Have  many  a  mile  to  journey,  ere  we  meet ! 


»  fir,  ns  SOT  KAPTA  NTN  MNEIAN  EXil. 
Euripides. 

A  WARNING 
TO 


On !  fair  as  Heaven  and  chaste  as  light ! 
Did  Nature  mould  thee  all  so  bright, 
That  thou  shouldst  ever  learn  to  weep 
O'er  languid  Virtue's  fatal  sleep, 
O'er  shame  extinguish'd,  honour  fled, 
Peace  lost,  heart  wither'd,  feeling  dead  ? 

No,  no — a  star  was  born  with  thee, 
Which  sheds  eternal  purity  ! 
Thou  hast,  within  those  sainted  eyes, 
60  fair  a  transcript  of  the  skies, 
S 


In  lines  of  fire  such  hea  enly  lore, 
That  man  should  read  them  and  adore  ! 

Yet  have  I  known  a  gentle  maid 

Whose  early  chamu  were  just  array'd 

In  nature's  loveliness  like  thine, 

And  wore  that  clear,  celestial  sign, 

Which  seems  to  mark  the  brow  that's  fair 

For  Destiny's  peculiar  care ! 

Whose  bosom  too  was  once  a  zone, 

Where  the  bright  gem  of  virtue  shone 

Whose  eyes  were  talismans  of  fire 

Against  the  spell  of  man's  desire  ! 

Yet,  hapless  girl,  in  one  sad  hour, 

Her  charms  have  shed  their  radiant  flower 

The  gem  has  been  beguil'd  away  ; 

Her  eyes  have  lost  their  chastening  ray ; 

The  simple  fear,  the  guiltless  shame, 

The  smiles  that  from  reflection  came, 

All,  all  have  fled,.and  left  her  mind 

A  faded  monument  behind  ! 

Like  some  wave-beaten,  mouldering  stone 

To  memory  rais'd  by  hands  unknown, 

Which,  many  a  wintry  hour,  has  stood, 

Beside  the  ford  of  Tyra's  flood, 

To  tell  the  traveller,  as  he  cross'd, 

That  there  some  loved  friend  was  lost ! 

Oh !  'twas  a  sight  I  wept  to  see — 

Heaven  keep  the  lost-one's  fate  from  ihee ! 


TO 


Tis  time,  I  feel,  to  leave  thee  now, 
While  yet  my  soul  is  something  free ; 

While  yet  those  dangerous  eyes  allow 
One  moment's  thought  to  stray  from  thee1 

Oh !  thou  art  every  instant  dearer — 
Every  chance  that  brings  me  nigh  thee, 

Brings  my  ruin  nearer,  nearer: 
I  am  lost,  unless  I  fly  thee ! 

Nay,  if  thou  dost  not  scorn  and  hate  me, 

Wish  me  not  so  soon  to  fall, 
Duties,  fame,  and  hopes  await  me, 

Oh !  that  eye  "would  blast  them  all ! 

Yes,  yes,  it  would — for  thou'rt  as  cold 

As  ever  yet  allur'd  or  sway'd, 
And  would'st,  without  a  sich,  behold 

The  ruin  which  thyself  had  made  ! 

Yet — could  I  think  that,  truly  fond, 
That  eye  but  once  would  smile  on  me, 

Good  Heaven  !  how  much,  how  far  beyond 
Fame,  duty,  hope,  that  smile  would  be ! 

Oh !  but  to  win  it,  night  and  day, 

Inglorious  at  thy  feet  reclin'd, 
I'd  sigh  my  dreams  of  fame  away, 

The  world  for  thee  forgot,  resign'd  ! 

But  no,  no,  no — farewell — we  part. 
Never  lo  mnet,  no,  never,  never   - 

Oh,  woman  !  what  a  mind  and  ! 
Thy  coldness  has  undone  for  ever ! 


MOORE'S  vVORKS. 


THE  HIGH  IM!  M>OLLO,  TO 

A  VIRGLN  OF  DELPHI' 

Cum  digno  dijn*.— Sulfici*. 

"  Who  it  the  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
With  eye*  of  fire  and  feet  of  air, 
Whose  hmrp  around  my  altar  swell* ^ 
The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells?" 

Tw«s  thus  the  deity,  who  treads 
The  arch  of  heaven,  and  grandly  sheds 
Dty  from  his  eye-lids !— thus  he  spoke, 
As  through  my  cell  his  glories  broke. 
"Who  is  the  maid,  with  golden  hair, 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  feet  of  air, 
Whose  harp  around  my  altar  swells, 
The  sweetest  of  a  thousand  shells  T 

Aphelia  is  the  Delphic  fair,* 
With  eyes  of  fire  and  golden  hair, 
Apbelia's  are  the  airy  feet, 
And  hers  the  harp  divinely  sweet ; 

For  foot  so  light  has  never  trod 
The  laurel'd  caverns'  of  the  god, 
Nor  harp  so  soft  has  ever  given 
A  strain  to  earth  or  sigh  to  heaven  i 
"  Then  tell  the  virgin  to  unfold, 
In  looser  pomp,  her  locks  of  gold, 
And  bid  those  eyes  with  fonder  fire 
Be  kindled  for  a  god's  desire  ;* 
Since  He,  who  lights  the  path  of  years- 
Even  from  the  fount  of  morning's  tears, 
To  where  his  sitting  splendours  burn 
Upon  the  western  sea-maid's  urn — 


1  This  poem  requires  a  little  explanation.  It  ii  well 
keown  that,  ID  the  ancient  temple*,  whenever  a  reverend 
print,  like  the  supposed  author  of  the  invitation  before  us, 
wai  inspired  with  a  tender  inclination  to  wants  any  fair 
r  of  the  shrine,  and,  at  the  same  time,  felt  a  diffidence 


Cannot,  in  all  his  course,  behold 
Such  eyes  of  fire,  such  hair  of  gold . 
Tell  her,  he  comes,  in  blissful  pride, 
His  lip  yet  sparkling  with  the  tide, 
That  mantles  in  Olympian  bowls, 
The  nectar  of  eternal  souls ! 
For  her,  for  her  he  quits  the  skies, 
And  to  her  kiss  from  nectar  flies. 
Oh !  he  would  hide  his  wreath  of  rays, 
And  leave  the  world  to  pine  for  days, 
Might  he  but  pass  the  hours  of  shade, 
Imbosom'd  by  his  Delphic  maid- 
She,  more  than  earthly  woman  blest, 
He,  more  than  god  on  woman's  breast I" 
There  is  a  cave  beneath  the  steep,1 
Where  living  rills  of  crystal  weep 
O'er  herbage  of  the  loveliest  hue 
That  ever  spring  bcgem'd  with  dew : 
There  oft  the  green  bank's  glossy  tint 
Is  brighten'd  by  the  amorous  print 
Of  many  a  faun  and  naiad's  form, 
That  still  upon  the  dew  is  warm, 
When  virgins  come,  at  peep  of  day, 
To  kiss  the  sod  where  lovers  lay ! 
"  There,  there,"  the  god,  impassion'd,  said, 
"Soon  as  the  twilight  tinge  is  fled, 
And  the  dim  orb  of  lunar  souls2 
Along  its  shadowy  path-way  rolls — 
There  shall  we  find  our  bridal  bed, 
And  ne'er  did  rosy  rapture  spread, 
Not  even  in  Jove,  voluptuous  bowers, 
A  bridal  bed  so  blest  as  ours !" 

"Tell  the  imperial  God,  who  reigns, 
Sublime  in  oriental  fanes, 
Whose  towering  turrets  paint  their  pride 
Upon  Euphrates'  pregnant  tide  ;3 
Tell  him,  when  to  his  midnight  loves 
In  mystic  majesty  he  moves, 


'»  his  own  power*  of  persuasion,  he  had  but  to  proclaim 
that  the  God  himself  was  enamoured  of  her,  and  had  signi- 
fod  his  divine  wiU  that  she  should  sleep  in  the  interior  of 
the  l.-ni|ile.  Many  a  pious  husband  connived  at  this  divine 
assignation,  and  even  declared  himself  proud  of  the  selec- 
tion, with  which  his  family  had  been  distinguished  by  the 
deity.  In  the  temple  of  Jupiter  Be iu«,  there  wa*  a  splendid 
bed  for  these  occasion*.  In  Egyptian  Thebe*  the  same 
moek«-ry  was  practised,  and  at  the  oracle  of  Patara  in  Ly- 
CM,  the  pf  tt*te*s  never  could  prophecy  till  an  interview  with 
the  deity  was  allowed  her.  The  story  which  we  read  in 
Jossuhus  (Lib.  xviii.  cap.  3.)  of  the  Roman  matron  Paulina, 
wUoin  the  priest*  of  Uis,  for  a  bribe,  betrayed  in  this  manner 
tt  Mundin,  is  a  singular  instance  of  the  impudent  excess  to 
which  ereduKty  suffered  these  impostures  to  be  carried. 
-This  story  ha*  been  put  into  the  form  of  a  little  novel,  under 
the  name  of  "  La  Pudicilia  Sehemita,"  by  the  licentious 
and  unf., ruinate  Pallavielno.  See  hi*  Of  ere  Scclu,  torn.  i. 
I  have  mad*  my  priest  her*  prefer  a  cave  to  the  temple. 

8  In  the  Ml  Pythie  of  Pindar,  where  Apollo,  in  the  same 
sianmr,  require*  of  Chiron  some  information  respecting  the 
lie  Centaur,  in  obeying,  very  gravely  apolo- 
gises for  twliag  the  fed  what  his  omniscience  must  know  to 
pwfecl'y  already: 

It  It  ft  x*1  «••  »••  r«*o»  «rTif itigai 


3  A«A* 
In.  t>.  78. 

•l. 


T»Ji.      Euripid. 


TV  nartonr  •mmiratioM  ch*  ejli  si  pregtasso  di 

_..,  Deiti  concorrenle   nel   pssnaiB  del  la   mogHe; 

SMu-rc,  anche,  Bei  noMri  stx-oli,  nnn  o«tanie  cos)  rigorose 
ISQ*  d'wtore,  trorasi  f  hi  s'atcrive  *  gloria  il  vedor  la  mo- 
<|M  huporua  da  gj*  s.mpl*sM  di  un  Principe.— I'aUacicino. 


1  The  Corycian  Cave,  which  Pausanias  mentions.     Th« 
inhabitants  of  Parnassus  held   it  sacred  to  the  Corycicu 
nymph*,  who  were  children  of  the  river  Plistus. 

2  See  a  preceding  note,  page  119.     It  should  seem  that 
lunar  spirit*  were  of  a  purer  order  than  spirits  in  general,  as 
Pythagoras  was  said  by  his  followers  to  have  dMMSJSM  from 
the  regions  of  the  moon.    The  heresiarch  Mimes  too^  ima- 
gined that  the  sun  and  moon  are  the  residence  of  Christ, 
and  that  the  ascension  was  nothing  more  than  his  flight  to 
those  orb*. 

3  The  temple  of  Jupiter  Belua  at  Babylon,  which  con- 
listed  of  several  chapels  and  towers.     "In  the  last  tower 
(say*  Herodotus)  is  a  large  chapel,  in  which  there  lies  a  bed, 
very  splendidly  ornamented,  and  beside  it  a  table  of  gold; 
but  there  i*  no  statue  in  the  place.    No  man  is  allowed  to 
sleep  here,  but  the  apartment  is  appropriated  to  a  female, 
whom,  if  we  believe  the  Chaldean  priests,  the  deity  select* 
from  the  women  of  the  country,  as  his  favourite." — Lib.  i 
cap.  181. 

The  poem  now  before  the  reader,  and  a  few  more  in  the 
present  collection,  are  taken  from  a  work,  which  I  rather 
prematurely  announced  to  the  public,  and  which,  perhaps  very 
luckily  for  myself,  was  interrupted  by  my  vny;i«e  to  Ameri- 
ca. The  following  fragments  from  the  same  work  describ* 
the  effect  of  one  of  tht-se  invitations  of  Apollo  upon  the 
mind  of  a  young  enthusiastic  girl : — 

Delphi  heard  her  shrine  proclaim, 
In  oracles,  the  guilty  flame. 
Apollo  lov'd  my  youthful  charms, 
Apollo  woo'd  me  to  his  arms! — 
Sure,  sure  when  mm  so  oft  allows 
Religion's  wrenth  to  blind  his  brows, 
Weak  W(>ii.',emi2  woman  must  believe, 
I  pride  and  zeal  at  once  deceive. 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


J39 


Lighted  by  many  an  odorous  fire, 
And  hymn'd  by  all  Chaldea's  choir — 
Oh  !  tell  the  godhead  to  confess, 
The  pompous  joy  delights  him  less, 
(Even  thougli  his  mighty  arms  enfold 
A  priestess  on  a  couch  of  gold) 
Than,  when  in  love's  unholier  prank, 
By  moonlight  cave  or  rustic  bank, 
Upon  his  neck  some  wood-nymph  lies, 
Exhaling  from  her  lips  and  eyes 
The  flame  and  incense  of  delight, 
To  sanctify  a  dearer  rite, 
A  mystery,  more  divinely  warm'd 
Than  priesthood  ever  yet  perform'd !" 

Happy  the  maid,  whom  Heaven  allows 
To  break  for  Heaven  her  virgin  vows  ! 
Happy  the  maid ! — her  robe  of  shame 
Is  whiten'd  by  a  heavenly  flame, 
Whose  glory,  with  a  lingering  trace, 
Shines  through  and  deities  her  race ! 

Oh,  virgin  !  what  a  doom  is  thine  ! 
To-night,  to-night  a  lip  divine1 


When  flattery  takes  a  holy  vest, 

Oh!  'tis  tuo  much  fur  woman's  breast! 

How  often  ere  the  destin'd  time, 

VVliich  was  to  seal  my  joys  sublime, 

How  often  did  I  trembling  run 

To  meet,  at  morn,  the  mounting  sun, 

And,  while  his  fervid  beam  he  threw 

Upon  my  lips'  luxuriant  dew, 

I  thought — alas!  the  simple  dream — 

There  burn'd  a  kiss  in  every  beam ; 

With  parted  lips  inhal'd  their  heat, 

And  sigli'd,  "  oh  god  !  thy  kiss  is  sweet !" 

Oft  too,  at  day's  meridian  hour, 
When  to  the  naiad's  gleamy  bower 
Our  virgins  steal,  and,  blushing,  hide 
Their  beauties  in  the  folding  title, 
If,  through  the  grove,  whose  modest  arms 
Were  spread  around  my  robeless  charms, 
A  wandering  sunbeam  wanton  full 
Where  lover's  looks  alone  should  dwell, 
Not  all  a  lover's  looks  of  flame 
Could  kindle  such  an  amorous  shame. 
It  was  the  sun's  admiring  glance, 
Ami,  as  I  felt  its  glow  advance 
O'er  my  young  beauties,  wildly  flush'd 
I  burn'd  and  panted,  thrill'd  and  blush'd . 


No  deity  at  midnisht  crime — 
The  lamps,  that  witness'd  all  my  shame, 
Rcveal'd  to  these  bewilder'd  eyes 
Nn  other  shape  than  earth  supplies  ; 
No  solar  light,  no  nectar'd  air, 
All,  all,  alas!  was  human  there: 
Woman's  faint  conflict,  virtue's  fall, 
And  passion's  victory — human  all! 

How  gently  must  the  guilt  of  love 
Be  charm'd  away  by  Powers  above, 
\Vhen  moil  possess  such  tender  skill 
In  lofti'ii'ms  crime  and  sweetening  ill ! 
'Twas  but  a  night,  and  morning's  rays 
Saw  HIP,  with  fond  forgiving  gaze, 
Hang  o'er  the  quiet  slumbering  breast 
Of  him  who  ruin'd  all  my  rest ; 
Him,  who  had  taught  those  eyes  to  weep 
Tiieir  first  sad  tears,  and  yet  could  sleep  ! 

1  Fontenelle,  in  his  playful  rifacimento  of  the  learned 
materials  of  Van-Dale,  has  related  in  his  own  inimitable 
manner  an  adventure  of  this  kind,  which  was  detected  and 
exposed  at  Alexandria.  Seo  V  Historic  des  Oracles,  se- 
conde  dissertat.  chap.  vii.  Crebillon,  too,  in  one  of  his  most 
amusing  little  stories,  has  made  the  Genie  Mange-Taupes, 


In  every  kiss  shall  stamp  on  thee 

A  seal  of  immortality  ! 

Fly  to  the  cave,  Aphelia,  fly ; 

There  lose  the  world,  and  wed  the  sky ! 

There  all  the  boundless  rapture  steal 

Which  gods  can  give,  or  woman  feel ! 


WOMAN. 
AWAY,  away — you're  all  the  same, 

A  fluttering,  smiling,  jilting  throng! 
Oh !  by  my  soul,  I  burn  with  shame, 

To  think  I've  been  your  slave  so  long ! 

Slow  to  be  warm'd,  and  quick  to  rove, 
From  folly  kind,  from  cunning  loath, 

Too  cold  for  bliss,  too  weak  for  love, 
Yet  feigning  all  that 's  best  in  both. 

Still  panting  o'er  a  crowd  to  reign, 
More  joy  it  gives  to  woman's  breast 

To  make  ten  frigid  coxcombs  vain, 
Than  one  true^  manly  lover  blest ! 

Away,  away — your  smile  's  a  curse — 
Oh  !  blot  me  from  the  race  of  men, 

Kind  pitying  Heaven  !  by  death  .or  worse, 
Before  I  love  such  things  again ! 


BALLAD  STANZAS. 

I  KNEW  by  the  smoke  that  so  gracefully  curl'd 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near, 

And  I  said, "  if  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world 
A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here !" 

It  was  noon,  and  on  flowers  that  languish' d  around 
In  silence  repos'd  the  voluptuous  bee ; 

Every  leaf  was  at  rest,  and  I  heard  not  a  sound 
But  the  wood-pecker  tapping  the  hollow  beech-tree 

And  "  Here  in  this  lone  little  wood,"  I  exclaim'd, 
"  With  a  maid  who  was  lovely  to  soul  and  to  eye, 

Who  would  blush  when  I  prais'd  her,  and  weep  if  I 

blam'd, 
How  blest  could  I  live,  and  how  calm  could  I  die ' 

"  By  the  shade  of  yon  sumach,  whose  red  berry  dip* 
In  the  gush  of  the  fountain,  how  sweet  to  recline, 

And  to  know  that  I  sigh'd  upon  innocent  lips, 
Which  had  never  been  sigli'd  on  by  any  but  mine  !** 


TO 


NOiJEI   TA  *1ATATA.          F.uripide* 


1803. 


COMK,  take  the  harp — 'tis  vain  to  muse 
Upon  the  gathering  ills  we  see  ; 

Oh !  take  the  harp,  and  let  me  lose 
All  thoughts  of  ill  in  hearing  thee  ! 


if  the  Nle  ,(.>n. :iii,le,  a-srrt  this  privilege  ofspiritmil  being* 
in  a  manner  very  formidable  to  the  hiisliamis  of  the  island 
.  however,  "  Les  maris  out  le  plaisir  de  renter  ton 
iours  dans  le  doute;  en  pareil  cas,  c'est  une  ressourco  *' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Sing  lo  me,  love !— though  death  were  near, 

Thy  song  could  make  my  soul  forget- 
Nay,  nay,  in  P>1J  ^7  tnat  tear> 
All  m»y  be  well,  be  happy  yet ! 

I/*  me  but  see  that  snowy  arm 

more  upon  the  dear  harp  lie, 
Ami  I  will  cvase  to  dream  of  harm, 
Will  uuile  at  fate,  while  thou  art  nigh ! 

Give  me  that  strain  of  mournful  touch, 
We  us'd  to  love  long,  long  ago, 

Before  our  hearts  had  known  as  much 
A»  now,  akis !  they  bleed  to  know ! 

Sweet  notes !  they  tell  of  former  peace, 
Of  al<  that  look'd  so  rapturous  then : 

Now  wither'd,  lost— oh !  pray  thee,  cease, 
1  cannot  bear  those  sounds  again ! 

Art  thou  too,  wretched  ?  yes,  thou  art; 

I  see  thy  tears  flow  fast  with  mine — 
Come,  come  to  this  devoted  heart, 

Ti»  breaking,  but  it  still  is  thine ! 


A  VISION  OF  PHILOSOPHY. 

TWAS  on  the  Red  Sea  coast,  at  morn,  we  met 
The  venerable  man :'  a  virgin  bloom 
Of  softness  mingled  with  the  vigorous  thought 
That  tower' d  upon  his  brow ;  as  when  we  see 
The  gentle  moon  and  the  full  radiant  sun 
Shining  in  heaven  together.    When  he  spoke, 
'TwH    language   sweeten' d  into  song — such  holy 

sounds 

A»  oft  the  spirit  of  the  good  man  hears, 
Prelusive  to  the  harmony  of  heaven, 
When  death  is  nigh  !2  and  still,  as  he  unclos'd 
Hi*  sacred  lips,  an  odour,  all  as  bland 
A*  ocean-breezes  gather  from  the  flowers 
That  blossom  in  elysium,1  breath'd  around ! 
With  Mlrnt  awe  we  listen'd,  while  he  told 
Of  the  dark  veil,  which  many  an  age  had  hung 

'.ure's  form,  till  by  the  touch  of  Time 
The  mystic  shroud  grew  thin  and  luminous, 
And  half  the  goddess  beam'd  in  glimpses  through  it ! 
Of  magic  wonders,  that  were  known  and  taught 
By  him  (or  Cham  or  Zoroaster  nam'd) 


1  la  Pluurch's  F.ttay  on  He  Decline  of  the  Oraclet, 
Ctoombrotus,  one  of  the  interlocutors,  describes  an  extra- 
ordinary man  whom  he  had  met  with,  after  long  research, 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Red  Sea.  Once  in  every  year  this 
supernatural  uefsonage  appeared  to  mortals,  and  conversed 
« i'h  ih.'m ;  the  rest  of  bis  time  he  passed  among  the  Genii 
and  thfi  Nymphs.  IIisi  TH»  ipv^pav  a»X.«<r<r«»  ivan, 
.,-  »r.  IT,,  IT0(  .»«£  i»r»xX»«"«,T«>.Xa  Ji 

»«<r,  ...  J.^oa-.,  .(  ip.o-xi.  He  spoke 
in  a  tone  nut  far  removed  from  singing,  and  whenever  he 
opened  bis  lip*,  a  frajjmnce  filled  the  place:  ' 

•»T««.    Fmm  him  Cleombrotus  learned  the  doctrine  of  a 
plurnliljr  of  worlds. 

Tho  celebrated  Janus  Dousa,  a  little  before  his  death 

that  ho  heard  a  strain  of  music  in  the  sir.    See 

/.»•.«»  "in  Irirmon'uin  «]iiam  paulo  ante 

ubilum  audiro  »ibi  vims  e»t  Dousa."    Pasje  501 

.1 


Who  mus'd  amid  the  mighty  cataclysm, 
O'er  his  rude  tablets  of  primeval  lore,1 
Vor  let  the  living  star  of  science-"  sink 
[Jeneath  the  waters  which  ingulfd  the  world  !— 
Df  visions,  by  Calliope  reveal'd 
To  him,3  who  trac'd  upon  his  typic  lyre 
J'he  diapason  of  man's  mingled  frame, 
And  the  grand  Doric  heptachord  of  Heaven ! 
With  all  of  pure,  of  wondrous  and  arcane, 
Which  the  grave  sons  of  Mochus,  many  a  night, 
Told  to  ttie  young  and  bright-hair'd  visitant 
3f  Carmel's  sacred  mount  !4 — Then,  in  a  flow 


,.,,i,( 


Pindar.  Olymp.  ii. 


1  Cham,  the  son  of  Noah,  is  supposed  to  have  taken  with 
.jim  into  the  ark  the  principal  doctrines  of  magical,  or  ralhoi 
of  natural,  science,  which  he  had  inscribed  upon  some  very 
durable  substances,  in  order  that  they  might  resist  the 

avages  of  the  deluge,  and  transmit  the  secrets  of  antedilu- 
vUn "knowledge  to  his  posteuty- — Sue  the  extracts  made  by 

iayle,  in  his  article  Cham.    The  identity  of  (.'ham  and  /u- 
roaster  depends  upon  ihe  authority  of  Berosus,  or  the  im- 

K>stor  Annius,  and  a  few  more  sucli  respectable  testimonies. 

See  Naude's  Jlpulogie  pour    les  Grands   Hoinmes,  etc, 

Jliap.  8,  where  lie  takes  more  trouble  than  is  necessary  in 
refuting  this  gratuitous  supposition. 
'2  Chamum  a  posteris  hujus  artis  admiratoribus  Zoroas- 

rum,  sou  vivum  astrum,  propterea  fuisse  dictum  et  pro  Deo 

lubitum. — Buchart.  (Jcograph.  Sacr.  lib.  iv.  cap.  i. 

3  Orpheus. — Paulinus,  in  his  Hebdomades,  Cap.  ii.  Lib. 
ii.  has  endeavoured  to  show,  after  the  Platonists,  that  man 
is  a  diapason,  made  up  of  a  diatesseron,  which  is  his  soul, 
and  a  diapente,  which  is  his  body.   Those  frequent  allusions 

o  music,  by  which  the  ancient  philosophers  illustrated  their 
uhlime  theories,  musl  have  tended  very  much  to  elovate 
he  character  of  the  art,  and  to  enrich  it  with  associations 
of  the  grandest  and  most  interesting  nature.  See  a  pre- 
ceding note,  page  107,  for  their  ideas  upon  the  harmony  of 
the  spheres.  Heraclitus  compared  the  mixture  of  good  and 
evil  in  this  world  to  the  blended  varieties  of  harmony  in  a 
musical  instrument:  (Plutarch  de  Jinimas  Procreat.)  and 
Euryphamus  the  Pythagorean,  in  a  fragment  preserved  by 
Slobaeus,  describes  human  life,  in  its  perfection,  as  a  sweet 
and  well-tuned  lyre.  Some  of  the  ancients  were  so  fanciful 
as  lo  suppose  that  the  operations  of  the  memory  were  regu- 
lated by  a  kind  of  musical  cadence,  and  that  ideas  occurred 
to  it  "per  arsin  et  thesin  ;"  while  others  converted  the  whole 
man  into  a  mere  harmonized  machine,  whose  motion  de- 
|>ended  upon  a  certain  tension  of  the  body,  analogous  to  that 
of  the  strings  in  an  instrument.  Cicero  indeed  ridicules 
Aristoxenus  tor  this  fancy,  and  says,  "  let  him  teach  singing, 
and  leave  philosophy  to  Aristotle ;"  but  Aristotle  himself, 
though  decidedly  opposed  to  the  harmonic  speculations  ol 
the  Pythagoreans  and  Platonists,  could  sometimes  conde- 
scend to  enliven  his  doctrines  by  reference  to  the  beauties 
of  musical  science;  as,  in  the  treatise  Ilspi  xo<r,uou,  attri- 
buted to  him,  KxS-ocrfp  Si  iv  %opaj,  xopuiyxiou  x»T«pJxyro{. 

.  T.  X. 

The  Abbe  Batteux,yipon  the  doctrine  of  the  Stoics,  attri- 
butes to  those  philosophers  the  same  mode  of  illustration. 
"L'ameetait  cause  active,  M-O<KI>  <*ITIO{,  le  corps  cause 
passive  >|J«  TOU  !T*(rxi«v.  L'une  agissant  dans  I'autre;  et 
y  prenant,  par  son  action  meme,  un  caracture,  des  formes, 
des  modifications,  qu'elle  n'avait  pas  par  elle-mome  :  a  peu 
pres  cominc  1'air,  qui,  chasse  dans  un  instrument  de  musique, 
fait  connaitre  par  lesdirferens  sons  qu'il  produit,  les  dirl'er- 
entes  modifications  qu'il  y  recoit."  See  a  fine  simile  of 
this  kind  in  Cardinal  Polemic's  Poem,  Lib.  5.  v.  734. 

4  Pythagoras  is  represented  in  Jamblichus  as  descending 
with  great  solemnity  from  Mount  Carmel,  for  which  reason 
the  Carmelites  have  claimed  him  as  one  of  their  fraternity. 
This  Mochus  or  Mos.-hiis,  with  the  descendants  of  whom 
Pythagoras  conversed  in  Phoenicia,  and  from  whom  he  de- 
rivi-d  tin;  doctrines  of  atomic  philosophy,  is  supposed  by- 
some  to  be  the  same  with  Moses.     Illicit  has  adopted  this 
idea,  Demonftration  evangclique,  Prop.  iv.  chap.  2.  JJ7; 
and  LeCIerc,  amongst,  others,  has  refuted  it.   See  Riblioth. 
c/ioisie,  torn.  i.  p.  75.— It  is  certain,  however,  that  the  doc- 
trine of  at,,:, is  ua-  known  and  promulgated  long  before  Epi- 
curus.     "  \Viihjh,.  fountains  of  Demorritus,"  says  Cicero, 

the  gardens  of  Epicurus  were  wat.-r.'il;"  and  indeed  the 

learned  author  of  the  I,,ti-tl,Ttu,,!  Sytten  has  shown,  thai 
all  the  <'T>rly  philosophers,  till  the  time  of  Plato,  were  atom 
ists.  We  find  Epicurus,  however,  boits'ins  that  his  ti-nrts 
were  new  and  uuborrowed,  and  perhaps  few  amon;;  the 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


14 


Of  calmer  converse,  he  bcguil'd  us  on 
Through  many  a  maze  of  garden  and  of  porch, 


Through  many  a  system,  where  the  scatter'd  light 
Of  heavenly  truth  lay,  like  a  broken  beam 


ancients  had  a  stronger  claim  to  originality ;  for,  in  truth, 
if  wo  examine  iheir  schools  of  philosophy,  notwithstanding 
the  peculiarities  which  seem  to  dislmguisii  them  from  each 
other,  we  may  generally  observe  that  the  difference  is  but 
verbal  and  trifling,  and  that,  among  those  various  and  learn- 
ed heresies,  there  is  scarcely  one  to  Lie  .selected,  whose  opi- 
nions ure  its  own,  original,  and  exclusive.  The  doctrine  of 
the  world's  eternity  may  be  traced  through  all  the  sects. 
The  continual  metempsychosis  of  Pythagoras,  the  grand 
periodic  year  of  the  Stoics,  (at  the  conclusion  of  which  the 
umtci.-e  is  supposed  to  return  to  its  original  order,  and 
commence  a  new  revolution,)  the  successive  dissolution  and 
conilnirition  of  atoms  maintained  by  the  Epicureans,  all 
the-,  1,  nets  are  but  different  intimations  of  the  sajue  gene- 
ral I.eliel'  in  tile  eternity  of  the  world.  As  St.  .Austin  ex- 
plains the  periodic  year  of  the  Stoics,  it  disagrees  only  so  far 
with  the  idea  of  ihe  Pythagoreans,  that  instead  of  an  endless 
transmission  of  the  soul  through  a  variety  of  bodies,  it  re- 
Mi  same  body  and  soul  to  repeat  tiieir  former  round 
of  existence,  mid  "  tliat  identical  I'lato,  who  lectured  in  the 
Academy  ol  Athens,  shall  again  and  again,  at  certain  inter- 
vals during  the  lapse  of  eternity,  appear  in  the  same  academy 
and  resume  the  same  functions — "  ....  sic  eadem  tempora 
temporaliumque  rerum  volumina  repeti,  ut  v.  g.  sicut  in  isto 
I'l.iiu  pliilosuphus  in  urbe  Atheniensi,  in  ea  schola 
ulemia  dicta  est,  discipulos  docuit,  ita  per  innume- 
rabilia  retro  sascula,  mulium  plexis  quidem  imcrvallis,  sed 
certis,  et  idem  Plato,  et  eadem  civitas,  cadence  schola, 
iidmique  diM-ipnli  repetiti  et  per  innumerabilia  demde  Sfficula 
repetendi  sint — de  Civitat.  Dei.  lib.  xii.  cap.  13.  Vanini, 
in  his  dialogues,  has  given  us  a  similar  explication  of  the 
periodic  revolutions  of  the  world.  "  Ea  de  causa,  qui  nunc 
sunt  in  usu  ritus,  centies  millies  fuerunt,  totiesque  renascen- 
tur  quoties  ceciderunt." — ~*l. 

Tfie  paradoxical  notions  of  the  Stoics,  upon  the  beauty, 
the  riches,  the  dominion  of  their  imaginary  sage,  are  among 
the  most  distinguishing  characteristics  of  the  school,  and, 
according  to  their  advocate  Lipsius,  were  peculiar  to  that 
sect.  "Priora  ilia,  (decrela)  qure  passim  in  philosophantium 
scholis  fere  obtincnt,  ista  qua;  peculiaria  huic  secta?  et  ha- 
bent  contradictionem:  i.  e.  paradoxa." — Manuduct  ad 
Stoic.  Philos.  lib.  iii.  dissertat.  2.  But  it  is  evident  (as 
the  Abbe  Gamier  has  remarked,  Mtmoires  de  VJlcad.  torn. 
3.).;  that  even  these  absurdities  of  the  stoics  are  borrowed, 
and  that  Plato  is  the  source  of  all  their  extravagant  para- 
doxes. U'e  find  their  dogma,  ''dives  qui  sapiens,"  (which 
Clement  of  Alexandria  has  transferred  from  the  Philosopher 
to  the  Christian,  Padagog.  fib.  iii.  cap.  6.)  expressed  ki  the 
prayer  of  Socrates  at  the  end  of  the  Pha:drus.  ii  ?<*.«  Ilav 

Tl   X»l    CtAAOl    OTOI   m Si  5f  01,  JoiilTI  ftOI  X*Xti)  ytVilTZXt  TXV- 

ir^mrtixi  Si  yopi£oi//i  TOKTOCOV.  And  many  other  instances 
might  be  adduced  from  the  AiTipxirr*!,  the  lloxiTixof,  etc. 
to  prove  that  these  weeds  of  paradox,  were  gathered  among 
the  bowers  of  the  Academy.  Hence  it  is  that  Cicero,  in  the 
preface  to  his  Paradoxes,  calls  them  Socratica  ;  and  Lipsius, 
bxulung  in  the  patronage  of  Socrates,  says,  "  Illo  totus  est 
im-i. T."  This  irindeed  a  coalition  which  evinces  as  much 
as  can  be  wished  the  confused  similitudn  of  ancient  philo- 
sophical opinions:  the  father  of  scepticism  is  here  enrolled 
amc-ngat  the  founders  of  the  Portico;  he,  whose  best  know- 
ledge was  that  of  his  own  ignorance,  is  called  in  to  authorize 
the  pretensions  of  the  most  obstinate  dogmatists  in  all  an- 
tiquity. 

Rutilins,  in  his  ftinerarium,  has  ridiculed  the  sabbath  of 
the  Jews,  as  "  lassati  niollis  imago  Dei ;"  bat  Epicurus  gave 
an  eternal  holiday  to  his  gods,  and,  rather  than  disturb  the 
slumbers  of  Olympus,  denied  at  once  the  interference  of  a 
Providence.  He  does  not,  however,  seem  to  have  been  sin- 
gular in  this  opinion.  Theophilus  of  Antioch,  if  he  deserve 
any  credit,  in  n  letter  to  Autolycns,  lib.  iii.  imputes  a  simi- 
lar belief  to  Pythagoras.  ?!)«•'  (Ilujayoj  xs")  ri  roev  irxv-rtov 
5««{  ttv&t'ji7r<uv  ptStv  <jpovTi£iiii;  and  Plutarch,  though  so 
hostile  to  the  followers  of  Epicurus,  has  unaccountably 
adopted  the  very  same  theological  error;  havki»  quoted  the 
opinions  of  Anaxagoras  and  Plato  upon  divinity,  he  adds, 


iTHTTiCs/ulviv  raay  avSfuirtvxv.  f)e  Placit.  Philosoph, 
lib.  i.  cap.  7. — Plato  nimself  has  attributed  a  dejree  of  in- 
difference to  the  gods,  which  is  not  far  removed  from  the 
apathy  of  Epicurus's heaven;  as  thus,  in  his  Philcbus,  where 
Protarchus  asks,  OUXKV  nxaj  yt  »rt  %xigstr  •&<*$,  «ri  TO 
IV«VTIO»;  and  Socrates  answers,  Ilavu  ^«v  ou»  IIXOT,  xa-xi- 
lt}v  yj\>v  .XUTOOV  ixxrif  o»  j-iyvo/iivov  iirriy  :  while  Aristotle 
supposes  a  still  more  absurd  neutrality,  and  concludes,  by  no 


very  flatteiing  analogy,  that  the  Deity  is  as  incapable  of  vir 
tue  as  of  vice :  Kx;  y  xg  u<r-i(  ovXir  crqf  KU  itrrt  xaxix,  ou S 
aftTif,  OUT«U<  cvii  j(3u. — Ktkic.  Jficontar.il.  lib.  vii.  cap.  1 
In  truth,  Aristotle,  upon  the  subject  of  Providence,  was  little 
more  correct  than  Epicurus.  He  supposed  the  moon  to  be  the 
limitof  divine  interference,  excluding  of  course  this  sublunary 
world  from  its  influence.  The  first  definition  of  the  uo.ld, 
in  Ins  treatise  H«e<  xoo-juou,  (if  this  treatise  be  really  the 
work  of  Aristotle,)  agrees,  almost  vcrbum  verbo,  with  that 
in  the  letter  of  Epicurus  to  Pythocles;  they  both  omit  the 
mention  of  a  deity;  and,  in  his  Klines,  he  intimates  a  doubt 
whether  the  gods  feel  any  interest  in  the  concerns  of  man- 
kind. Ei  yx(  Tif  «jri/«i>.ti<*  Ti«i>  avyfanrtvam  varo  Jioir 
j  iv«T*».  It  is  true,  bu  adds,  'lla-yrif  Soxtt,  but  even  this  ia 
very  sceptical. 

In  these  erroneous  conceptions  of  Aristotle,  we  trace  the 
cause  of  that  general  neglect,  which  his  philosophy  expe- 
rienced among  the  early  Christians.  Plato  is  seldom  mm  h 
more  orthodox  ;  but  the  obscure  enthusiasm  of  his  style  al- 
lowed them  to  interpret  all  his  fancies  to  their  purpose ;  such 
glowing  steel  was  easily  moulded,  and  Platonism  became  a 
sword  in  the  hands  of  the  fathers. 

The  Providence  of  the  Stoics,  so  vaunted  in  their  school, 
was  a  power  as  contemptibly  inefficient  as  the  rest.  All 
was  fate  in  the  system  of  the  Portico.  The  chains  of  destiny 
were  thrown  over  Jupiter  himself,  and  their  deity  was  like 
Borgia,  et  C'a'sar  et  nihil.  Not  even  the  language  of  Seneca 
can  reconcile  this  degradation  of  divinity  :  •'  llle  ipse  omni- 
um conditor  ac  rector  scripsit  quidam  fata,  sed  seqnitur; 
semper  paret,  semel  jussit."  Lib.  de  Providentid,  Cap.  5. 

With  respect  to  the  difference  between  the  Stoics,  Peripa- 
tetics, and  Academicians,  the  following  words  of  Cicero, 
prove  that  he  saw  but  little  to  distinguish  them  from  each 
other:  " Peripateticos  et  Academicps,  nominibua  dirl'erentes, 
re  congruentes;  a  quibus  Stoici  ipsi  verbis  magis  quani 
sententiis  dissenserunt."  .Icatltmic.  lib.  li.  5.,  and  peihapa 
what  Reid  has  remarked  upon  one  of  their  points  of  contro- 
versy might  be  applied  as  effectually  to  the  reconcilement 
of  all  the  rest:  "The  dispute  between  the  Stoics  and 
Peripatetics  was  probably  all  for  want  of  definition.  The 
one  said  they  were  good  under  the  control  of  reason,  the 
other  that  they  should  be  eradicated."  Essays,  vol.  iii. 
In  short,  from  the  little  which  I  know  upon  the  subject,  it 
appears  to  me  as  difficult  to  establish  the  boundaries  of 
opinion  between  any  two  of  the  philosophical  sects,  as  it 
would  be  to  fix  tht.  land-marks  of  those  estates  in  the  moon, 
which  Ricciolus  so  generously  allotted  to  his  brother  as- 
tronomers. Accordingly  we  observe  some  of  the  greatest 
men  of  antiquity  passing  without  scruple  from  school  to 
school,  according  to  the  fancy  or  convenience  of  the  mo- 
ment. Cicero,  the  father  of  Roman  philosophy,  is  comi!- 
times  an  Academician,  sometimes  a  Stoic;  and,  more  than 
once,  he  acknowledges  a  conformity  with  Epicurus :  "  non 
sine  causa  igitur,  Epicurus  ausus  est  dicere  semper  in  plu- 
ribus  bonis  esse  sapicntem,  quia  semper  sit  in  voluptatibus." 
Tusculan.  Qvast.  lib.  v. — Though  often  pure  in  his  theo- 
logy, he  sometimes  smiles  at  futurity  as  a  fiction;  thus,  in 
his  Oration  for  Cluentius,  speaking  of  punishments  in  the 
life  to  come,  he  says,  "  tiuie  si  falsa  sum,  id  quod  omnci 
intelligunt,  quidei  tandem  aliud  morseripuit,  prxlersensum 
doloris?"  though  here  perhaps  we  should  do  him  justice  by 
agreeing  with  his  commentator  Sylvius,  who  remarks  upon 
this  passage,  "  Hiecautem  dixit,  ut  causte  surp  subscrvirct." 
Horace  roves  like  a  butterfly  through  the  schools,  and  now 
wings  along  the  walls  of  the  Porch,  and  now  basks  among 
the  flowers  of  the  Garden;  while  Virgil,  with  a  tone  of  mind 
strongly  philosophical,  has  left  us  uncertain  of  the  feet 
which  he  espoused;  the  balance  of  opinion  declares  him  an 
Epicurean,  but  the  ancient  author  of  his  life  asserts  that  he 
was  an  Academician,  and  we  trace  through  his  poetry  the 
tenets  of  almost  all  the  leading  sects.  The  same  kind  of 
electric  indirlereiice  is  observable  in  most  of  the  Ki.mftB 
writers.  Thus  Propertius,  m  the  fine  elegy  of  Cynthia,  oo 
his  departure  for  Athens, 

Illic  vel  studiis  animurn  emendare  Platoms, 
Incipiam,  aut  hortis,  docle  Epicure,  tuis. 

Lib.  iii.  Ele».21. 

Though  Broukhusius  here  reads,  "  dux  Epicure,"  which 
seems  to  fix  the  poet  under  the  banners  of  Epicurus.  Even 
the  Stoic  Seneca,  whose  doctrines  have  been  considered  MI 
orthodox,  that  St.  Jerome  has  ranked  him  amongst  tho 
ecclesiastical  writers,  and  Boccaccio,  in  his  commentary 
upon  Dante,  has  doubted,  (in  consideration  of  the  philtmo 
pher's  supposed  corresooudence  with  St.  Paul,)  whether 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


From  the  pure  sun,  which,  though  refracted  all 

Into  a  thousand  hues,  is  sunshine  still,1 

And  bngbl  through  every  change !— he  spoke  of  Him, 

The  lone,*  eternal  One  who  dwells  above, 

And  of  the  soul's  untraceable  descent 

From  thai  high  fount  of  spirit,  through  the  grades 

Of  intellectual  being,  till  it  mix 

With  atoms  vague,  corruptible,  and  dark ; 

Nor  even  then,  though  sunk  in  earthly  dross, 

Corrupted  all,  nor  its  ethereal  touch 

Quite  lost,  but  tasting  of  the  fountain  still! 

As  some  bright  liter,  which  has  roll'd  along 

Through  meads  of  flowery  light  and  mines  of  gold, 

When  pour'd  at  length  into  the  dusky  deep, 

Disdains  to  mingle  with  its  briny  taint, 

But  keeps  awhile  the  pure  and  golden  tinge, 

The  balmy  freshness  of  the  fields  it  left  !J 

And  here  the  old  man  ceased— a  winged  train 
Of  nymphs  and  genii  led  him  from  our  eyes> 
The  fair  illusion  fled ;  and,  as  I  wak'd, 
I  knew  my  visionary  soul  had  been 
Among  that  people  of  aerial  dreams 
Who  live  upon  the  burning  galaxy  !* 


Dante  should  have  placed  him  in  Limbo  with  the  rest  of  the 
Pagans — the  rigid  Seneca  bu  bestowed  such  commenda- 
tions on  Epicurus,  that  if  only  those  passages  of  his  work* 
were  pteaenrnrl  to  us,  we  could  not,  I  think,  hesitate  in  pro- 
nouncing him  an  Epicurean.  In  the  same  manner  we  Hud 
Porphyry,  in  his  work  upon  abstinence,  referring  to  Epicurus 
as  an  example  of  the  most  strict  Pythagorean  temperance ; 
and  Laneelotti,  the  author  of  t'arfalloni  degli  cmtichi 
//(•rici,  has  been  seduced  by  this  grave  reputation  of  Epi- 
curus m.o  the  absurd  error  of  associating  him  withChrysip- 
pus,  as  a  chief  of  the  Stoic  school.  There  is  no  doubt, 
indeed,  that  however  the  Epicurean  sect  might  have  relaxed 
from  its  original  parity,  the  moral*  of  its  founder  were  as 
correct  as  those  of  any  among  the  ancient  philosophers ;  and 
ha  doctrines  upon  pleasure,  as  explained  in  the  letter  to 
MssmcsBS.  are  rational,  amiable,  and  consistent  with  our 
nature.  M.  de  Sablons,  in  bis  Grands  komma  vcngcs  ex- 
presses strong  indignation  against  the  Encyclopedistes  for 
their  jost  and  animated  praises  of  Epicurus,  and  discussing 
the  question,  "  si  ce  philoaopbe  etait  vertucux,"  he  denies  it 
enon  no  other  authority  than  the  calumnies  collected  by 
Plutarch,  who  himself  confesses  that,  on  this  particular  sub- 
ject, be  consulted  only  opinion  and  report,  without  pausing 
tt investigate  their  truth.  AXXa  T,»  ioj»r,  ou  mr  nX> j,.»i. 
nirMpir.  To  the  factious  zeal  of  his  illiberal  rivals  the 
Stoics,  Epicurus  owed  these  gross  misrepresentations  of  the 
ife  and  optnions  of  himself  and  his  associates,  which,  not- 
withstanding the  learned  exertions  of  Gas«endi,  have  still 
left  an  odium  on  the  name  of  his  philosophy ;  and  we  ought 
Is  examine  the  ancient  accounts  of  Epicurus  with  the  same 
decree  of  cautious  belief  which,  in  reading  ecclesiastical 
history,  we  yield  to  the  declamations  of  the  fathers  against 
the  heretics;  trusting  as  little  to  Plutarch  upon  a  dogma  of 
this  philosopher,  as  we  would  to  St.  Cyril  upon  a  tenet  of 
NestohM.  (IriUl.) 

The   preceding  remarks,  I   winh  the  reader  to  observe, 
»ete  written  st  a  time  when  I  thought  the  studies  to  which 
they  refer  much  more  important  and  much  more  amu*icg 
*  *•"?  I  wstlf  renfess,  they  appear  to  me  at  present. 

I  Laetantins  asserts  that  all  the  truths  of  Christianity  mav 
*•  found  diepened  through  the  ancient  philosophical  sects. 


".- 


de  .Intro  .Yympk. 


TO 


THE  world  had  just  begun  to  steal 
Each  hope  that  led  me  lightly  on, 

I  felt  not,  as  I  us'd  to  feel, 
And  life  grew  dark  and  love  was  gone1 

No  eye  to  mingle  sorrow's  tear, 
No  lip  to  mingle  pleasure's  breath, 

No  tongue  to  call  me  kind  and  dear — 
'Twas  gloomy,  and  1  wish'd  for  death  ! 

But  when  I  saw  that  gentle  eye, 
Oh  !  something  seem'd  to  tell  me  then, 

That  I  was  yet  too  young  to  die, 
And  hope  and  bliss  might  bloom  again ! 

With  every  beamy  smile,  that  cross'd 
Your  kindling  cheek,  you  lighted  home 

Some  feeling  which  my  heart  had  lost, 
And  peace,  which  long  had  learn'd  to  roam 

'Twas  then  indeed  so  sweet  to  live, 
Hope  look'd  so  new,  and  love  so  kind, 

That,  though  I  weep,  I  still  forgive 
The  ruin,  which  they've  left  beliind ! 

I  could  have  lov'd  you — oh  so  well ; — 
The  dream,  that  wishing  boyhood  knows, 

Is  but  a  bright  beguiling  spell, 
Which  only  lives,  while'  passion  glows  : 

But  when  this  early  flush  declines, 
When  the  heart's  vivid  morning  fleets, 

You  know  not  then  how  close  it  twines 
Round  the  first  kindred  soul  it  meets ! 

Yes,  yes,  I  could  have  lov'd,  as  one 
Who,  while  his  youth's  enchantments  fall, 

Finds  something  dear  to  rest  upon, 
Which  pays  him  for  the  loss  of  all ! 


DREAMS. 
TO . 

IN  slumber,  I  prithee  how  is  it 

That  souls  are  oft  taking  the  air, 
And  paying  each  other  a  visit, 

While  bodies  are — Heaven  knows  where  7 

Last  night,  'tis  in  vain  to  deny  it, 

Your  soul  took  a  fancy  to  roam, 
For  I  heard  her,  on  tiptoe  so  quiet, 

Come  ask,  whether  mine  was  at  home. 

And  mine  let  her  in  with  delight, 

And  they  ulk'd  and  they  kiss'd  the  time  through 
For,  when  souls  come  together  at  night, 

There  is  no  knowing  what  they  may'nt  do ! 

And  your  little  soul,  Heaven  bless  her ! 

Had  much  to  complain  and  to  say, 
Of  how  sadly  you  wrong  and  oppress  her 

By  keeping  her  prison'd  all  day. 

"  If  I  happen,"  said  she,  "  but  to  steal 
For  a  peep  now  and  then  to  her  eye, 

Or  to  quiet  the  fever  I  feel. 
Just  venture  abroad  on  a  sigh: 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


llo 


*  In  an  instant,  she  frightens  me  in 
"  With  some  phantom  of  prudence  or  terror, 

For  fear  I  should  stray  into  sin, 
Or,  what  is  still  worse,  into  error  ! 

4  So,  instead  of  displaying  my  graces 

Through   look,  and  through  words,  and  through 

mein, 
[  am  shut  up  in  corners  and  places, 

Where  truly  I  blush  to  be  seen!" 

Upon  hearing  this  piteous  confession, 

Mi/  Soul,  looking  tenderly  at  her, 
Declar'd,  as  for  grace  and  discretion, 

He  did  not  know  much  of  the  matter  ; 

'  But,  to-morrow,  sweet  Spirit!"  he  said, 
"  Be  at  home  after  midnight,  and  then 

I  will  come  when  your  lady's  in  bed, 
And  we'll  talk  o'er  the  subject  again." 

So  she  whisper'd  a  word  in  his  ear, 

I  suppose  to  her  door  to  direct  him, 
ind— just  after  midnight,  my  clear, 

Your  polite  little  soul  may  expect  him 


TO  MRS. 


To  see  thee  every  day  that  came, 
And  find  thee  every  day  the  same, 
In  pleasure's  smile  or  sorrow's  tear 
The  same  benign,  consoling  dear  ! — 
To  meet  thee  early,  leave  thee  late, 
Has  been  so  long,  my  bliss,  my  fate, 
That  life,  without  this  cheering  ray, 
Which  came,  like  sunshine,  every  day, 
And  all  my  pain,  my  sorrow  chas'd, 
Is  now  a  lone  and  loveless  waste. — 
Whore  are  the  chords  she  used  to  touch  ? 
Where  are  the  son-rs  she  lov'd  so  much  ? 
The  songs  are  hush'd,the  chords  are  still, 
And  so,  perhaps,  will  every  thrill 
Of  friendship  soon  be  lull'd  to  rest, 
Which  late  I  wak'd  in  Anna's  breast ! 
Yet  no — the  simple  notes  I  play'd, 
On  memory's  tablet  soon  may  fade  ; 
The  songs,  which  Anna  lov'd  to  hear, 
May  all  be  lost  on  Anna's  ear; 
But  friendship's  sweet  and  fairy  strain 
Sliiill  ever  in  her  heart  remain: 
Nor  memory  lose  nor  time  impair 
The  sympithies  which  tremble  there ! 


A  CANADIAN  BOAT-SONG. 

WRITTEN  ON  THE  RIVER  ST.  LAWRENCE.1 

Et  remigem  cantus  liortatur. 

Quintilian, 

FAINTLY  as  tolls  the  evening  chime 

Our  voices  keep  tune, and  our  oars  keep  time: 


1  I  wrote  these  words  to  an  air,  which  our  boatmen  sung 
to  us  vrry  fri'i|uently.  The  wind  was  so  unfavourable,  that 
they  were  ol.i  L'ed  to  row  all  the  way,  anil  we  were  five  days 
in  descending  flie  river  from  Kinsston  to  Montreal,  cvpo^'-d 
lc  an  intense  sun  during  tho  day,  and  at  night  forced  lo  take 


Soon  as  the  woods  on  shore  look  dim, 
We'll  sing  at  St.  Ann's  our  parting  hymn,1 
Row  brothers,  row,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-light 's  past ! 

Why  should  we  yet  our  sail  unfurl  ? 
There  is  not  a  breath  the  blue  wave  to  curl ! 
But,  when  the  wind  blows  off  the  shore, 
Oh  !  sweetly  we'll  rest  our  weary  oar. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-light 's  past ! 

Utawas'  tide  !  this  trembling  moon, 
Shall  see  us  float  over  thy  surges  soon: 
Saint  of  this  green  isle !  hear  our  prayers, 
Oh  !  grant  us  cool  heavens  and  favouring  airs. 
Blow,  breezes,  blow,  the  stream  runs  fast, 
The  Rapids  are  near  and  the  day-light's  past ! 


EPISTLE  IX. 
TO  THE  LADY  CHARLOTTE  R— WD— N. 

FROM    THE   BANKS   OF   THE   RIVER  ST.    LAWRE.NCB 

NOT  many  months  have  now  been  dream'd  awaj 
Since  yonder  sun,  (beneath  whose  evening  ray 
We  rest  our  boat  among  these  Indian  Isles,) 
Saw  me,  where  mazy  Trent  serenely  smiles 
Through  many  an  oak,  as  sacred  as  the  groves, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  pious  Persian  roves, 
And  hears  the  soul  of  father  or  of  chief, 
Or  loved  mistress,  sigh  in  every  leaf!2 


shelter  from  the  dews  in  any  miserable  hut  upon  the  brinks 
that  would  receive  us.  But  the  magnificent  scenery  of  the 
>t.  Lawrence  repays  all  these  difficulties. 

Our  t'injat(cu.rs  iuid  good  voices,  and  sung  perfectly  in 
tune  together.  The  original  words  of  the  air,  to  which  I 
adapted  these  stanzas,  appeared  lo  be  a  long,  incoherent 
story,  of  which  I  could  understand  but  little,  IVmn  Uie  burba 
rous  pronunciation  of  the  Canadians.  It  begins, 

Dans  mon  chemin  j'ai  rencontre 
Deux  cavaliers  Ues-bien  monies  ; 

And  the  refrain  to  every  verse  was, 

A  1'ombre  d'un  bois  je  m'en  vais  joucr, 
A  I'ombre  d'un  bois  jem'en  vais  danser. 

1  ventured  to  harmonize  this  air,  and  have  published  it. 
Without  that  charm,  which  association  gives  to  every  little 
memorial  of  scenes  or  feelings  that  are  past,  the  melody  may 
perhaps  be  thought  common  and  trifling;  but  I  mum  In  r 
when  wr  hail  entered,  at  sunset,  upon  one  of  those  beautiful 
lakes,  into  which  the  St.  Lawrence  so  grandly  and  ime.x- 
poctedly  opens,  I  have  heard  this  simple  air  with  a  pleasure 
which  the  t'me-t  compositions  of  the  first  masters  have  u>  -ier 
given  me;  and  now,  there  is  not  a  note  of  it,  which  docs  not 
recal  to  rrty  memory  thedip  of  our  oars  in  the  St.  Lawrence, 
the  High!  of  our  boat  down  the  rapids,  and  all  those  new 
and  fanciful  impressions  to  which  my  heart  was  uhve,  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  this  very  interesting  voynsc. 

The   above  stanzas   are  supposed    to    he  sun"  hv  thoso 
vov'^'enr-.   who   ::  i  tu  the  Grande   Portage  by  the   t't-iwai 
river.     For  an  account  of  this  wonderful  umlertak 
xir  Jilexander  Mackenzie's  General   History  of  tin-  /•  ur 
Trade,  prefixed  to  his  Journal. 

1  "  At  the  Rapids  of  St.  Ann  they  are  obli?od  to  take  out 
a  part,  if  not  the  whole,  of  their  hiding.     It  is  from  this  spot 
the   Canadians   consider   they  lake   their   departure,  as   it 

•lie  last  church  on  the  island,  which   is  dedicated 
to  the  tutelar  saint  of  voyagers." — Macktniii's    Utnrrai 
nflhr  r'i,r  Trade. 

2  "  Avendo  essi  per  costume  di  nvere  in  veneratione  eli 
albori  jjraiuli  ed  antichi,  quasi  die  siano  spesso  ricettacco1' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There  listening,  Udy !  while  thy  lip  hath  sung 
Iff  own  unpolish'd  lays,  how  proud  I  ve  hung 
On  every  mellow'd  number !  proud  «o  feel 
Tbat  notes  like  mine  should  haw  the  fate  to  steal, 
A»  o'er  thy  hallowing  lip  they  »igh'd  along, 
Such  breath  of  passion  and  such  soul  of  song. 
Oh !  I  nave  wonder'd,  like  the  peasant  boy 
Who  sings  at  ere  hi*  sabbath  strains  of  joy, 
And  whea  he  hears  the  rude,  luiuriant  note 
Back  to  his  ear  on  softening  echoes  float, 
Believes  it  still  some  answering  spirit's  tone, 
And  thinks  it  all  too  sweet  to  be  his  own ! 
I  dream'd  not  then  that,  ere  the  rolling  year 
Had  fill'd  its  circle,  I  should  wander  here 
In  musing  awe  ;  should  tread  this  wondrous  world, 
See  all  its  store  of  inland  waters  hurl'd 
In  one  vast  volume  down  Niagara's  steep,1 
Or  calm  behold  them,  in  transparent  sleep, 
Where  the  blue  hills  of  old  Toronto  shed 
Their  evening  shadows  o'er  Ontario's  bed ! 
Should  trace  the  grand  Cadaraqui,  and  glide 
Down  the  white  Rapids  of  his  lordly  tide 
Through  massy  woods,  through  islets  flowering  fair, 
Through  shades  of  bloom,  where  the  first  sinful  pair, 
For  consolation  might  have  weeping  trod, 
When  banish'd  from  the  garden  of  their  God ! 
Oh,  Lady !  these  are  miracles,  which  man, 
Cag'd  in  the  bounds  of  Europe's  pigmy  plan, 
Can  scarcely  dream  of;  which  his  eye  must  see, 
To  know  how  beautiful  this  world  can  be  ! 

But  soft ! — the  tinges  of  the  west  decline, 
And  night  falls  dewy  o'er  these  banks  of  pine. 
Among  the  reeds,  in  which  our  idle  bczt 
Is  rock'd  to  rest,  the  wind's  complaining  note 
Die*,  like  a  half-breath'd  whispering  of  flutes ; 
Along  the  wave  the  gleaming  porpoise  shoots, 
And  I  can  trace  him,  like  a  watery  star,* 
Down  the  steep  current,  till  he  fades  afar 
Amid  the  foaming  breakers'  silvery  light, 
Where  yon  rough  rapids  sparkle  through  the  night ! 
Here,  as  along  this  shadowy  bank  I  stray, 
And  the  smooth  glass-make,*  gliding  o'er  my  way, 
Shows  the  dim  moonlight  through  his  scaly  form, 
Fancy,  with  all  the  scene's  enchantment  warm, 
Hears  in  the  murmur  of  the  nightly  breeze, 
gome  Indian  Spirit  warble  words  like  these  : — 


«  same  beat*."— Pirtro  delU  raUt,  Part.  Second.  Lettera 
18d*igi«rdinidirVir*z. 

1  Wbeo  I  arrived  at  Chippewa,  within  three  mile*  of  th 
Fall*,  it  was  too  Ute  to  think  of  visiting  them  that  evening 
and  I  lajr  awake  all  night  with  the  found  of  the  cataract  in 
•year*.  The  day  following  I  consider  as  a  kind  of  era  ir 
mj  lite,  and  the  Ant  glimpse  which  I  causht  of  those  won 
derful  Fall*  gave  me  a  fo«lin(  which  nothing  in  this  worlt 
can  ever  excite  again. 

To  Colonel  Brock,  of  the  49th,  who  commanded  at  the 
Port,  I  am  particularly  indebted  for  his  kindness  to  mn  dur 
ing  th*  fortnight  I  remained  at  Niagara.  Among  man 
pleasant  days  which  I  pasted  with  him  and  his  brother -offi 
een,  that  of  oar  vi*it  to  the  Tuscaroia  Indians  was  not  th 
lea*  laHfeeting.  They  received  a*  in  all  their  ancient  cos 
tone ;  Ik*  young  men  exhibited,  for  our  amusement,  in  th 
•tec,  the  hM-orne,  etas,  while  the  old  and  the  uomen  sa 
hi  ire***  «nd«r  the  surrounding  trees,  and  the  picture  alto 
fMhsr  was  a»tx-anliful  as  h  wa*  new  to  me. 


I  Aaborev  in  hi*  travel*,  ha*  noticed  this  shooting  illu 
i  porpo.se*  difloM 
28. 


which 


at  night  through  the  Su  Law 
3  TM  glass-snake  if  brittle  and  transparent. 


From  the  clime  of  sacred  doves,1 
Where  the  blessed  Indian  roves, 
Through  the  air  on  wing,  as  white 
As  the  spirit-stones  of  light,2 
Which  the  eye  of  morning  counU 
On  the  Apallachian  mounts  ! 
Hither  oft  my  flight  I  take 
Over  Huron's  lucid  lake, 
Where  the  wave,  as  clear  as  dew, 
Sleeps  beneath  the  light  canoe, 
Which,  reflected,  floating  there, 
Looks  as  if  it  hung  in  air  !3 

Then,  when  I  have  stray'd  awhile 
Through  the  Manataulin  isle,4 
Breathing  all  its  holy  bloom, 
Swift  upon  the  purple  plume 
Of  my  Wakon-bird5 1  fly 
Where  beneath  a  burning  sky, 
O'er  the  bed  of  Erie's  lake, 
Slumbers  many  a  water  snake, 
Basking  in  the  web  of  leaves, 
Which  the  weeping  lily  weaves  !s 

Then  I  chase  the  flow'ret-king 
Through  his  bloomy  wild  of  spring ; 
See  him  now,  while  diamond  hues 
Soft  his  neck  and  wings  suffuse, 
In  the  leafy  chalice  sink, 
Thirsting  for  his  balmy  drink  ; 
Now  behold  him  all  on  fire, 
Lovely  in  his  looks  of  ire, 
Breaking  every  infant  stem, 
•  Scattering  every  velvet  gem, 
Where  his  little  tyrant  lip 
Had  not  found  enough  to  sip  ! 

Then  my  playful  hand  I  steep 
Where  the  gold-thread7  loves  to  creep, 


1  The  departed  spirit  goes  into  the  Country  of  Poul*, 
here,  according  to  some.,  it  is  transformed  inio  a  dove." 

Jharlevoix,  upon  the  Traditions  and  the  Religion  of  tkt 
Savages  of  Canada.  See  the  curious  Fable  of  the  Ameri- 
can Orpheus  in  Lafitav,  torn.  i.  p.  402. 

2  "  The  mountains  appear  to  be  sprinkled  with  white  slone*, 
which  glistened  in  the  sun,  and  were  called  by  the  Indian* 
manetoe  aseniah,  or  *pirit-stones." — Mackenzie's  Journal. 

3  I  was  thinking  here  of  what  Carver  savs  so  beautifully 
in  his  description  of  one  of  these  lakes:  "When  it  was  calm 
and  the  sun  shone  bright,  I  could  sit  in  my  canoe,  where  the 
depth  was  upwards  of  six  fathoms,  and  plainly  see  huge 
piles  of  stone  at  the  botton,  of  different  shapes,  some  of 
which  appeared  as  if  they  had  been  hewn  ;  the  water  was  at 
this  time  as  pure  and  transparent  as  air,  and  my  canoe 
seemed  as  if  it  hung  suspended  in  that  element.     It  ua-  im- 
possible to  look  attentively  through  this  limpid  medium,  at 
the  rocks  below,  without  finding,  before  many  minutr-s  were 
elapsed,  your  head  ewim  and  your  eye*  no  longer  able  to 
behold  the  dazzling  scene." 

4  Aprcs  avoir  traverse  plusieurs  isles  peu  considerables, 
nous  en  Irouvame*  le  qualrieme  jour  uno  fameuse,  nommee 
I'isle  de  Manitounlin. —  Voyages  du  Baron  de.    f.ahontnn, 
torn.  i.  lett.  15.    Manataulin  signifies  a  place  of  Spirits,  and 
this  Island  in  Lake  Huron  is  held  sacred  by  the  Indian*. 

5  "The  Wakon  bird,  which  probably  "is   of  the  game 
species  with  the  bird  of  paradise,  receives  its  name  from  the 
ideas  the  Indians  have  of  its  superior  excellence;  the  Wa- 
kon-hird   jeing,  fn  their  language,   the  Bird  of  the  Great 
Spirit." — Morse. 

6  The  islands  of  Lake  Erie  are  surrounded  to  a  consider 
able  distance  by  a  larje,   pond-lily,  whose  leaves  spread 
thickly  over  the  surface  of  the  lake,  and  form  a  kind  ofbefl 
for  the  water-snakes  in  summer. 

7  "  The  eold-thread  is  of  the  vine  kind,  and  ?rows  in 
swamps.    The  roots  spread  themselves  just  under  the  sur- 
face of  the  morasses  and  are  easily  drawn  out  by  handfulf 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


145 


Cull  from  thence  a  tangled  wreath, 
Words  of  magic  round  it  breathe, 
And  the  sunny  chaplet  spread 
O'er  the  sleeping  fly-bird's  head,1 
Till  with  dreams  of  honey  blest, 
Haunted  in  his  downy  in  st 
By  the  garden's  fairest  spells, 
Dewy  buds  and  fragrant  bells,  x 
Fancy  all  his  soul  embowers 
In  the  fly-bird's  heaven  of  dowers ! 


Oft  when  hoar  and  silvery  flakes 
Melt  along  the  ruffled  lakes ; 
When  the  gray  moose  sheds  his  horns, 
When  the  track,  at  evening,  warns 
Weary  hunters  of  the  way 
To  the  wigwam's  cheering  ray, 
Then,  aloft  through  freezing  air, 
With  the  snow-bird2  soft  and  fair 
As  the  fleece  that  Heaven  flings 
O'er  his  little  pearly  wings, 
/  Light  above  the  rocks  I  play, 
Where  Niagara's  starry  spray, 
Frozen  on  the  cliff,  appears 
Like  a  giant's  starting  tears  !     ^ 
There,  amid  the  island-sedge, 
Just  upon  the  cataract's  edge, 
Where  the  foot  of  living  man 
Never  trod  since  time  began, 
Lone  I  sit,  at  close  of  day, 
While,  beneath  the  golden  ray, 
Icy  columns  gleam  below, 
Feather'd  round  with  falling  snow, 
And  an  arch  of  glory  springs, 
Brilliant  as  the  chain  of  rings 
Round^the  neck  of  virgins  hung — 
Virgins,3  who  have  wander'd  young 
O'er  the  waters  of  the  west 
To  the  land  where  spirits  rest ! 

""'  us  have  I  charm' d,  with  visionary  lay, 
Th"-  lonely  moments  of  the  night  away ; 
An-1  now,  fresh  day-light  o'er  the  water  beams  ! 
Once  more  embark'd  upon  the  glittering  streams, 
Our  boat  flies  light  along  the  leafy  shore, 
Shooting  the  falls,  without  a  dip  of  oar 
Or  breath  of  zephyr,  like  the  mystic  bark 
The  poet  saw,  in  dreams  divinely  dark, 
Borne,  without  sails,  along  the  dusky  flood,* 
While  on  its  deck  a  pilot  angel  stood, 


And,  with  his  wings  of  living  light  unfurl'd, 
Coasted  thn  dim  shores  of  another  world ! 

Yet  oh !  believe  me,  in  this  blooming  maze 
Of  lovely  nature,  where  the  fancy  strays 
From  charm  to  charm,  where  every  flow'ret's  hue 
Hath  something  strange  and  every  leaf  is  new  ! 
[  never  feel  a  bliss  so  pure  and  still, 
So  heavenly  calm,  as  when  a  stream  or  hill, 
Or  veteran  oak,  like  those  remember'd  well, 
Or  breeze,  or  echo,  or  some  wild-flower's  smell, 
[For,  who  can  say  what  small  and  fairy  ties 
The  memory  flings  o'er  pleasure,  as  it  flies !) 
Reminds  my  heart  of  many  a  sylvan  dream 
1  once  indulg'd  by  Trent's  inspiring  stream ; 
Of  all  my  sunny  morns  and  moonlight  nights 
On  Donnington's  green  lawns  and  breezy  heights ! 


They  resemble  a  large  entangled  skein  of  silk,  and  are  of  a 
bright  yullow." — Morse. 

1  L'oiseau  mouche,  gros  comme  un  hanneton,  est  de  tou- 
tes  cou'eurs,  vives  ct  changeuntes  :  il  tire  sa  subsistence  des 
fleurs  coninic  les  abeilles;  son  nid  est  fait  d'un  colon  tres- 
fin  suspendu  a  un<:  branche  d'arbre. —  Voyages  auz  Indcs 
Occiilrntalrf,  pur  M.  Bossu.  Second  Part,  lett.  xx. 

2  Emberiza  hyemalig. — See  Imlay's  Kentucky,  page  280. 

3  Lafitau  wishes  to  believe,  for  the  sake  of  his  theory, 
that  there  was  an   order  of  vestal?  established  among  the 
Iroquois  Indians ;  but  I  am  afraid  that  Jacques  Carthier, 
upon  whose  authority  he  supports  himself,  meant  any  thing 
but  vestal  institutions  by  the  "  cabanes  publiques"  which  he 
net  with  at  Montreal.— See  Lafitau,  JItturs  dcs  Sauvagc* 
Snericainf.  etc.  torn.  i.  p.  173. 

4  Vedi  che  sdegna  gli  argomenti  utnani; 
Si  che  remo  non  vuol,  ne  altro  velo, 
rhf;  P  ale  sue  tra  liti  si  lontani. 
Vedi  come  '1  ha  dritte  verso  '1  cielo 


Whether  I  trace  the  tranquil  moments  o'er 
When  I  have  seen  thee  cull  the  blooms  of  lore, 
With  him,  the  polish'd  warrior,  by  thy  side, 
A  sister's  idol  and  a  nation's  pride ! 
When  thou  hast  read  of  heroes,  trophied  high, 
In  ancient  fame,  and  I  have  seen  thine  eye 
Turn  to  the  living  hero,  while  it  read, 
For  pure  and  brightening  comments  on  the  dead ! 
Or  whether  memory  to  my  mind  recalls 
The  festal  grandeur  of  those  lordly  halls, 
When  guests  have  met  around  the  sparkling  board, 
And  welcome  warm'd  the  cup  that  luxury  pour'd ; 
When  the  bright  future  Star  of  England's  Throne, 
With  magic  smile,  hath  o'er  the  banquet  shone, 
Winning  respect,  nor  claiming  what  he  won, 
But  tempering  greatness,  like  an  evening  sun 
Whose  light  the  eye  can  tranquilly  admire, 
Glorious  but  mild,  all  softness  yet  all  fire  ! — 
Whatever  hue  my  recollections  take, 
Even  the  regret,  the  very  pain  they  wake 
Is  dear  and  exquisite  ! — but  oh !  no  more- 
Lady  !  adieu — my  heart  has  linger'd  o'er 
These  vanish'd  times,  till  all  that  round  me  lies, 
Stream,  banks,  and  bowers,  have  faded  on  my  eyea 


IMPROMPTU, 


AFTER  A  VISIT  TO  MRS.  • 


-,  OF  MONTREAL. 


'TWAS  but  for  a  moment — and  yet  in  that  time 
She  crowded  the  impressions  of  many  an  houn 

Her  eye  had  a  glow,  like  the  sun  of  her  clime, 
Which  wak'd  every  feeling  at  once  into  flower, 

Oh!  could  we  have  stol'n  but  ona  rapturous  day, 
To  renew  such  impressions  again  and  again, 

The  things  we  could  look,  and  imagine,  and  say, 
Would  be  worth  all  the  life  we  had  wasted  till  then  ! 

What  we  had  not  the  leisure  or  language  to  speak, 
We  should  find  some  more  exquisite  mode  of  ie- 
vealing, 

And,  between  us,  should  feel  just  as  much  in  a  week 
Aa  others  would  take  a  millennium  in  feeling  ! 


Trnttando  '1  aere  con  *1  eterne  penne; 
Che  oon  si  mutan,  come  mortal  pelo. 

Dante,  Pur/ratar.  Cant  o 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


\V  KITTEN 

ON  PASSING  DEADMAN'S  ISLAND,'  IN 
THE  GULF  OF  ST.  LAWRENCE, 

LATE  IN  THE  EVENING,  SEPTEMBER,  1804. 

FEE  you,  beneath  yon  cloud  so  dark, 
Tut  gilding  along,  a  gloomy  bark ! 
Her  tails  are  full,  though  the  wind  is  still, 
And  there  blows  not  a  breath  her  sails  to  fill ! 

Oh !  what  doth  that  vessel  of  darkness  bear? 
The  silent  calm  of  the  grave  is  there, 
Save  now  and  again  a  death-knell  rung, 
And  the  flap  of  the  sails  with  night-fog  hung ! 

There  lieth  a  wreck  on  the  dismal  shore 
Of  rold  and  pitiless  Labrador; 
Where,  under  the  moon,  upon  mounts  of  frost, 
Full  many  a  mariner's  bones  are  tost ! 

Yon  shadowy  bark  hath  been  to  that  wreck 
And  the  dim  blue  fire,  that  lights  her  deck, 
Doth  play  on  as  pale  and  livid  a  crew, 
A»  ever  yet  drank  the  church-yard  dew ! 

To  Deadman's  Isle,  in  the  eye  of  the  blast, 
To  Deadman's  Isle  she  speeds  her  fast ; 
By  skeleton  shapes  her  sails  are  furl'd, 
And  the  hand  that  steers  is  not  of  this  world ! 

Oh!  hurry  thee  on— oh !  hurry  thee  on 
Thou  terrible  bark !  ere  the  night  be  gone, 
Nor  let  morning  look  on  so  foul  a  sight 
As  would  blanch  for  ever  her  rosy  light ! 


TO  THE  BOSTON  FRIGATE,* 

ON   LEAVING   HALIFAX   FOR  ENGLAND,   OCT.    1804. 
NOLTOT  nrO«AZIZ  fATKEPOT.— Pindar.  Pytk.4. 

WITH  triumph,  this  morning,  oh,  Boston !  I  hail 
The  stir  of  thy  deck  and  the  spread  of  thy  sail, 
For  they  tell  me  I  soon  shall  be  wafted  in  thee, ' 
To  the  flourishing  isle  of  the  brave  and  the  free, 
And  that  chill  Nova-Scotia's  unpromising  strand* 
!•  the  last  I  shall  tread  of  American  land. 


1  Thii  ii  one  of  the  Magdalen  Islands,  and,  singularly 
MOOfh,  is  the  properly  of  Sir  Isaac  Coffin.  The  above 
fine*  were  Mfgwted  bv  a  superstition  very  common  among 
sailors,  who  call  this  ghost-ship,  I  think,  "  the  Flying  Dutch 
man." 

We  were  thirteen  days  on  oar  passage  from  Quebec  to 
Halifax,  and  I  had  been  no  spoiled  by  the  very  splendid  hos- 
pitality, with  which  my  frienjip  of  the  Phaeton  and  Boston 
bad  treated  me,  that  I  was  bat  ill  prepared  to  encounter  the 
miseries;  of  a  Canadian  ship.  The  weather,  however,  was 
pleasant,  and  the  scenery  along  the  river  delightful.  Our 
JMoajre  through  the  Got  of  Canso,  with  a  bright  sky  and  a 
fair  wind,  was  particularly  striking  and  romantic. 

9  Commanded  by  Captain  J.  E.  Dough*,  with  whom  I 
returned  to  England,  and  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  manv 
maoy  kindnease*.  In  truth,  I  should  but  oflVnd  the  delicacy 


rf  my  friend  Douglas,  and,  at  the  tame  time,  do  injustice  to 
my  own  feeling.  of  gratitude,  did  I  attempt  to  say  how 
much  I  owe  him. 

3  Sir  John   Wentworth,  the  Governor  of  Nova-Proth 
venr  kindly  allowed  me  to  accompany  him  on  hi- 

•  •gr,  which  they  have  lately  established  at  Windsor 
•boot  forty  miles  from  Halifax,  and  I  was  indeed  most  plea- 
santly surprised  by  the  beauty  and  fertility  of  the  ronntn 
which,  openi'd  upon  us  after  the  bleak  and  rorky  wilili-nn^s 
bv  which  Halifax  is  surrounded.  I  was  told  that,  in  travel- 


l peace  to  the  land !  may  the  people,  at  length, 

Know  that  freedom    is    bliss,  but   that  honour  i* 

strength ; 
That  though  man  have  the  wings  of  the  fetterless 

wind, 

Of  the  wantonest  air  that  the  north  can  unbind, 
Yet  if  health  do  not  sweeten  the  blast  with  her  bloom, 
for  virtue's  aroma  its  pathway  perfume, 
Jnblest  is  the  freedom  and  dreary  the  flight, 
That  but  wanders  to  ruin  and  wantons  to  blight ! 

Farewell  to  the  few  I  have  left  with  regret, 
Vlay  they  sometimes  recall,  what  I  cannot  forget, 
That  communion  of  heart  and  that  parley  of  soul, 
kVhich  has  lengthen'd  our  nights  and  illumin'd  our 

bowl, 
When  they've  ask'd  me  the  manners,  the  mind,  or 

the  mein 

Of  some  bard  I  had  known,  or  some  chief  I  had  seen, 
Whose  glory,  though  distant,  they  long  had  ador'd, 
Whose  name  often  hallow'd  the  juice  of  their  board! 
And  still  as,  with  sympathy  humble  but  true, 
[  told  them  each  luminous  trait  that  I  knew, 
They  have  %ten'd,  and  sigh'd  that  the  powerful 

stream 

Of  America's  empire  should  pass,  like  a  dream, 
Without  leaving  one  fragment  of  genius  to  say 
How  sublime  was  the  tide  which  had  vanish'd  away! 
Farewell  to  the  few — though  we  never  may  meet 
On  this  planet  again,  it  is  soothing  and  sweet 
To  think  that,  whenever  my  song  or  my  name 
Shall  recur  to  their  ear,  they'll  recall  me  the  same 
I  have  been  to  them  now,  young,  unthoughtful,  and 

blest, 
Ere  hope  had  deceiv'd  me  or  sorrow  deprest ! 

But,  DOUGLAS  !  while  thus  I  endear  to  my  mind 
The  elect  of  the  land  we  shall  soon  leave  behind, 
I  can  read  in  the  weather-wise  glance  of  thine  eye, 
As  it  follows  the  rack  flitting  over  the  sky, 
That  the  faint  coming  breeze  will  be  fair  for  our  flight, 
And  shall  steal  us  away,  ere  the  falling  of  night. 
Dear  DOUGLAS  !  thou  knowest,  with  thee  by  my  side, 
With  thy  friendship  to  soothe  me,  thy  courage  to 

guide, 

There  is  not  a  bleak  isle  in  those  summerlcss  seas, 
Where  the  day  comes  in  darkness,  or  slimes  but  to 

freeze, 

Not  a  tract  of  the  line,  not  a  barbarous  shore, 
That  I  could  not  with  patience,  with  pleasure  explore. 
Oh !  think  then  how  happy  I  follow  thee  now, 
When  Hope  smooths  the  billowy  path  of  our  prow, 
And  each  prosperous  sigh  of  the  west-springing  wind 
Takes  me  nearer  the  home  where  my  heart  is  en- 

shrin'd ; 

Where  the  smile  of  a  father  shall  meet  me  again, 
And  the  tears  of  a  mother  turn  bliss  into  pain ; 
Where  the  kind  voice  of  sisters  shall  steal  to  my 

heart, 

And  ask  it,  in  sighs,  how  we  ever  could  part! — 
But  see ! — the  bent  top-sails  are  ready  to  swell — 
To  the  boat — I  am  with  thee — Columbia,  farewell ' 


ling  onwards,  we  should  find  the  soil  and  the  sccnnry  im 
prove,  and  it  gave  me  much  pleasure  to  know  that  the  wor 
thy  Governor  has  by  no  menus  such  an  "  inamabile  ri'gnuna 
as  I  was,  at  first  sight,  inclined  to  believf . 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


147 


TO  LADY  H- 


ON  AN   OLD   RING   FOUND  AT   TUNBRIDGE-WKJ.LS. 

Tunb ridge- Wells,  August,  180i3. 
WHEN  Grammont  grac'd  these  happy  springs 

And  Tunbridge  saw,  upon  her  Pantiles, 
The  merriest  wight  of  all  the  kings 

That  ever  rul'd  these  gay,  gallant  isles ; 

Like  us,  by  day,  they  rode,  they  walk'd, 

At  eve,  they  did  as  we  may  do, 
And  Grammont  just  like  Spencer  talk'd 

And  lovely  Stewart  smil'd  like  you  ! 

The  only  different  trait  is  this, 

That  woman  then,  if  man  beset  her, 
Was  rather  given  to  saying  "yes," 

Because,  as  yet,  she  knew  no  better ! 

Each  night  they  held  a  coterie, 

Where,  every  fear  to  slumber  charm'd, 

Lovers  were  all  they  ought  to  be, 
And  husbands  not  the  least  alarm'd  ! 

They  call'd  up  all  their  school-day  pranks, 
Nor  thought  it  much  their  sense  beneath 

To  play  at  riddles,  quips,  and  cranks, 
And  lords  show'd  wit,  and  ladies  teeth. 

As — "Why  are  husbands  like  the  Mint?" 

Because,  forsooth,  a  husband's  duty 
Is  just  to  set  the  name  and  print 

That  give  a  currency  to  beauty. 

"Why  is  a  garden's  wilder'd  maze 
Like  a  young  widow,  fresh  and  fair  ?" 

Because  it  wants  some  hand  to  raise 
The  weeds,  which  "  have  no  business  there  !" 

And  thus  they  miss'd  and  thus  they  hit, 

And  now  they  struck  and  now  they  parried, 

And  some  lay-in  of  full-grown  wit, 
While  others  of  a  pun  miscarried. 

"Twas  one  of  those  facetious  nights 
That  Grammont  gave  tin's  forfeit  ring, 

For  breaking  grave  conundrum  rites, 
Or  punning  ill,  or — some  such  thing ; 

From  whence  it  can  be  fairly  trac'd 
Through  many  a  branch  and  many  a  bough. 

From  twig  to  twig,  until  it  grac'd 
The  snowy  hand  that  wears  it  now. 

All  this  I'll  prove,  and  then — to  you 

Oh,  Tunbridge  !  and  your  springs  ironical, 

I  swear  by  H — the — te's  eye  of  blue 
To  dedicate  the  important  chronicle. 

Long  may  your  ancient  inmates  give 
Their  mantles  to  your  modern  lodgers, 

And  Charles'  loves  in  H — the — te  live, 
And  Charles'  bards  revive  in  Rogers ! 

Let  no  pedantic  fools  be  there, 

For  ever  be  those  fops  abolish' d, 
With  heads  as  wooden  as  thy  ware, 

And,  Heaven  knows  !  not  half  so  polish'd. 

But  still  receive  the  mild,  the  gay, 

The  few,  who  know  the  rare  delight 
Of  reading  Grammont  every  day, 

And  acting  Grammont  every  night ! 


TO 


NEVKR  mind  how  the  pedagogue  proses, 

You  want  not  antiquity's  stamp, 
The  lip  that 's  so  scented  by  roses, 

Oh !  never  must  smell  of  the  lamp. 

pid  Cloe,  whose  withering  kisses 
Have  long  set  the  loves  at  defiance, 

Now  done  with  the  science  of  blisses, 
May  fly  to  the  blisses  of  science ! 

Young  Sappho,  for  want  of  employments, 

Alone  o'er  her  Ovid  may  melt, 
Condemn'd  but  to  read  of  enjoyments, 

Which  wiser  Corinna  had  felt. 

But  for  you  to  be  buried  in  books — 
Oh,  FANNV  !  they're  pitiful  sages, 

Who  could  not  in  one  of  your  looks 
Read  more  than  in  millions  of  pages  ! 

Astronomy  finds  in  your  eye 

Better  light  than  she  studies  above, 

And  music  must  borrow  your  sigh 
As  the  melody  dearest  to  love. 

In  Ethics — 'tis  you  that  can  check, 
In  a  minute,  their  doubts  and  their  quarrels , 

Oh !  show  but  that  mole  on  your  neck, 
And  'twill  soon  put  an  end  to  their  morals 

Your  Arithmetic  only  can  trip 

When  to  kiss  and  to  count  you  endeavour , 
But  eloquence  glows  on  your  lip 

When  you  swear  that  you'll  love  me  for  ever 

Thus  you  see  what  a  brilliant  alliance 

Of  arts  is  assembled  in  you — 
A  course  of  more  exquisite  science 

Man  never  need  wish  to  go  through ! 
And,  oh  ! — if  a  fellow  like  me 

May  confer  a  diploma  of  hearts, 
With  my  lip  thus  I  seal  your  degree, 

My  divine  little  Mistress  of  Arts  ! 


EXTRACT  FROM  "THE  DEVIL  AMONG 
THE  SCHOLARS."1 

TI  KAKON  O  TEAiii;. 

Chrysost.  Humil.  in  Epist.  ad  Hebraos. 


But,  whither  have  these  gentle  ones, 
The  rosy  nymphs  and  black-ey'd  nuns- 
With  all  of  Cupid's  wild  romancing, 
Led  my  truant  brains  a  dancing? 
Instead  of  wise  encomiastics 
Upon  the  Doctors  and  Scholastics, 
Polymaths,  and  Polyhistors, 
Polyglots  and — all  their  sisters, 


1  I  promised  that  I  would  give  the  remainder  of  this 
Poem,  but,  as  my  critics  do  not  seem  to  relish  the  sublime 
learning  which  it  contains,  they  shall  have  no  more  of  it. 
With  a  view,  however,  to  the  edification  of  these  gentle- 
men, I  have  prevailed  on  an  industrious  friend  of  mine  who 
lias  read  a  great  number  of  unnecessary  books,  to  illumi- 
nate the  extract  with  a  little  of  his  precious  erudition 


149 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Tbe>  inatant  I  have  got  the  whim  in, 
Off  1  fly  with  nuns  and  women, 
Like  epic  poets,  ne'er  at  ease 
Until  I've  stol'n  "in  medias  res !" 
So  have  I  known  a  hopeful  youth 
Sit  down,  in  quest  of  lore  and  truth, 
With  tome*  sufficient  to  confound  him, 
Like  Tohu  Bohu,  heap'd  around  him, 
Marourra1  stuck  to  Theophrastus, 
And  Galen  tumbling  o'er  Borabastus  !* 
When  lo !  while  all  that's  learn'd  and  wise 
Absorbs  the  boy,  he  lifts  his  eyes, 
And,  through  the  window  of  his  study 
Beholds  a  virgin,  fair  and  ruddy, 
With  eyes  as  brightly  turn'd  upon  him,  as 
The  angel's1  were  on  Hieronymus, 
Saying,  'twas  just  as  sweet  to  kiss  her— oh ! 
Far  more  sweet  than  reading  Cicero  ! 
Quick  fly  the  folios,  widely  scatter'd, 
Old  Homer's  laurell'd  brow  is  batter'd, 
And  Sappho's  skin  to  Tully's  leather, 
Ail  are  confus'd  and  tost  together ! 
Raptur'd  he  quits  each  dozing  sage, 
Oh  woman !  for  thy  lovelier  page  : 
Sweet  book !  unlike  the  books  of  art, 
Whose  errors  are  thy  fairest  part ; 
In  whom,  the  dear  errata  column 
Is  the  best  page  in  all  the  volume.* 
But,  to  begin  my  subject  rhyme — 
'Twas  just  about  this  devilish  time, 
When  scarce  there  happen'd  any  frolics 
That  were  not  done  by  Diabolics, 


1  Mamnrra,  a  dogmatic  philosopher,  who  never  doubted 
about  any  thing,  except  who  was  hi*  father.  "  Nulla  de  re 
noquam  pntterquam  de  patre  dubitavit."  In  vit. — He  was 
very  learned— "  La  dedans,  (that  is,  in  hi*  head  when  it  was 
opened,)  le  Pumque  beurte  le  Persan,  I'Hebreu  choque 
I'Arabique,  pour  ne  point  parler  de  la  maiivaise  intelligence 
da  Latin  avec  le  Grec,"  etc.  Beel'Hittoirede  MoiUmaur, 
lorn.  ii.  page  9L 

9  Borabastus  was  one  of  the  names  of  that  great  scholar 
and  quack  Paracelsus.  "Philippus  Bombaslu*  latet  sub 
•pteMido  tegmine  Aureoli  Theophrasti  Paracebi,"  says  Sta- 
debus  de  circumforanea  Lilnraloruin  vanitale. — He  used  to 
flfht  the  devil  every  night  with  the  broad-sword,  to  the  no 
•mall  terror  of  his  pupil  Oporinus,  who  has  recorded  the  cir- 
camstanoi.  (See  Optrin.  Yit.  apuA  CMrutian.  Grypk. 
if*.  SeUet.  fnvrwuUM  Eriu<iJ««im»r«m,  etc.)  Paracel- 
•M  bad  but  a  poor  opinion  of  Galen.  "My  very  beard 
(•ays  be  in  hi*  Parapraxum)  has  more  learning  in  it  than 
•hber  Oaten  or  Avicenna." 

3  The  angel,  who  scolded  St.  Jerom  for  reading  Cicero, 
as  Ciraliao  tells  the  story  in  bis  Concordattia  di.icordantium 
COMBS*,  and  say*  that  for  this  reason  bishop*  were  no 
•Hewed  to  read  the  Classic*.  "  Episcopu*  Gcntilium  liuro* 
•oo  legal.—  Dirtied.  37.  But  Gratian  i*  notorious  for  ly 
taf— beside*,  angels  have  got  no  tongue*,  as  the  illustriou 
pupil  of  Panteou*  aMOre*  us.  Ov%'  .«  «;>*•  T«»T«,  »< 
!«..,..{  *  x*..rr»-  tvt'  ••  «;>-•«»  TIJ  J.F  (fmm  m-y-yfi 
—Cltm.  Alenxd.  Sir  a  mat.  Now,  huw  an  anpel  coult 

Wold  withoct  a  tongue,  I  shall  leava  the  angelic  Mr*. 

to  determine. 

4  The  idea  of  the  Rabbin*  about  the  origin  of  woman  i 
•i*4«Uu.  They  think  that  roan  wa*  originally  formed  wit 
•  tail,  like  a  monkey,  but  that  the  Deity  cut  off  this  appen 
dage  bebwd,  and  made  woman  of  it.  Upon  this  extraordi 
•ary  MBBIMHIB  the  following  reflection  is  founded:— 

If  ***ch  b)  the  tie  between  women  and  men, 

The  oiony  who  wed*  i«  a  pitiful  elf, 
For  be  take*  to  his  tail,  like  an  idiot,  again, 

And  be  make*  a  deplorabk  ape  of  himself. 
Tel,  if  we  may  judge  a*  the  fashion*  prevail, 

Every  htnbaod  remember*  the  original  plnn, 
A«rf,  knowing  hn  wife  is  no  more  than  his  tail, 

Why  ho— Wares  bet  behind  him  as  much  a*  be  can 


A  cold  and  loveless  son  of  Lucifer, 

Who  woman  scorn'd,  nor  knew  the  use  of  her 

A  branch  of  Uagon's  family, 

(Which  Dagon,  whether  He  or  She, 

Is  a  dispute  that  vastly  better  is 

Referr'd  to  Scaliger1  et  csteris,) 

Finding  that  in  this  cage  of  fools, 

The  wisest  sots  adorn  the  schools, 

Took  it  at  once  his  head  Satanic  in, 

To  grow  a  great  scholastic  rnannikin, 

A  doctor,  quite  as  learn'd  and  fine  as 

Scotus  John  or  Tom  Aquinas,2 

Lully,  Hales  irrefragabilis 

Or  any  doctor  of  the  rabble  is  ! 

In  languages,3  the  Polyglots, 

Compared  to  him,  were  Babel  sots ; 

He  chatter'd  more  than  ever  Jew  did, 

Sanhedrim  and  Priest  included ; 

Priest  and  holy  Sanhedrim 

Were  one-and-seventy  fools  to  him ! 

But  chief  the  learned  demon  felt  a 

Zeal  so  strong  for  gamma,  delta, 

That,  all  for  Greek  and  learning's  glory,* 

He  nightly  tippled  "  Graeco  more," 

And  never  paid  a  bill  or  balance 

Except  upon  the  Grecian  Kalends, 

From  whence  your  scholars,  when  they  want  Ock 

Say,  to  be  At-tick  's  to  be  on  tick  ! 


1  Scoliger.  de  Emendat.  Temper. — Dagon  was  though4 
y  other*  to  be  a  certain  sea-monster,  who  came  every  day 
ut  of  the  Red  Sea  to  teach  the  Syrians  husbandry.    See 
'acgu.es  Gajfarel's  Curiosites  inouits,  Chap.  i.     He  say* 
e  thinks  this  r-tory  of  the  sea-monster  "  carries  little  show 
f  probability  with  it." 

2  1  wish  it  were  known  with  any  degree  of  certainty 
hether  the  Commentary  on  Boethius,  attributed  to  Thomas 

Lquinas,  be  really  the  work  of  this  Angelic  Doctor.  There 
re  some  bold  assertions  hazarded  in  it:  for  instance  he 
ays  that  Plato  kept  school  in  a  town  called  Academia,  and 
hat  Alcibiades  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  whom  some  of 
Aristotle's  pupils  fell  in  love  with.  "  AJcibiades  mulier 
uit  pulcherrima,  quam  videntes  quidam  discipuli  Aristote- 
,"  etc. — See  Freytag.  Adparat.  JMterar.  Art.  8C.  tom.i. 

3  The   following  compliment  was    paid   to   Lauri'iitius 
'alia,  upon  his  accurate  knowledge  of  the  Latin  language: 

Nunc  postquam  manes  defunctus  Valla  petivit, 
Non  audet  Pluto  verba  Latina  loqui. 

Since  Val  arrived  in  Pluto's  shade, 

His  nouns  and  pronouns  ail  so  pat  in, 
Pluto  himself  would  be  afraid 

To  ask  even  "  what's  o'clock"  in  Latin! 

These  line*  may  be  found  in  the  Jtuctorum,  Ccitsio  of  Do 
'erdier  (page  29,)  an  excellent  critic,  if  he  could  have  either 
:lt  or  understood  any  one  of  the  works  which  he  criticises. 

4  It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  Martin  Luther,  with  all 
bis  talents  for  reforming,  should  yet  be   vulgar  enough  to 
augh  at  Camerarius  for  writing  lo  him  in  Greek.     "  Master 

Joachim,"  says  he,  "  has  sent  me  some  dates  and  some  rai- 
sins, and  has  also  written  me  two  letters  in  Greek.  As  soon 
as  I  am  recovered,  I  shall  answer  them  in  Turkish,  that  he  too 
may  have  the  pleasure  of  reading  what  he  does  not  under- 
stand."— "Graca  sunt,  legi  non  possunt,"  is  the  ignorant 
speech  attributed  to  Accursius ;  but  very  unjustly — far  from 
asserting  that  Greek  could  not  be  read,  that  worthy  juris- 
consult upon  the  law  6.  D.  de  Honor,  possess,  expressly  says, 
"  Grtecffi  litero?  possunt  intelligi  et  le^i."  (Vide  Jfuv.  Lib- 
TOT.  Rarior.  Collection.  Fasciculi  jy.) — Scipio  Carteroma- 
chus  seems  to  think  that  them  is  no  salvation  out  of  the  pale 
of  Greek  literature:  "Via  prima  salmis  Graia  pandetur  ab 
urbe."  And  the  zeal  of  Luurentius  Rhodomannus  cannot 
be  sufficiently  admired,  when  he  exhorts  his  countrymen 
"  per  gloriam  Christi,  per  salntem  patriffi,  per  reipublica 
decus  et  eniolumentum,"  to  study  the  Greek  language.  Nor 
must  we  forget  Phavorinn?,  the  excellent  Bishop  of  Nocera, 
who,  careless  of  all  the  usual  commendations  of  a  Christian 
required  no  further  ciilogium  on  his  tomb  than  "  Here  li«"h 
a  Greek  Lexicographer.*' 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC 


149 


In  logics,  he  was  quite  Ho  Panu !' 

Knew  as  much  as  ever  man  knew. 

He  fought  the  combat  syllogistic 

With  so  much  skill  and  art  eristic, 

That  though  you  were  the  learned  Stagyrite, 

At  once  upon  the  hip  he  had  you  right ! 

Sometimes  indeed  his  speculations 

Were  view'd  as  dangerous  innovations. 

As  thus — the  Doctor's  house  did  harbour  a 

Sweet  blooming  girl,  whose  name  was  Barbara : 

Oft,  when  his  heart  was  in  a  merry  key, 

He  taught  this  maid  his  esoterica, 

And  sometimes,  as  a  cure  for  hectics, 

Would  lecture  her  in  dialectics. 

How  far  their  zeal  let  him  and  her  go 

Before  they  came  to  sealing  Ergo, 

Or  how  they  placed  the  medius  terminus, 

Our  chronicles  do  not  determine  us  ; 

But  so  it  was — by  some  confusion 

In  this  their  logical  preclusion, 

The  Doctor  wholly  spoil'd,  they  say, 

The  figure2  of  young  Barbara ; 

And  thus,  by  many  a  snare  sophistic, 

And  enthymeme  paralogistic, 

Beguil'd  a  maid,  who  c6uld  not  give, 

To  save  her  life,  a  negative.3 

In  music,  though  he  had  no  ears 

Except  for  that  among  the  spheres, 

(Which  most  of  all,  as  he  averr'd  it, 

He  dearly  lov'd,  'cause  no  one  heard  it,) 

Yet  aptly  he,  at  sight,  could  read 

Each  tuneful  diagram  in  Bede, 

And  find,  by  Euclid's  corollaria, 

The  ratios  of  a  jig  or  aria. 

But,  as  for  all  your  warbling  Delias, 

Orpheuses,  and  Saint  Cecilias, 

He  own'd  he  thought  them  much  surpass'd 

By  that  redoubted  Hyaloclast4 

Who  still  contriv'd  by  dint  of  throttle, 

Where'er  he  went  to  crack  a  bottle  ! 

Likewise  to  show  his  mighty  knowledge,  he, 

On  things  unknown  in  physiology, 

Wrote  many  a  chapter  to  divert  us, 

Like  that  great  little  man  Albertus, 

Wherein  lie  show'd  the  reason  why, 

When  children  first  are  heard  to  cry, 


I     If  boy  the  baby  chance  to  lie, 
He  cries  OA  !— if  girl,  OE ' 
These  are,  says  he,  exceeding  fair  hints 
Respecting  their  first  sinful  parents  ; 
"  Oh  Eve !"  exclaimeth  little  madam, 
While  little  master  cries,  "  O  Adam  !"' 
In  point  of  science  astronomical, 
It  secm'd  to  him  extremely  comical, 
That,  once  a  year,  the  frolic  sun 
Should  call  at  Virgo's  house  for  tun, 
And  stop  a  month  and  blaze  around  her, 
Yet  leave  her  Virgo,  as  he  found  her ! 
But,  'twas  in  Optics  and  Dioptricks, 
Our  daemon  play'd  his  first  and  top  tricks : 
He  held  that  sunshine  passes  quicker 
Through  wine  than  any  other  liquor ; 
That  glasses  are  the  best  utensils 
To  catch  the  eyes  bewilder'd  pencils ; 
And  though  he  saw  no  great  objection 
To  steady  light  and  pure  reflection, 
He  thought  the  aberrating  rays, 
Which  play  about  a  bumper's  blaze, 
Were  by  the  Doctors  look'd,  in  common,  on, 
As  a  more  rare  and  rich  phenomenon ! 
He  wisely  said  that  the  sensorium 
Is  for  the  eyes  a  great  emporium, 
To  which  those  noted  picture  stealers 
Send  all  they  can,  and  meet  with  dealers. 
In  many  an  optical  proceeding 
The  brain,  he  said,  show'd  great  good  breeding ; 
For  instance,  when  we  ogle  women, 
(A  trick  which  Barbara  tutor'd  him  in,) 
Although  the  dears  are  apt  to  get  in  a 
Strange  position  on  the  retina, 
Yet  instantly  the  modest  brain 
Doth  set  them  on  their  legs  again  !l 
Our  doctor  thus  with  "  stufTd  sufficiency* 
Of  all  omnigenous  omnisciency, 
Began  (as  who  would  not  begin 
That  had,  like  him,  so  much  within  ?) 
To  let  it  out  in  books  of  all  sorts, 
Folios,  quartos,  large  and  small  sorts ; 
Poems,  so  very  deep  and  sensible, 
That  they  were  quite  incomprehensible,' 
Prose,  which  had  been  at  learning's  Fair, 
And  bought  up  all  the  trumpery  there, 


1  O  flANT.     The   introduction   of    this   language   into 
English  poetry  hag  a  good  effect,  and  ought  to  be  more  uni- 
fersally  adopted.    A  word  or  two  of  Greek  in  a  stanza 
would  serve  as  a  ballast  to  the  most  "  light  o'  love"  verses. 
Ausonius,  among  the  ancients,  may  serve  as  a  model: 

Ou  j-«f  pot  Ji/uij  irriv  in  hac  regione  /IIVOVTI 
Aj-iov  ab  noilris  «^<J«ui»  esse  x*,u>tv<»if. 
Rosnard,   the  French  poet,  has  enriched  his  sonnets  and 
odes  willi  many  an  exquisite  morsel  from  the  Lexicon.   His 
Chere  F.ntelechic,  in  addressing  his  mistress,  is  admirable, 
and  can  be  only  matched  by  Cowley'g  Jjntiptristaru. 

2  The  firsl  figure  of  simple  syllogisms,  to  which  Barbara 
belongs,  together  with  Cclarent,  Darii,  and  Ferio. 

3  Because  I  he  three  propositions  in  the  mood  of  Barbara 
»re  universal  affirmatives. — The  poet  borrowed  this  equi- 
voque upon  Barbara  from  a  curious  F/pigram  which  Mencke- 
nius  gives  in  a  note  upon  his  Essays  de  Charlataneria 
Erutlitorum.    In  the  Nuptial  Peripatetics  of  Caspar  Bar- 
ISBUS,  the  reader  will  find  some  facetious  applications  of  the 
•-erms  of  logic  to  matrimony.     Crambe's  Treatise  on  Syllo- 
gisms, in  Martinus  Scrililerus,  is  borrowed  chiefly  from  the 
Jfuptia  Peripate.ticat  of  Barlteus. 

4  Or,  Glass-Breaker. — Morholius  has  jriven  an  account  of 
this  extraordinary  man,  in  a  work  published  ICcxi.     "De 
vkreo  csypho  fracto,"  etc. 


1  This  is  translated  almost  literally  from  a  passage  in  jll 
bertus  de  Secrctis,  etc. — I  have  not  the  book  by  me,  or  1 
would  transcribe  the  words. 

2  Alluding  to  that  habitual  act  of  the  judgment,  by  which, 
notwithstanding  the  inversion  of  the  image  upon  the  retina^ 
a  correct  impression  of  the  object  is  conveyed  to  the  sen- 
soriurn. 

3  Under  this  description,  I  believp,  "  the  Devil  among  the 
Scholars"  n.ay  be  included.     Yet  Leibnitz  found  out  tne 
uses  of  incomprehensibility,  when  he  was  appointed  secre- 
tary to  a  society  of  philosophers  at  Nuremberg,  merely  for 
his  merit  in  writing  a  cabalistical  letter,  one  word  of  which 
neither  they  nor  himself  could  interpret.     See  the  Eto<re 
Ifist-iriquc  de  M.  de  J,eibnitz,  V Europe  Savanfe. — People 
of  all   ages   have   loved   to  be  puzzled.     We  find  Cicero 
thanking  Atticns  for  having  sent  him  a  work  of  Horapion 
•'ex  quo  (says  he)  quidem  ego  (quod  inter  nos  liceut  dicerel 
iriille-iimain  par'em  vix   inttlligo."    Lib.  2.   F.pist.  4.      ^nrl 
we  know  thai  Avin'ii,  tin:  learned  Arabian,  read  Aristotle'i 
Metaphysics  forty  times  over,  for  the  supreme  pleasure  of 

•  •to  inform  the  world  that  he  con  Id  not  comprehi  nrl 
i'u'.e    throughout   them. — Nicolas  Mosta  in   fit 
.'i'oicsn. 


130 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  tttter'd  rmg»  of  efery  »ert, 

In  which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  drest, 

And  o'er  her  figure,  swoln  and  antic, 

Scatter' d  them  all  with  airs  so  frantic, 

Th«t  tboa*,  who  saw  the  fits  she  had, 

Deolar'd  unhappy  prose  was  mad  ! 

Epics  he  wrote,  and  scores  of  rebuses, 

All  as  neat  as  old  Turaebus's ; 

Eggs  and  altars,  cyclopedias, 

Grammars,  prayer-books— oh !  't  were  tedious, 

Did  I  but  tell  the  half,  to  follow  me ; 

Not  the  scribbling  bard  ot  Ptolemy, 

No— nor  the  hoary  Trismegistus, 

(Whose  writings  all,  thank  Heaven !  have  miss'd  us,) 

Ere  fill'd  with  lumber  such  a  ware-room 

As  this  great  "  porcus  literarum !" 


FRAGMENTS  OF  A  JOURNAL.' 
TO  G.  M.  ESQ. 

FKOM  FEEDEEICKSBCRGH,  VIRGINIA,*  JONE  2D. 

DEAR  George !  though  every  bone  is  aching, 

After  the  shaking 
Fve  had  this  week,  over  ruts  and  ridges,* 

And  bridges. 
Made  of  a  few  uneasy  planks,4 

•    In  open  ranks, 

Like  old  women's  teeth,  all  loosely  thrown 
Orer  rivers  of  mud,  whose  names  alone 
Would  make  the  knees  of  stoutest  man  knock, 

Rappahannock, 

Occoquan — the  heavens  may  harbour  us ! 
Who  ever  beard  of  names  so  barbarous  ? 


1  These  fragment*  form  but  a  small  part  of  a  ridiculous 
medley  of  pro**  and  doggerel,  into  which,  for  my  amuse- 
SMnt,  I  threw  tome  of  (he  incidents  of  my  journey.  If  it 
were  even  in  a  more  rational  form,  there  is  yet  much  of  it 
too  «llu«iv«  and  too  personal  for  publication. 

8  Having  remained  about  a  week  nl  New- York,  where  1 
taw  Madame  Jerome  Bonaparte,  and  felt  a  alight  shock  ol 
an  earthquake,  (Ihe  only  things  that  particularly  awakened 
my  attention,)  I  sailed  again  in  the  Boston  for  Norfolk,  from 
whence  I  proceeded  on  mv  tour  to  the  northward,  through 
Williamf  burgh,  etc.  At  Richmond  there  are  a  few  men  o 
eofjsjderable  taleou.  Mr.  Wickham,  one  of  their  celebratcc 
legal  characters,  is  a  gentleman  whose  manners  and  mode 
of  life  would  do  honour  to  the  most  cultivated  societies 
Judge  Marshall,  the  author  of  Washington's  Life,  is  an 
other  very  distinguished  ornament  of  Richmond.  Thi-s< 
feadetoen,  1  most  observe,  are  of  that  respectable,  but  a 
eieseal  unponularpany,  the  Federalists. 

3  What  Mr.  Weld  says  of  the  continual  necessity  o 
balancing  or  trimming  the  stage,  in  passing  over  some  o 
the  wusdxd  roads  in  America,  is  by  no  means  exaggerated 
"  The  driver  frr<;iirntlv  had  to  call  to  the  passengers  in  the 
stafe,  to  lean  oul  of  the  carriage,  first  at  one  side,  then  a 
the  other,  to  prevent  it  from  oversetting  in  the  deep  ruts 
with  which  the  road  aboundu !    '  Now  gentlemen,  to  the 
rig ht ;'  upon  which  the  passengers  all  stretched  their  bodie 
half  way  out  of  the  carriage,  to  balance  it  on  that  side 
1  Xow  gentlemen,  to  the  left;'  and  so  on."—  irdft  Tra 

4  Before  the  stage  can  pass  one  of  these  bridge*,  th 
driver  is  obliged  to  stop  and  arrange  the  loose  planks  o 
which  it  is  composed,  in  the  manner  that  best  sails  hi 
•Jaws  a/ safer:  and,  as  the  pUnks  are  again  disturbed  b 
»fce  parsing  of  the  coach,  the  next  travellers  who  arriv 
have  of  course  a  new  arrangement  to  make.     Mahomc 
(as  Sale  tells  us)  was  at  some  pains  to  imagine  a  preoariou 
kind  of  bridge  for  UM  entrance  of  para.li™,  in  onler  to  pit 
hawse  the  pleasures  of  arrival :  a  Virginian  bridge  I  think 
would  nave  answered  bis  purpose  completely. 


Worse  than  M***'s  Latin, 
Or  the  smooth  codicil 
'o  a  witch's  will,  where  she  brings  her  cat  in ! 

I  treat  my  goddess  ill, 
My  muse  I  mean)  to  make  her  speak  'em ; 

Like  the  Verbum  Graecum, 
Spennagoraiolekitholakanopolides,1 
Words  that  ought  only  be  said  upon  holidays, 
When  one  has  nothing  else  to  do. 

But,  dearest  George,  though  every  bone  is  aching 

After  this  shaking, 
And  trying  to  regain  the  socket, 
From  which  the  stage  thought  fit  to  rock  it, 
I  fancy  I  shall  sleep  the  better 
For  having  scrawl'd  a  kind  of  letter 

To  you. 
It  seems  to  me  like—"  George,  good-night '" 

Though  far  the  spot  I  date  it  from ; 
To  which  I  fancy,  while  I  write, 
Your  answer  back — "  Good  night  t'ye  Tom." 

But  do  not  think  that  I  shall  turn  all 
Sorts  of  quiddities, 
And  insipidities, 
Into  my  journal ; 
That  I  shall  tell  you  the  different  prices 
Of  eating,  drinking,  and  such  other  vices, 
To  "  contumace  your  appetite's  acidities  !"2 
f  o,  no ;  the  Muse  too  delicate  bodied  is 

For  such  commodities ! 
Neither  suppose,  like  fellow  of  college,  she 
Can  talk  of  conchology, 

Or  meteorology ; 
)r,  that  a  nymph,  who  wild  as  comet  errs, 

Can  discuss  barometers, 
?arming  tools,  statistic  histories, 
jJeography,  law,  or  such  like  mysteries, 
Por  which  she  does'nt  care  thee  skips  of 
Prettiest  flea,  that  e'er  the  lips  of 
Catharine  Roache  look'd  smiling  upon, 
When  bards  of  France  all,  one  by  one, 
Oeclar'd  that  never  did  hand  approach 
Such  flea  as  was  caught  upon  Catharine  Roache  !* 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

Sentiment,  George,  I'll  talk  when  I've  got  any, 

And  botany — 
Oh !  Linnaeus  has  made  such  a  prig  o'me, 
Cases  I'll  find  of  such  polygamy 

Under  every  bush, 
As  would  make  the  "  shy  curcuma"4  blush  ; 


Z»i(.ttayefaioX(xi3-ox.*5j=tl"1«'«l^'^<f'      From  the  Ly- 
sistrata  of  Aristophanes,  v.  458. 

2  This  phrase  is  taken  verbatim  from  an  account  of  an  ex 
petition  to  Dmmmond's  Pond,  by  one  of  those  many  Ame- 
ricans who  profess  to  think  that  the  English  language,  as  ii 
has  been  hitherto  written,  is  deficient  in  \vhiit  they  call  re- 
publican energy.    One  of  the  savans  of  Washington  is  far 
advanced  in  the  construction  of  a  new  language  for  the 
United  States,  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  mixture  of  Hebrew 
and  Mikmak. 

3  Alluding  to  n  collection  of  poems,  called  "La  Puce  des 
grands-jours  de  Poitiers."    They  were  all  written  upon  a 
flea,  which  Stephen  Pasquier  found  on  the  bosom  of  the 
famous   Catharine   lies  Roaches,  one  morning  during  tho 
prnnds-jours  of  Poitiers.     I   ask   pardon  of  the   learned 
Catharine's  memory,  for  my  vulgar  alteration  of  her  mosl 
respectable  name. 

4  "  Curcuma,  cold  and  shy." — Daririn. 


EPISTLES,  OQpS,  ETC. 


151 


Vice  under  every  name  and  shape, 

From  adulterous  gardens  to  fields  of  rape  ! 

I'll  send  you  some  Diona:  Muscipula, 

And,  into  Bartram's  book  if  you'll  dip,  you'll  a 

Pretty  and  florid  description  find  of 

This  "ludicrous,  lobed,  carnivorous  kind  of — "' 

The  Lord  deliver  us ! 
Think  of  a  vegetable  being  "  carniverous  !* 

And,  George,  be  sure 
I'll  treat  you  too,  like  Liancourt,2 

(.Nor  thou  be  risible) 

With  all  the  views  so  striking  and  romantic, 
Which  one  might  have  of  the  Atlantic, 

If  it  were  visible. 
****** 

And  now,  to  tell  you  the  gay  variety 

Of  my  stage  society, 

There  was  a  quaker  who  room  for  twenty  took, 
Pious  and  big  as  a  Polyglot  Pentateuch  ! 
There  was  his  niece  too,  sitting  so  fair  by, 
Jjke  a  neat  Testament,  kept  to  swear  by. 

What  pity,  blooming  girl ! 
That  lips,  so  ready  for  a  lover, 
fthould  not  beneath  their  ruby  casket  cover 

One  tooth  of  pearl  !3 

But,  like  a  rose  beside  the  church-yard-stone, 
Be  doom'd  to  blush  o'er  many  a  mouldering  bone  ! 

There  was  *  *  *  * 
.There  was  a  student  of  the  college,  too, 

Who  said 

Much  more  about  the  riches  of  his  head 
Than,  if  there  were  an  income-tax  on  brains, 
His  head  could  venture  to  acknowledge  to. 
I  ask'd  the  Scholar, 
If  his — what  d'ye  call  her  ? 
Alma  Mater  and  her  Bishop 
Properly  follow'd  the  Marquis's  wish  up,* 
And  were  much  advancing 
In  dancing? 


The  evening  now  grew  dark  and  still; 

The  whip-poor-will 
Sung  pensively  on  every  tree ; 
And  straight  I  fell  into  a  reverie 
Upon  that  man  of  gallantry  and  pith, 

Captain  Smith.' 

And  very  strange  it  seem'd  to  me, 
That,  after  having  kiss'd  so  grand  a 
Dame  as  Lady  Trabigzanda, 

By  any  chance  he 

Could  take  a  fancy 
To  a  nymph,  with  such  a  copper  front  as 

Pocahuntas ! 

And  now,  as  through  the  gloom  so  dark, 
The  fire-flies  scatter'd  many  a  fiery  spark, 
To  one  that  glitter'd  on  the  quaker's  bonnet, 

1  wrote  a  sonnet.2 


And 

two  lines  more  had  just  completed  it ; 
But,  at  the  moment  I  repeated  it, 

Our  stage, 
(Which  good  Brissot  with  brains  so  critical 

And  sage, 

Calleth  the  true  "  machine  political,")3 
With  all  its  load  of  uncles,  scholars,  nieces, 
Together  jumbled, 
Tumbled 
Into  a  rut  and  fell  to  pieces ! 

****** 

Good  night ! — my  bed  must  be, 
By  this  time,  warm  enough  for  me, 
Because  I  find  old  Ephraim  Steady, 
And  Miss  his  niece  are  there  already  ! 

Some  cavillers 
Object  to  sleep  with  fellow-travellers  ; 
But        *        *        *        * 
Saints  protect  the  pretty  quaker, 
Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  wake  her ! 


^  "Observed  likewise  in  these  savannas  abundance  of 
(he  ludicrous  Dioiuua  Muscipula." — Bartram's  Travels  in 
North  America.  For  his  description  of  this  "  caruiverous 
vegetable,"  see  Introduction,  p.  13. 

2  This  philosophical  Duke,  describing  the  view  from  Mr. 
Jefferson's  house,  says,  "the  Atlantic  might  be  seen,  were 
it  not  for  the  greatness  of  the  distance,  which  renders  that 
prospect  impossible."     See  his  Travels. 

3  Polygnotus  was  the  first  painter,  says  Pliny,  who  show- 
ed the  teeth  in  his  portraits.     He  would  scarcely,  I  think, 
have  been  tempted  to  such  an  innovation  in  America. 

4  The  Marquis  de  Chastellux,  in  his  wise  letter  to  Mr. 
Madison,  Professor  of  Philosophy  in  the  College  of  William 
and  Mary  at  Williamsburgh,  dwells  with  much  earnestness 
on  the  attention  which  should  be  paid  to  dancing.    See  his 
Travels.   This  college,  the  only  one  in  the  state  of  Virginia, 
and  the  first  which  I  saw  in  America,  gave  me  but  a  melan- 
choly idea  of  republican  seats  of  learning.    That  contempt 
for  the  elegancies  of  education,  which  the  American  demo- 
rrats  affect,  is  no  where  more  grossly  conspicuous  than  in 
Virginia:  the  young  men,  who  look  for  advancement, study 
lather  to  be  demagogues  than  politicians;  and  as  every  thing 
lhat  distinguishes  from  the  multitude  is  supposed  to  be  in- 
vidiona  and  unpopular,  the  levelling  system  is  applied   to 
education,  and  has  had  all  the  effect  which  its  partizans  could 
desire,  by  producing  a  most  extensive  equality  of  ignorance. 
The  Abbe  Raynal,  in  his  prophetic  admonitions  to  the  Ame- 
ricans, directing  their  attention  very  strongly  to  learned  es- 
tablish menu,  says,  "When  the  youth  of  a  country  are  seen 
depraved,  the  n:i!ion  is  on  the  decline."     I  know  not  what 
the  Abbe  Ilaynnl  would  pronounce  of  this  nation  now,  were 
he  alive  to  know  the  morals  of  the  young  students  at  Wil- 


liamsburgh !  But  when  he  wrote,  his  countrymen  .iad  nof 
yet  introduced  the  "  doctrinam  decs  spernentem"  into  Ame- 
rica. 

1  John  Smith,  a  famous  traveller,  and  by  far  the  moit 
enterprising  of  the  first  settlers  in  Virginia.    How  much  ha 
was  indebted  to  the  interesting  young  Pocahuntas,  dtuightar 
of  King  Powhatan,  may  be  seen  in  all  the  histories  of  thii 
colony.    In  the  dedication  of  his  own  work  to  the  Dutchost 
of  Richmond,  he  thus  enumerates  his  bonnet  fortunes: 

Yet  my  comfort  is,  that  heretofore  honourable  and  vertu- 
ous  ladies,  and  comparable  but  among  themselves,  have 
offered  me  rescue  and  protection  in  my  ffreatest  danger*. 
Even  in  forraine  parts  I  have  felt  reliefe  from  that  sex.  Th« 
beauteous  lady  Trabigzanda,  when  I  was  a  slave  to  the 
Turks,  did  all  she  could  to  secure  me.  When  I  overcame 
llii!  Bashaw  of  Nalbrits  in  Tartaria,  the  charitable  lady 
Callamata  supplyftd  my  necessities.  In  the  utmost  of  my 
extremities,  that  I.'r-s.d  Pociinuntas,  the  great  King's  daugh- 
ter of  Virginia  oft  saved  my  life." 

Davis,  in  his  whimsical  Travels  through  America,  hai 
manufactured  into  a  kind  of  romance  the  loves  of  Mr.fiolf* 
with  this  "opaci  maxima  mumli,"  Pocahuntas. 

2  For  the  Sonnet,  see  page  101. 

3  "The  American  stages  are  I  lie  true  political  carriages.** 
—  ISri.-.'-ut's  Travels,  Letter  (ith. — There  is  nothing   mort 

imiisin^  than  the  philosophical  sing/Ties  of  these  French 
ciwIVrs.  In  one  of  the  letters  of  (Tiviere,  prefixed  to 
hose  nl"  Brissot,  upon  their  plan  for  establishing  n  republic 

of  philosophers  in  some  part  of  the  western  world,  ho  in- 
reals  Brissot  to  he  particular  in  choosing  a  place  "wherf 
here  are  no  musquitoes:"  forsooth,  ne  quid  respubJica  detr 

menti  caperet! 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


TO  A  FRIEND. 

When  neit  you  see  the  black-ey'd  Caty, 
The  loving  languid  girl  of  llayti,1 
Whoce  finger  so  expertly  plays 
Amid  the  ribbon's  silken  ma/.c, 
Just  like  Aurora,  when  she  ties 
A  rainbow  round  the  morning  skies ! 

Say,  that  I  hope,  when  winter 's  o'er, 
On  Norfolk  s  bank  again  to  rove, 

And  then  shall  search  the  ribbon  store 
For  some  of  Caty't  softest  lave. 

I  should  not  like  the  gloss  were  past, 
Yet  want  it  not  entirely  new ; 

But  bright  and  strong  enough  to  last 
About — suppose  a  week  or  two. 

However  frail,  however  light, 
Twill  do,  at  least,  to  wear  at  night ; 
And  so  you'll  tell  our  black-ey'd  Cofy— 
The  loving,  languid  girl  of  Hayti ! 


"  Errmre  malo  cum  Platone,  quam  cum  aliis  rccte  scntire." 

Cicero. 

I  would  rather  think  wrongly  with  Plato,  than  rightly  with 
any  one  else. 


1802. 


FANNY,  mi  love,  we  ne'er  were  sages, 
But,  trust  me,  all  that  Tully's  zeal 

Express' d  for  Plato's  glowing  pages, 
All  that,  and  more,  for  thee  1  feel ! 

Whate'er  the  heartless  world  decree, 
Howe'er  unfeeling  prudes  condemn, 

FANNY  !  I'd  rather  sin  with  thee, 
Than  live  and  die  a  saint  with  them ! 


SONG. 

I  NE'ER  on  that  lip  for  a  minute  have  gaz'd, 

But  a  thousand  temptations  beset  me, 
And  I've  thought,  as  the  dear  little  rubies  you  rais'd 

How  delicious  'twould  be — if  you'd  let  me ! 

Then  be  not  so  angry  for  what  I  have  done, 
Nor  say  that  you've  sworn  to  forget  me ; 

They  were  buds  of  temptation  too  pouting  to  shun, 
And  I  thought  that — you  could  not  but  let  me  ! 

When  your  lip  with  a  whisper  came  close  to  my  cheek, 

Oh  think  how  bewitching  it  met  me  ! 
And,  plain  u  the  eye  of  a  Venus  could  speak, 

Your  eye  seem'd  to  say— you  would  let  me ! 

Then  forgive  the  transgression,  and  bid  me  remain, 
For,  in  tnith,  if  I  go  you'll  regret  me ; 

Or,  oh  !— Id  me  try  the  transgression  again, 
And  I'll  do  all  you  wish— will  you  let  me  ? 


1  Among  the  Wmt-tndinn  French  at  Norfolk,  thrre  are 
Mjne  very  ,ntere*tin* <Saint  Doming  (irk,  who,  in  the  Hay 
MO  millinery,  etc.  and  at  night  awemble  in  little  CM,||,<M 
•wrUM,  where  they  danc*  away  the  remembrance  of  thri 
Miprtiiaate  country,  and  forget  the  miieriei  which  "  le 
•w  dw  noiri"  bare  brought  upuu  them. 


FROM  THE  GREEK.1 
I'VE  prest  her  bosom  oft  and  oft  ; 

In  spite  of  many  a  pouting  cheek, 
Have  touch'd  her  lip  in  dalliance  soft, 

And  play'd  around  her  silvery  neck. 

But,  as  for  more,  the  maid  *s  so  coy, 
That  saints  or  angels  might  have  seen  us ; 

She's  now  for  prudence,  now  for  joy, 
Minerva  half,  and  half  a  Venus. 

When  Venus  makes  her  bless  me  near, 
Why  then,  Minerva  makes  her  loth ; 

And — oh  the  sweet  tormenting  dear  ! 
She  makes  me  mad  between  them  both ! 


ON  A  BEAUTIFUL  EAST-INDIAN 

IF  all  the  daughters  of  the  sun 

Have  loving  looks  and  eyes  of  flame, 

Go,  tell  me  not  that  she  is  one — 

'Twas  from  the  wintry  moon  she  came  ? 

And  yet,  sweet  eye !  thou  ne'er  wert  given 
To  kindle  what  thou  dost  not  feel ; 

And  yet,  thou  flushing  lip — by  heaven  ! 
Thou  ne'er  wert  made  for  Dian's  seal ! 

Oh !  for  a  sunbeam,  rich  and  warm 
From  thy  own  Ganges'  fervid  haunts, 

To  light  thee  up,  thou  lovely  form  ! 
To  all  my  soul  adores  and  wants : 

To  see  thee  burn — to  faint  and  sigh 

Upon  that  bosom  as  it  blaz'd, 
And  be  myself  the  first  to  die, 

Amid  the  flame  myself  had  rais'd ! 


TO . 

I  KNOW  that  none  can  smile  like  thee, 

But  there  is  one,  a  gentler  one, 
Whose  heart,  though  young  and  wild  it  be, 

Would  ne'er  have  done  as  thine  has  done. 

When  we  were  left  alone  to-day, 
When  every  curious  eye  was  fled, 

And  all  that  love  could  look  or  say, 
We  might  have  look'd,  we  might  have  said  , 

Would  she  have  felt  me  trembling  press, 
Nor  trembling  press  to  me  again  ? 

Would  she  have  had  the  power  to  bless, 
Yet  want  the  heart  to  bless  me  then  ? 

Her  tresses,  too,  as  soft  as  thine — 
Would  she  have  idly  paus'd  to  twine 
Their  scatter'd  locks,  with  cold  delay, 
While  oh  !  such  minutes  pass'd  away, 


O  I*  Iff    p  Jt 

virtu  S    ttfplyivuxv  oXqK  «\ov  */.X'  JTI  xo 

H.KIO-U  yap  ll*$tr    TO  J' 


'  ijjti 


rog 


Paulus  Silentiarius, 


EPISTLES,  ODES,  ETC. 


153 


As  heaven  has  made  for  those  who  love  ? 

For  those  who  love,  and  long  to  steal 
What  none  but  hearts  of  ice  reprove, 

What  none  but  hearts  of  fire  can  feel ! 

Go,  go — an  age  of  vulgar  years 
May  now  be  pin'd,  be  sigh'd  away, 

Before  one  blessed  hour  appears, 
Like  that  wtuch  we  have  lost  to-day  i 


AT  NIGHT.1 

AT  night,  when  all  is  still  around, 
How  sweet  to  hear  the  distant  sound 

Of  footstep,  coming  soft  and  light ! 
What  pleasure  in  the  anxious  beat, 
With  Which  the  bosom  flies  to  meet 

That  foot  that  comes  so  soft  at  night ! 

And  then,  at  night,  how  sweet  to  say 
"  Tis  late,  my  love  !"  and  chide  delay, 

Though  still  the  western  clouds  are  bright ; 
Oh  !  happy  too  the  silent  press, 
The  eloquence  of  mute  caress, 

With  those  we  love  exchang'd  at  night ! 

1  These  lines  allude  to  a  curious  lamp,  which  has  for  its 
device  a  Cupid,  with  the  words  "at  night"  written  over 
tmu. 


At  night,  what  dear  employ  to  trace, 
In  fancy,  every  glowing  grace 

That's  hid  by  darkness  from  the  sight ; 
And  guess  by  every  broken  sigh, 
What  tales  of  bliss  the  shrouded  eye 

Is  telling  to  the  soul  at  night ! 


TO 


I  OFTEN  wish  that  thou  wert  dead, 
And  I  beside  thee  calmly  sleeping; 

Since  love  is  o'er,  and  passion  fled, 
And  life  has  nothing  worth  our  keeping ' 

No — common  souls  may  bear  decline 
Of  all  that  throbb'd  them  once  so  high ; 

But  hearts  that  beat  like  thine  and  mine, 
Must  still  love  on — love  on  or  die ! 

'Tis  true,  our  early  joy  was  such, 
That  nature  could  not  bear  th'  excess ! 

It  was  too  much — for  life  too  much — 
Though  life  be  all  a  blank  with  less ! 

To  see  that  eye  so  cold,  so  still, 

Which  once,  O  God  !  could  melt  in  blisa 
No,  no,  I  cannot  bear  the  chill — 

Hate,  burning  hate  were  heaven  to  this . 


OR, 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


E  lapse  manibus  cecidfirc  tabellJB.—  Ovid. 


DEDICATION. 


TO  ST- 


-N  W- 


-LR- 


-E,  Eso. 


MY  DI AR  W E : — It  is  now  about  seven  years  since  I  promised  (and  I  grieve  to  think  it  is  almost  a* 

long  rince  we  met)  to  dedicate  to  you  the  very  first  book,  of  whatever  size  or  kind,  I  should  publish.  Who 
could  have  thought  that  so  many  years  would  elapse  without  my  giving  the  least  signs  of  life  upon  the 
subject  of  this  important  promise  ?  Who  could  have  imagined  that  a  volume  of  doggerel,  after  all,  would 
be  the  first  offering  that  Gratitude  would  lay  upon  the  shrine  of  Friendship  ? 

If,  however,  you  are  as  interested  about  me  and  my  pursuits  as  formerly,  you  will  be  happy  to  hear 
that  doggerel  is  not  my  only  occupation;  but  that  I  am  preparing  to  throw  my  name  to  the  Swans  of  the 
Temple  of  Immortality,1  leaving  it,  of  course,  to  the  said  Swans  to  determine  whether  they  ever  will  tale 
he  trouble  of  picking  it  from  the  stream. 

In  the  mean  lime,  my  dear  W E,  like  a  pious  Lutheran,  you  must  judge  of  me  rather  by  my  faith 

Ian  my  tcorfcr,  and,  however  trilling  the  tribute  which  I  offer,  never  doubt  the  fidelity  with  which  I  am,  and 
'ways  •hall  be, 

Your  sincere  and  attached  friend, 

845,  Piccadilly,  March  4, 1813.  THE  AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


THE  Bag,  from  which  the  following  Letters  are  se- 
lected, was  dropped  by  a  Twopenny  Postman,  about 
two  months  since,  and  picked  up  by  an  emissary  of 
the  Society  for  the  S— pj>— es—  n  of  V— e,  who,  sup- 
posing it  might  materially  assist  the  private  researches 
of  that  institution,  immediately  took  it  to  his  employ- 
ers and  was  rewarded  handsomely  for  his  trouble. 
Such  a  treasury  of  secrets  was  worth  a  whole  host  of 
infoms*s  5  and,  accordingly,  like  the  Cupids  of  the 
poet  flr  I  may  use  so  profane  a  simile)  who  "  fell  at 
odds  about  the  sweet-bag  of  a  bee,"2  those  venerable 
suppressors  almost  fought  with  each  other  for  the 
honour  and  delight  of -first  ransacking  the  Post-Bag. 
Unluckily,  however,  it  turned  out,  upon  examination, 
that  the  discoveries  of  profligacy,  which  it  enabled 
•hem  to  make,  lay  chiefly  in  those  upper  regions  of 
society,  which  their  well-bred  regulations  forbid  them 
u>  molest  or  meddle  with.  In  consequence,  they 
gained  but  very  few  victims  by  their  prize,  and,  after 
lying  for  a  week  or  two  under  Mr.  H— TCH— D'S 
counter,  the  Bag,  with  its  violated  contents,  was  sold 
or  a  trifle  to  a  friend  of  mine. 

l-peoed  that  I  had  just  then  been  seized  with 


I  Arifto,  etnlo  30. 


2  Ilcrrick. 


an  ambition  (having  never  tried  the  strength  of  my 
wing  but  in  a  newspaper)  to  publish  something  or 
other  in  the  shape  of  a  book ;  and  it  occurred  to  me 
that,  the  present  being  such  a  letter-writing  era,  a  few 
of  these  two-penny  post  epistles,  turned  into  easy 
verse,  would  be  as  light  and  popular  a  task  as  I  could 
possibly  select  for  a  commencement.  I  did  not 
think  it  prudent,  however,  to  give  too  many  Letters  at 
first ;  and,  accordingly,  have  been  obliged  (in  order  to 
eke  out  a  sufficient  number  of  pages)  to  reprint  some 
of  those  trifles,  which  had  already  appeared  in  the 
public  journals.  As,  in  the  battles  of  ancient  times, 
the  shades  of  the  departed  were  sometimes  seen 
among  the  combatants,  so  I  thought  I  might  remedy 
the  thinness  of  my  ranks,  by  conjuring  up  a  few  dead 
and  forgotten  ephemerons  to  fill  them. 

Such  are  the  motives  and  accidents  that  led  to  the 
present  publication;  and  as  this  is  the  first  time  my 
muse  has  ever  ventured  out  of  the  go-cart  of  a  news- 
paper, though  I  feel  all  a  parent's  delight  at  seeing 
little  Miss  go  alone,  1  am  also  not  without  a  parent's 
anxiety,  lest  an  unlucky  fall  should  be  the  conse- 
quence of  the  experiment ;  and  I  need  not  point  out 
the  many  living  instances  there  are  of  Muses  that 
have  suffered  severely  in  their  heads,  from  taking  too 
early  and  rashly  to  their  feet.  Besides,  a  book  is  so 
very  different  a  thing  from  a  newspaper ! — in  the  for 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


IfA 


mer,  your  doggerel,  without  either  company  or  shel- 
ter, must  stand  shivering  in  the  middle  of  a  bleak 
white  page  by  itself;  whereas,  in  the  latter,  it  is  com- 
fortly  backed  by  advertisements,  and  has  sometimes 
even  a  Speech  of  Mr.  St — ph — n's,  or  something 
equally  warm,  for  a  chauffe-pie, — so  that,  in  general, 
the  very  reverse  of  "  laudatur  et  alget"  is  its  destiny. 
Ambition,  however,  must  run  some  risks,  and  I 
Bhill  be  very  well  satisfied  if  the  reception  of  these 
few  Letters  should  have  the  effect  of  sending  me  to 
the  Post-Bag  for  more. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FOURTEENTH 
EDITION. 

BT   A  FRIEND   OF    THE   AUTHOR. 


IN  the  absence  of  Mr.  Brown,  who  is  at  present  on 

*  tour  through ,  I  feel  myself  called  upon,  as 

his  friend,  to  notice  certain  misconceptions  and  mis- 
representations, to  which  this  little  volume  of  Trifles 
has  given  rise. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  not  true  that  Mr.  Brown  has 
had  any  accomplices  in  the  work.  A  note,  indeed, 
which  has  hitherto  accompanied  his  Preface,  may 
very  naturally  have  been  the  origin  of  such  a  supposi- 
tion ;  but  that  note,  which  was  merely  the  coquetry 
of  an  author,  I  have,  in  the  present  edition,  taken 
upon  myself  to  remove,  and  Mr.  Brown  must  there- 
fore be  considered  (like  the  mother  of  that  unique 
production,  the  Centaur,  ^>»  xai  ^svev2)  as  alone 
responsible  for  the  whole  contents  of  the  volume. 

In  the  next  place  it  has  been  said,  that  in  conse- 
quence of  this  graceless  little  book,  a  certain  distin- 
guished Personage  prevailed  upon  another  distin- 
guished Personage  to  withdraw  from  the  author  that 
notice  and  kindness,  with  which  he  had  so  long  and 
BO  liberally  honoured  him.  There  is  not  one  syllable 
of  truth  in  this  story.  For  the  magnanimity  of  the 
fanner  of  these  persons  I  would,  indeed,  in  no  case, 
answer  too  rashly ;  but  of  the  conduct  of  the  latter  to- 
wards my  friend,  I  have  a  proud  gratification  in  de- 
claring, that  it  has  never  ceased  to  be  such  as  he  must 
remember  witli  indelible  gratitude ; — a  gratitude  the 
more  cheerfully  and  warmly  paid,  from  its  not  being 
a  debt  incurred  solely  on  his  own  account,  but  for 
kindness  shared  with  those  nearest  and  dearest  to  him. 

To  the  charge  of  being  an  Irishman,  poor  Mr. 
BROWN  pleads  guilty ;  and  I  believe  it  must  also  be 
acknowledged  that  he  comes  of  a  Roman  Catholic 
family :  an  avowal  which,  I  am  aware,  is  decisive  of 
his  utter  reprobation  in  the  eyes  of  those  exclusive 
patentees  of  Christianity,  so  worthy  to  have  been  the 
ifollowers  of  a  certain  enlightened  Bishop,  DoNATUS,2 
who  held  "that  God  is  in  Africa,  and  not  elsewhere." 
But  from  all  this  it  does  not  necessarily  follow  that 
Mr.  BKOWN  is  a  Papist;  and,  indeed,  I  have  the 
strongest  reasons  for  suspecting  that  they  who  say  so 
are  totally  mistaken.  Not  that  I  presume  to  have  as- 
certained his  opinions  upon  such  subjects ;  all  I  know 
of  his  orthodoxy  is,  that  he  has  a  Protestant  wife  and 
two  or  three  little  Protestant  children,  and  that  he 


has  been  seen  at  church  every  Sunday,  for  a  whole 
year  together,  listening  to  the  sermons  of  his  trulj 
reverend  and  amiable  friend,  Dr. ,  and  behav- 
ing there  as  well  and  as  orderly  as  most  people. 

There  are  a  few  more  mistakes  and  falsehoods 
about  Mr.  BROWN,  to  which  I  had  intended,  with  all 
becoming  gravity,  to  advert ;  but  I  begin  to  think  the 
task  is  altogether  as  useless  as  it  is  tiresome.  Calum- 
nies and  misrepresentations  of  this  sort  are,  like  the 
arguments  and  statements  of  Dr.  Duigenan,  not  at  all 
the  less  vivacious  or  less  serviceable  to  their  fabrica- 
tors for  having  been  refuted  and  disproved  a  thousand 
times  over :  they  are  brought  forward  again,  as  good 
as  new,  whenever  malice  or  stupidity  is  in  want  of 
them,  and  are  as  useful  as  the  old  broken  lantern,  in 
Fielding's  Amelia,  which  the  watchman  always  keeps 
ready  by  him,  to  produce,  in  proof  of  riot,  against  his 
victims.  I  shall  therefore  give  up  the  fruitless  toil  of 
vindication,  and  would  even  draw  my  pen  over  what 
I  have  already  written,  had  I  not  promised  to  furnish 
the  Publisher  with  a  Preface,  and  know  not  how  else 
I  could  contrive  to  eke  it  out. 

I  have  added  two  or  three  more  trifles  to  this  edi- 
tion, which  I  found  in  the  Morning  Chronicle,  and 
knew  to  be  from  the  pen  of  my  mend.1  The  rest  of 
the  volume  remains2  in  its  original  state. 

April  20,  1814. 


INTERCEPTED  LETTERS,  ETC. 


LETTER  I. 


1  Pindar,  Pylh,  2. — My  friend  certainly  cannot  add  OUT' 

.  -f!p*rz',f-.i'. 

2  Bi*hop  of  Ciiote  -NigrEB,  in  the  fourth  century. 


FROM  THE  PR — NC — S3  CH E  OF  W 9  TO 

THE  LADY  B — RB— A  A — SHL — Y.3 

My  dear  Lady  Bab,  you'll  be  shock'd,  I'm  afraid, 
When  you  hear  the  sad  rumpus  your  ponies  have 

made; 

Since  the  time  of  horse-consuls  (now  long  out  of  date) 
No  nags  ever  made  such  a  stir  in  the  State ! 

Lord  Eld — n  first  heard — and  as  instantly  pray'd  he 
To  God  and  his  King — that  a  Popish  young  lady 
(For  though  you've  bright  eyes,  and  twelve  thousand 

a  year, 

It  is  still  but  too  true  you're  a  Papist,  my  dear) 
Had  insidiously  sent,  by  a  tall  Irish  groom, 
Two  priest-ridden  ponies,  jnst  landed  from  Rome, 
And  so  full,  little  rogues,  of  pontifical  tricks, 
That  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  was  scarce  Afe  fro 

their  kicks !  

Off  at  once  to  papa,  in  a  flurry,  he  flies — 
For  papa  always  does  what  these  statesmen  advise, 
On  condition  that  they'll  be,  in  turn,  so  polite 
As  in  no  case  whate'er  to  advise  him  too  right — 


1  The  Trifles  hnre  alluded  to,  and  others,  which  have 
since  appeared,  will  be  found  in  (his  edition. — Publisher. 

•J  A  n  •«•  re;iding  has  been  su^ested  in  the  original  of  the 
Ode  of  Horace,  fieely  transited  Ijy  Lord  ELD-  N.  In  the 
lini'  ".-MVC  |>er  Syrteis  iter  testuosas,"  il  is  proposed.  In  a 
very  trifling  alteration,  to  read  "Surtees"  instead  of  "  Syr- 
teis," wlucli  brings  the  Ode,  it  is  said,  more  home  to  ill? 
noble  Translator,  and  gi/es  a  peculiar  force  and  aptness  to 
the  epithet  "  iBstuosas."  I  merely  throw  out  this  i 
tion  for  the  learned,  being  unable" myself  lo  decide  upon  us 
merits. 

3  This  young  Lady,  who  ig  a  Roman  Catholic  has  lateiy 
made  a  present  of  some  beautiful  ponies  to  the  K — DC — H 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Pretty  doing*  are  here,  air,  (he  angrily  cries, 
While  by  dint  of  dark  eyebrowg  he  strives  to  look 

true,) 

Tw  •  scheme  of  the  Romanists,  so  help  me  God ! 
To  ride  over  your  most  Royal  Highness  rough-shod— 
Eirose,  sir,  my  tears,  they're  from  loyalty's  source- 
Bad  enough  'twas  for  Troy  to  be  sack'd  by  a  Horse, 
But  for  us  to  be  ruin'd  by  Ponies,  still  worse !" 

Quick  a  council  is  call'd — the  whole  cabinet  sits — 
The  Archbishops  declare,  frighten'd  out  of  their  wits, 
That  if  vile  Popish  ponies  should  eat  at  my  manger, 
From  that  awful  moment  the  Church  is  in  danger! 
As,  give  them  but  stabling,  and  shortly  no  stalls 
Will  suit  their  proud  stomachs  but  those  of  St.  Paul's. 

The  Doctor,  and  he,  the  devout  man  of  Leather, 
V — ns — tt — t,  now  laying  their  saint-heads  together, 
Declare  that  these  skittish  young  a-bominations 
Are  clearly  foretold  in  chap.  vi.  Revelations — 
Nay,  they  verily  think  they  could  point  out  the  one 
Which  the  Doctor's  friend  Death  was  to  canter  upon! 

Lord  H — rr — by,  hoping  that  no  one  imputes 
To  the  Court  any  fancy  to  persecute  brutes, 
Protests,  on  the  word  of  himself  and  his  cronies, 
That  had  these  said  creatures  been  Asses,  not  Ponies, 
The  court  would  have  started  no  sort  of  objection, 
As  Asses  were,  there,  always  sure  of  protection. 

"  If  the  Pr-nc-ss  twfl  keep  them  (says  Lord  C-stl-r-gh,) 
To  make  them  quite  harmless  the  only  true  way 
Is  (as  certain  Chief-Justices  do  with  their  wives) 
To  flog  them  within  half  an  inch  of  their  lives — 
If  they've  any  bad  Irish  blood  lurking  about, 
This  (he  knew  by  experience)  would  soon  draw  it  out" 
Or — if  this  be  thought  cruel — his  Lordship  proposes 
"  The  new  Veto-snaffle  to  bind  down  their  noses — 
A  pretty  contrivance,  made  out  of  old  chains, 
Which  appears  to  indulge,  while  it  doubly  restrains ; 
Which,  however  high-mettled,  their  gamesomeness 

checks 
(Add*  his  Lordship,  humanely,)  or  else  breaks  their 

necks !" 

This  proposal  received  pretty  general  applause 
From  the  statesmen  around — and  the  neck-breaking 

clause 

Had  a  vigour  about  it,  which  soon  reconciled 
Even  EM — n  himself  to  a  measure  so  mild. 
So  the  snaffles,  my  dear,  were  agreed  to  nem.  con., 
And  mjuLord  C— stl — r — gh,  having  so  often  shone 
In  theyWrw^  line,  is  to  buckle  them  on. 
I  thall  drive  to  your  door  in  these  Vetot  some  day, 
But,  at  present,  adieu  !— I  must  hurry  away 
To  go  see  my  mamma,  as  I'm  suffered  to  meet  her 
For  ju*t  half  an  hour  by  the  Qu— n's  best  repeater. 


LETTER  IL 
rrnoM  COLO xi L  M'M— n— .v  TO  o— LD  FR— NC— s 

L— CKIK,  ESQ. 

D*A*  Sir,  I've  just  had  time  to  look 
Into  your  very  learned  book,1 


1  See  UM>  Edinburgh  Review.  No. 


Wherein — as  plain  as  man  can  speak, 
Whose  English  is  half  modern  Greek- 
Yon  prove  that  we  can  ne'er  intrench 
Our  happy  isles  against  the  French, 
Till  Royalty  in  England's  made 
A  much  more  independent  trade — 
In  short,  until  the  House  of  Guelph 
Lays  Lords  and  Commons  on  the  shell, 
And  boldly  sets  up  for  itself! 

AH,  that  can  be  well  understood 
In  this  said  book,  is  vastly  good  : 
And,  as  to  what's  incomprehensible 
I  dare  be  sworn  'tis  full  as  sensible ; 

But,  to  your  work's  immortal  credit, 

The  P e,  good  sir, — the  P— — e  ha*  roa*  « 

(The  only  book,  himself  remarks, 
Which  he  has  read  since  Mrs.  Clarke's.) 
Last  levee-morn  he  look'd  it  through 
During  that  awful  hour  or  two 
Of  grave  tonsorial  preparation, 
Which,  to  a  fond  admiring  nation, 
Sends  forth,  announced  by  trump  and  drum, 
The  best-wigg'd  P e  in  Christendom  ! 

He  thinks,  with  you,  the  imagination 
Of  partnership  in  legislation 
Could  only  enter  in  the  noddles 
Of  dull  and  ledger-keeping  twaddles, 
Whose  heads  on  firms  are  running- so, 
They  even  must  have  a  King  and  Co. 
And  hence,  too,  eloquently  show  forth 
On  checks  and  balances,  and  so  forth. 

But  now,  he  trusts,  we  are  coming  near  a 
Better  and  more  royal  era ; 
When  England's  monarch  need  but  say, 
"Whip  me  those  scoundrels, C — stl — r — gh !" 
Or — "  hang  me  up  those  Papists,  Eld — n," 
And  "t  will  be  done — ay,  faith,  and  well  donu 

With  view  to  which,  Fve  his  command 

To  beg,  sir,  from  your  travell'd  hand 

(Round  which  the  foreign  graces  swarm) 

A  plan  of  radical  reform ; 

Compiled  and  chosen,  as  best  you  can, 

In  Turkey  or  at  Ispahan, 

And  quite  upturning,  branch  and  root, 

Lords,  Commons,  and  Burdett  to  boot ! 

But,  pray,  whate'er  you  may  impart,  write 
Somewhat  more  brief  than  Major  C — rtwr — ghl 

Else,  though  the  P e  be  long  in  rigging, 

'Twould  take,  at  least,  a  fortnight's  wigging,- 
Two  wigs  to  every  paragraph — 
Before  he  well  could  get  through  half. 

You'll  send  it,  also,  speedily — 
As,  truth  to  say,  'twist  you  and  me, 
His  Highness,  heated  by  your  work, 
Already  thinks  himself  Grand  Turk  ! 
And  you'd  have  laugh'd,  had  you  seen  how 
He  scared  the  Ch — nc — 11 — r  just  now, 
When  (on  his  Lordship's  entering  puff'd)  he 
Siapp'd  his  b;ick  and  call'd  him  "Mufti !" 

The  tailors,  too,  have  (jot  commands 
To  put  directly  into  hands 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG 


157 


All  sorts  of  dulimans  and  pouches, 
With  sashes,  turbans,  and  pabouches 
(While  Y — rm — th's  sketching  out  a  plan 
Of  new  moustaches  a  V  Ottomans,) 
And  all  things  fitting  and  expedient 
To  Turkify  our  gracious  R — g — nt ! 

You  therefore  have  no  time  to  waste — 
*>o  send  your  system.— 

Your's,  in  haste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

Before  I  send  this  scrawl  away, 
I  seize  a  moment,  just  to  say 
There  's  some  parts  of  the  Turkish  system 
So  vulgar,  't  were  as  well  you  miss'd  'em. 
For  instance  in  Seraglio  matters — 
Your  Turk,  whom  girlish  fondness  flatters, 
Would  fill  his  Haram  (tasteless  fool !) 
With  tittering,  red-cheek'd  things  from  school- 
But  here  (as  in  that  fairy  land, 
Where  Love  and  Age  went  hand  in  hand ;' 
Where  lips  till  sixty  shed  no  honey, 
And  Grandams  were  worth  any  money) 
Our  Sultan  has  much  riper  notions — 
So,  let  your  list  of  sAe-promotions 
Include  those  only,  plump  and  sage, 
Who  've  reached  the  regulation-age  ; 
That  is — as  near  as  one  can  fix 
From  Peerage  dates — full  fifty-six. 

This  rvle  '«  forfav'rites — nothing  more — 
For,  as  to  wives,  a  Grand  Signor, 
Though  not  decidely  without  them, 
Need  never  care  one  curse  about  them ! 


LETTER 


FROM  G.  R.  TO  THE  E- 


WE  miss'd  you  last  night  at  the  "  hoary  old  sinner's," 
Who  gave  us,  as  usual,  the  cream  of  good  dinners — 
His  soups  scientific — his  fishes  quite  prime — 
His  pates  superb — and  his  cutlets  sublime ! 
In  short,  'twas  the  snug  sort  of  dinner  to  stir  a 

Stomachic  orgasm  in  my  Lord  E GH, 

Who  set-to,  to  be  sure,  with  miraculous  force, 

And  exclaim'd,  between  mouthfuls,  "  a  He-cook,  of 

course  !— 
While  you  live — (what's  there  under  that  cover? 

pray,  look) — 

While  you  live — (I'll  just  taste  it) — ne'er  keep  a  She- 
cook. 

T  is  a  sound  Salic  law — (a  small  bit  of  that  toast) — 
Which  ordains  that  a  female  shall  ne'er  rule  the  roast ; 
For  Cookery's  a  secret — (this  turtle  's  uncommon) — 
Like  Masonry,  never  found  out  by  a  woman  !" 


1  The  learned  Colonel  must  allude  here  to  a  description 
of  the  Mysterious  Isle,  in  the  History  of  Abdalla,  Sou  of 
Hanif,  when;  such  inversions  of  the  order  of  nature  are  said 
to  have  taken  place. — "  A  score  of  old  women  and  the  same 
number  of  old  men,  played  here  and  there  in  the  court,  some 
at  chuck-farthing,  others  at  tip-cat  or  at  cockles." — And 
again,  "  There  is  nothing,  believe  me,  more  engaging  than 
those  lovely  wrinkles,''  etc.  etc. — See  Tales  of  the  East, 
vol.  iii.  pp.  607,  603. 

2  This  letter,  as  the  reader  will  perceive,  was  written  the 
ity  after  a  dinner,  given  by  the  M of  H — d — t. 


The  dinner,  you  know,  was  in  gay  celebration 
Of  my  brilliant  triumph  and  II — nt's  condemnation ; 
A  compliment  too  to  his  Lordship  the  J— e 
For  his  speech  to  the  J — y, — and  zounds !  who  would 

grudge 

Turtle-soup,  though  it  came  to  five  guineas  a  bowl, 
To  reward  such  a  loyal  and  complaisant  soul  ? 
We  were  all  in  high  gig — Roman  Punch  and  Tokay 
Travell'd  round,  till  our  heads  traveli'd  just  the  same 

way, — 
And  we  cared  not  for  Juries  or  Libels — no— dam'me ! 

nor 
Even  for  the  threats  of  last  Sunday's  Examiner ! 

More  good  things  were  eaten  than  said— but  TOM 

T — RRH — T 

In  quoting  Joe  Miller,  you  know,  has  some  merit, 
And,  hearing  the  sturdy  Justiciary  Chief 
Say — sated  with  turtle — "  I'll  now  try  the  beef" — 
TOMMY  whisper'd  him  (giving  his  Lordship  a  sly  hit) 
"  I  fear  't  will  be  Aung-beef,  my  Lord,  if  YOU  try  it !" 

And  C — HD — N  was  there,  who,  that  morning,  had 

gone 

To  fit  his  new  Marquis's  coronet  on ; 
And  the  dish  set  before  him — oh  dish  well-devised ! — 
Was,  what  old  Mother  GLASSE  calls,  "  a  calf's  head 

surprised  !" 

The  brains  were  near ;  and  once  they'd  been  fine, 

But  of  late  they  had  lain  so  long  soaking  in  wine 
That,  however  we  still  might  in  courtesy  call 
Them  a  fine  dish  of  brains,  they  were  no  brains  at  all. 

When  the  dinner  was  over,  we  drank,  every  one 
In  a  bumper,  "  the  venial  delights  of  Crim.  Con." 
At  which  H — D — T  with  warm  reminiscences  gloated, 
And  E — B'R — H  chuckled  to  hear  himself  quoted. 

Our  next  round  of  toasts  was  a  fancy  quite  new, 
For  we  drank — and  you'll  own 't  was  benevolent  too 
To  those  well-meaning  husbands,  cits,  parsons,  or 

peers, 

Whom  we've  any  time  honour'd  by  kissing  their  dears ; 
This  museum  of  wittols  was  comical  rather ; 
Old  H — D — T  gave  M Y,  and  /  gave . 

In  short,  not  a  soul  till  this  morning  would  budge- 

We  were  all  fun  and  frolic ! — and  even  the  J E 

Laid  aside,  for  the  time,  his  juridical  fashion, 

And  through  the  whole  night  was  not  once  in  a  passion 

I  write  this  in  bed,  while  my  whiskers  are  airing, 
And  M — c  has  a  sly  dose  of  jalap  preparing 
For  poor  T — MMY  T — RR — T  at  breakfast  to  quaff- 
As  I  feel  I  want  something  to  give  me  a  laugh, 
And  there's  nothing  so  good  as  old  T — MMY,  kept  close 
To  his  Cornwall  accounts,  after  taking  a  dose ' 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM  THK  RIGHT  HON.  P — TR — CK   D— G — N — N  To 
THE  RIGHT  HON.  SIR  J— -UN   N — CH — L. 

Dublin.' 

LAST  week,  dear  N — CH — L,  making  merry 
At  dinner  with  our  Secretary, 


1  This  letter,  which  contained  some  very  heavy  inclonurea, 
deems  to  have  been  sent  to  London  by  a  private  hand,  and 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


1 

When  all  were  drunk,  or  pretty  near 
(The  time  for  doing  business  here,) 
Says  he  to  me,  "  Sweet  Bully  Bottom  ! 
These  Papist  dogs-hiocup-od  rot  em  . 
P*»erre  to  be  bespatter'd—  hiccup— 
With  all  the  dirt  even  you  can  pick  up— 
Bui,  as  the  P  -  K-<here  's  to  him—  nil- 
Hip,  hip,  hurra  !)—  is  trying  still 
To  humbug  them  with  kind  professions, 
And  as  you  deal  in  strong  expressions— 
i  Rogue'  _  •  traitor'  —  hiccup  —  and  all  that  — 

— 


_ 

You  must  be  muzzled,  DOCTOR  PAT  !— 
You  must  indeed—  hiccup—  that  's  flat." 

Ye*—  "*  muzzled"  was  the  word,  SIR  JOHN— 

Theae  fools  have  clapp'd  a  muzzle  on 

The  boldest  mouth  that  e'er  ran  o'er 

With  slaver  of  the  times  of  yore  !'— 

Was  it  for  this  that  back  I  went 

As  far  as  Lateran  and  Trent, 

To  prove  that  they,  who  damn'd  us  then, 

Ought  now,  in  turn,  be  damn'd  again  !— 

The  silent  victim  still  to  sit 

Of  GR—  TT—  N'S  fire  and  C—  NN—  o's  wit, 

To  hear  even  noisy  M—  TH—  w  gabble  on 

Nor  mention  once  the  W—  e  of  Babylon  ! 

Oh  !  'tis  too  much  —  who  now  will  be 

The  Nightman  of  No-Popery  ? 

What  Courtier,  Saint,  or  even  Bishop, 

Such  learned  filth  will  ever  fish  up  ? 

If  there  among  our  ranks  be  one 

To  take  my  place,  'tis  tAou,  SIR  JOHN  — 

Thou  —  who  like  me,  art  dubb'd  Right  Hon. 

Like  me,  too,  art  a  Lawyer  Civil 

That  wishes  Papists  at  the  devil  ! 

To  whom  then  but  to  thee,  my  friend, 

Should  PATRICK*  his  Port-folio  send  ? 

Take  it  —  't  is  thine—  his  learn'd  Port-folio 

With  all  its  theologic  olio 

Of  Bulls,  half  Irish  and  half  Roman,  — 

Of  Doctrines  now  believed  by  no  man  — 

Of  Councils,  held  for  men's  salvation, 

Yet  always  ending  in  damnation  — 

(Which  showr  that  since  the  world's  creation, 

Your  Priests,  whate'er  their  gentle  shamming, 

Have  always  had  a  taste  for  damning  ;) 

And  many  more  such  pious  scraps, 

To  prove  (what  we've  long  proved  perhaps) 

That,  mad  as  Christians  used  to  be 

About  the  Thirteenth  Century, 

There  '•  lot*  of  Christians  to  be  had 

In  this,  the  Nineteenth,  just  as  mad  ! 

Farewell—  I  send  with  this,  dear  N—  CH—  L  ! 
A  rod  or  two  I've  had  in  pickle 
Wherewith  to  trim  old  GR  —  TT  —  N'S  jacket— 
The  rest  shall  go  by  Monday's  packet. 

P.D. 


_  — 

Among  Vie  Indosures  in  the  foregoing  Letter -was  tht 
following  "  Unanswerable  Argument  against  the 
Papist*? 

WK'RE  told  the  ancient  Roman  nation 

Made  use  of  spittle  in  lustration.1 — 

(Vide  Lactantium  ap.  Gallium* — 

[.  e.  you  need  not  read  but  see  'em.) 

Vow,  Irish  Papists  (fact  surprising  !) 

Make  use  of  spittle  in  baptising, 

Which  proves  them  all,  O'Fix.NS,  O'FAGANS, 

CONNORS,  and  TOOLES,  all  downright  Pagan    ! 

This  fact  'a  enough — let  no  one  tell  us 

To  free  such  sad,  salivous  fellows — 

N0_no — the  man  baptised  with  spittle 

Hath  no  truth  in  him — not  a  tittle ! 


then  put  into  the  Twopenny  Port-Office,  to  lave  trouble.— 
flee  the  Appendix. 

1  ID  •ending  th'u  sheet  to  the  Prett,  however,  I  learn  tha 
&•  "  inuwle  hat  beta  taken  off,  and  the  Eight  Hon.  Doc 
tnf  wt  looM  fUmn. 

8Thi«  it  a  bad  name  for  poetry ;  bnt  D— pen— n  is  worse.— 
ft  rr«*WiiM  MVS,  upon  a  very  different  subject— 

tnrquctur  Apollo 
Nomine  pe 


LETTER  V. 

FROM  THE  COUNTESS  DOWAGER  OF  C —  TO 

LADY  . 

MY  dear  Lady !  I've  been  just  sending  mt 

About  five  hundred  cards  for  a  snug  little  R  /ut — 
(By  the  bye,  you've  seen  ROKEBY  ? — this  mtment  got 

mine — 

The  Mail-Coach  Edition* — prodigiously  fine !) 
But  I  can't  conceive  how,  in  this  very  cold  weather, 
I'm  ever  to  bring  my  five  hundred  together; 
As,  unless  the  thermometer's  near  boiling  heat, 
One  can  never  get  half  of  one's  hundreds  to  meet — 
(Apropos — you'd  have  laugh'd  to  see  TOW.NSE.ND 

last  night, 

Escort  to  their  chair,  with  his  staff  so  polite, 
The  "  three  maiden  Miseries,"  all  in  a  fright ! 
Poor  TOWNSEND,  like  MERCURY,  filling  two  posts, 
Supervisor  of  thieves,  and  chief-usher  of  ghost*.') 

But,  my  dear  Lady !  can't  you  hit  on  some 

notion, 

At  least  for  one  night,  to  set  London  in  motion  ? 
As  to  having  the  R — G — NT — that  show  is  gone  by — 
Besides,  I've  remark'd  that  (between  you  and  I) 
The  MARCHESA  and  he,  inconvenient  in  more  ways, 
Have  taken  much  lately  to  whispering  in  door-ways ; 
Which— considering,  you  know,  dear,  the  size  of  tho 

two — 

Makes  a  block  that  one's  company  cannot  get  through ; 
And  a  house  such  as  mine  is,  with  door-ways  so  small, 
Has  no  room  for  such  cumbersome  love-work  at  all ! — 
(Apropos,  though,  of  love-work — you've  heard  it,  I 

hope, 

That  NAPOLEON'S  old  Mother  'a  to  marry  the  POPE,— 
What  a  comical  pair !) — But,  to  stick  to  my  Rout, 
'T  will  be  hard  if  some  novelty  can't  be  struck  out 
Is  there  no  ALGERINE,  no  KAMCHATKAN  arrived  ? 
No  Plenipo  PACHA,  three-tail'd  and  ten-wived  ? 


1 lustralibus  ante  salivis 

Expial.  Pers.  Sat.  2. 

2  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  examining   the  Doctor'i 
reference  here,  and  find  him,  for  once,  correct.    The  follow 
ing  are  the  words  of  his  indignant  referee  GalK-eus — "  Asse' 
rere  non  veremur  sacrum  bapiismum  a  Papistis  profanari,  et 
sputi   usum   in   peccaturum  expiationo   a  Paganis  non  a 
Christian!*  manosse." 

3  See  Mr.  Murray's  Advertisement  about  the  Mail-Coacb 
copies  of  Kokebv. 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


No  RUSSIAN,  whose  dissonant  consonant  name 
Almost  rattles  to  fragments  the  trumpet  of  fame  ? 

I  remember  the  time,  three  or  four  winters  back, 
When  — nrovided  their  wigs  were  but  decently  black — 
A  few  Patriot  monsters,  from  SPAIN,  were  a  sight 
That  would  people  one's  house  for  one,  night  after 

night. 

But — whether  the  Ministers  pavfd  them  too  much — 
And  you  know  how  they  spoil  whatever  they  touch,! 
Or,  whether  LordG — RGB  (the  young  man  about  town) 
Has,  by  dint  of  bad  poetry,  written  them  down- 
One  has  certainly  lost  one's  peninsular  rage, 
And  the  only  stray  Patriot  seen  for  an  age 
Has  been  at  such  places  (think  how  the  fit  cools) 
As  old  Mrs.  V N'S  or  Lord  L — v — RP — L'S  ! 

But,  in  short,  my  dear,  names  like  WJNTZTSCHITS- 

TOPSCHINZOUDHOFF 

Are  the  only  things  now  make  an  evening  go  smooth 
off— 

So,  get  me  a  Russian — till  death  I'm  your  debtor — 
If  he  brings  the  whole  Alphabet,  so  much  the  better : 
And — Lord  !  if  he  would  but,  in  character,  sup 
Off  his  fish-oil  and  candles,  he'd  quite  set  me  up ! 

Art  revoir,  my  sweet  gir.1 — I  must  leave  you  in  haste — 
Little  GUNTER  has  brought  me  the  Liqueurs  to  taste. 

POSTSCRIPT. 

By  the  bye,  have  you  found  any  friend  that  can  construe 
That  Latin  account,  t'  other  day,  of  a  Monster?' 
If  we  can't  get  a  Russian,  and  that  thing  in  Latin 
Be  not  too  improper,  I  think  I'll  bring  that  in. 


LETTER  VI. 

FROM  ABDALLAH,2  IN  LONDON,  TO  MOHASSAN,  IN 
ISPAHAN. 

WHILST  thou,  MOHASSAN  (happy  thou !) 
Dost  daily  bend  thy  loyal  brow 
Before  our  King — our  Asia's  treasure  ! 
Nutmeg  of  Comfort !  Rose  of  Pleasure  ! — 
And  bear'st  as  many  kicks  and  bruises 
As  the  said  Rose  and  Nutmeg  chooses  ; — 
Thy  head  still  near  the  bowstring's  borders, 
And  but  left  on  till  further  orders  ! 
Through  London  streets,  with  turban  fair, 
And  caftan  floating  to  the  air, 
I  saunter  on — the  admiration 
Of  this  short-coated  population — • 
This  sew'd-up  race — this  button'd  nation — 
Who,  while  they  boast  their  laws  so  free, 
Leave  not  one  limb  at  liberty, 
But  live,  with  all  their  lordly  speeches, 
The  slaves  of  buttons  and  tight  breeches. 


1  Alluding,  I  suppose,  to  the  Latin  Advertisement  of  a 
Liisus  Naturae  in  the  NewfpBpOH  lately. 

2  I  have  made  many  inquiries  about  this  Persian  gnntle- 
man,  but  cannot  satisfactorily  ascertain  who  he  is.     From 
his  notions  of  Religious  Liberty,  however,  I  conclude  that 
he  is  mi  importation  of  Ministers;  and  he  has  arrived  just  in 

time  to  assist  the  P E  and  Mr.  L — CK — K  in  their  new 

Oriental  Plan  of  Reform. — See  the  second  of  these  Letters. 
— How  Abdullah's  epistle  to  Ispahan  found  its  way  into  the 
Twopenny  Post  Bag  is  more  than  I  can  pretend  to  account 
lor. 


Yet,  though  they  thus  their  knee-pans  fetter 

(They're  Christians,  and  they  know  no  better;1 

In  same  things  they're  a  thinking  nation — 

And,  on  Religious  Toleration, 

I  own  I  like  their  notions  quite, 

They  are  so  Persian  and  so  right ! 

You  know  our  SUNNITES,"  hateful  dogs  ! 

Whom  every  pious  SHIITE  flogs 

Or  longs  to  flog3 — 't  is  true,  they  pray 

To  God,  "but  in  an  ill-bred  way ; 

With  neither  arms,  nor  legs,  nor  faces 

Stuck  in  their  right,  canonic  places  !* 

'Tis  true,  they  worship  ALI'S  name5 — 

Tlteir  heaven  and  ours  are  just  the  same — 

(A  Persian's  heaven  is  easily  made, 

'Tis  but — black  eyes  and  lemonade.) 

Yet — though  we've  tried  for  centuries  back— 

We  can't  persuade  the  stubborn  pack, 

By  bastinadoes,  screws,  or  nippers, 

To  wear  th'  establish'd  pea-green  slippers  !8 

Then — only  think — the  libertines ! 

They  wash  their  toes — they  comb  their  chins/ 

With  many  more  such  deadly  sins  ! 

And  (what 's  the  worst,  though  last  I  rank  it) 

Believe  the  Chapter  of  the  Blanket ! 

Yet,  spite  of  tenets  so  flagitious, 

(Which  must,  at  bottom,  be  seditious ; 

As  no  man  living  would  refuse 

Green  slippers,  but  from  treasonous  views ; 

Nor  wash  his  toes,  but  with  intent 

To  overturn  the  government !) 

Such  is  our  mild  and  tolerant  way, 

We  only  curse  them  twice  a-day 

(According  to  a  form  that 's  set,) 

And,  far  from  torturing,  only  let 

All  orthodox  believers  beat  'em, 

And  twitch  their  beards,  where'er  they  meet  'em 

As  to  the  rest,  they're  free  to  do 
Whate'er  their  fancy  prompts  them  to, 
Provided  they  make  nothing  of  it 
Tow'rds  rank  or  honour,  power  or  profit ; 
Which  things,  we  nat'rally  expect, 
Belong  to  us,  the  Establish'd  sect, 
Who  disbelieve  (the  Lord  be  thanked !) 
Th'  aforesaid  Chapter  of  the  Blanket. 


l"C'est  un  honnete  homme,"said  a  Turkish  governor 
of  de  Ruyter;  "  c'est  grand  dommoge  qu'il  soil  Chretien." 

2  Sunnitts   and  S/iiitcs  are  the  two  leading  sects  into 
which  the  Mahometan  world  is  divided :  and  they  have  eone 
on  cursing  and  persecuting  each  other,  without  any  inter- 
mission, for  about  eleven  hundred  years.    The  Sunni  is  the 
•stahlishi'd  sect  in  Turkey,  and  the  S/iia  in  Persia;  and  the 
•lifforencr  between  them  turn  chiefly  upon  those  impori;;:it 
points,  which  our  pious  friend  Abdullah,  in  the  true  spirit 
of  Shiite  Ascendancy,  reprobates  in  this  Letter. 

3  "  Los  Sumiites,  qni  etaienl  cormno  les  catholiques  de 
Musiilinniiisme." — /)'  Iftrhi'Itif,. 

4  "  In  contradistinction  to  the  Sounis,  who  in  tlioir  prayers 
cross  their  hands  on  the  lower  part  of  the  breast,  the  Srliiaha 
drop  their  arms  in  straight  lines  ;  and  as  the  Sonnis,  at  cer- 
tain periods  of  the  prayer,  press  their  foreheads  on  the  ground 
or  carpet,  the  Schiuhp,"  etc.  etc. — Foster's  Pui/apc. 

5"LesTurcs  ne  detestcnt  pas  All  rtViproc|iiement ;  au 
contraire  ils  le  reconnaiasent,"  etc.  etc. — Chnrilin. 

6  "  The  Shiilcg  wear  green  slippers,  which  the  Sunnitei 
consider  ns  a  groat  abomination." — J\lariti. 

7  For  these  points  of  difference,  as  well  as  for  the  Chapter 
if  the  Blanket.  I  must  refer  the  reader  (not  having  the  bo<>d 
jy  mo)  to  1'icurt's  Account  of  the  Mahometan  Sectp 


L_ 


MOORE'S  WQRKS. 


160  

Fbe  wine  mild  views  of  Toleration 
Inspire,  I  find,  this  button'd  nation, 
Whose  Papists  (full  as  given  to  rogue, 
And  only  Sunnites  with  a  brogue) 
Fare  just  as  well,  with  all  their  fuss, 
As  rascal  Sunnites  do  with  us. 

The  tender  Gaiel  I  inclose 
Is  for  my  love,  my  Syrian  Rose- 
Take  it,  when  night  begins  to^fall, 
And  throw  it  o'er  her  mother's  wall 

GAZEL. 

Rememberest  thou  the  hour  we  past  ? 
That  hour,  the  happiest  and  the  last  !— 
Oh !  not  so  sweet  the  Siha  thorn 
To  summer  bees  at  break  of  mom, 
Not  half  so  sweet,  through  dale  and  dell 
To  camels'  ears  the  tinging  bell, 
As  is  the  soothing  memory 
Of  that  one  precious  hour  to  me ! 

How  can  we  live,  BO  far  apart  ? 
Oh  !  why  not  rather  heart  to  heart, 

United  live  and  die  ? — 
Like  those  sweet  birds  that  fly  together, 
With  feather  always  touching  feather, 

Link'd  by  t  hook  and  eye !' 


LETTER  VH. 

FROM  MESSRS.  L— CK— GT— N  AND  CO. 

TO • ,  ESQ.2 

Prr.  fosr,  *ir,  we  send  your  MS. — look  d  it  thro* 
Very  sorry— but  can't  undertake— 't  would'nt  do. 
Clever  work,  Sir !— would  get  up  prodigiously  well— 
Its  only  defect  is— it  never  would  sell ! 
And  though  Statesmen  may  glory  in  being  unbought 
In  an  Author,  we  think,  Sir,  that 's  rather  a  fault. 

Hard  times,  Sir— most  books  are  too  dear  to  be  read — 
Though  the  gold  of  Good-sense  and  Wit's  small 

change  are  fled, 

Yet  the  paper  we  publishers  pass,  in  their  stead, 
Rise*  higher  each  day,  and  ('t  is  frightful  to  think  it) 
Not  even  such  names  as  F — TZG — R — D'S  can  sink  it 
However,  Sir— if  you're  for  trying  again, 
And  at  somewhat  that's  vendible— we  are  your  men 
Since  the  Chevalier  C — RR  took  to  marrying  lately, 
The  Trade  is  in  want  of  a  Traveller  greatly — 
No  job,  Sir,  more  easy — your  Country  once  plann'c 
A  month  aboard  ship  and  a  fortnight  on  land 
Puts  your  Quarto  of  Travels  clean  out  of  hand. 

An  East-India  pamphlet's  a  thing  that  would  tell— 
And  a  lick  at  the  Papists  is  sure  to  sell  well. 
Or — supposing  you  have  nothing  original  in  you— 
Write  Parodies,  Sir,  and  such  fame  it  will  win  you, 


ou'l!  get  to  the  Blue-stocking  Routs  of  Ai,n— s— A. 
[\nd-not  to  her  dinners — a  second-hand  Muse 
ustn't  think  of  aspiring  to  mess  with  the  Blues. 

r in  Case  nothing  else  in  this  world  you  can  do— 

ic  deuce  is  in't,  Sir,  if  you  cannot  review! 

.jould  you  feel  any  touch  of  poetical  glow, 

"e've  a  scheme  to  suggest— Mr.  Sc— TT,  you  must 

know 

kVho,  we're  sorry  to  say  it,  now  works  for  the  Row,)'" 
aving  quitted  the  Borders  to  seek  new  renown, 
coming,  by  long  Quarto  stages,  to  Town  ; 
nd  beginning  with  ROKEBY  (the  job's  sure  to  pay) 
eans  to  do  all  the  Gentlemen's  Seats  on  the  way. 
ow  the  Scheme  is  (though  none  of  our  hackncya 

can  beat  him) 
o  start  a  fresh  Poet  through  Highgate  to  meet  him  ; 
flio,  by  means  of  quick  proofs — no  revises — long 

coaches — 

'ay  do  a  few  Villas  before  Sc — TT  approaches^— 
ndeed  if  our  Pegasus  be  not  curst  shabby, 
[e'll  reach,  without  found'ring,  at  least  WOBURN- 

ABBEY. 

uch,  Sir,  is  our  plan — if  you're  up  to  the  freak, 
["is  a  match!  and  we'll  put  you  in  training,  next 

week — 

Vt  present,  no  more — in  reply  to  this  Letter,  a 
jne  will  oblige  very  much 

Your's  et  cetera 

Temple  of  the  Muses. 


1  Thu  will  appear  ttrange  to  an  English  reader,  but  it 
literally  translated  from  Aodallah'i  Pcnian,  ami  the  curiou 
bird  to  which  he  allude*  is  the  Juftak,  of  which  I  find  tl 
follow  ing  account  in  Richardson. — "  A  aort  of  bird  that 
Mid  to  ha»e  but  one  wing,  on  the  oppoiite  side  to  which  th 
male  hu  a  hook  and  the  female  a  ring,  to  that,  when  th< 
By.  they  are  fattened  together." 

8  From  tm.tivei  of  delicacy,  and,  indeed,  of  fellow-fee 
fug,  I  tuppreii  the  name  of  the  Author,  whose  rejected  m 
•lucript  wat  mcloied  in  thii  letter.— See  the  Appendix. 


LETTER  MIL 


-,  ESQ 


FROM  COLONEL  TH — M — S  TO 

COME  to  our  Fete,3  and  bring  with  thee 
Thy  newest,  best  embroidery ! 
Come  to  our  Fete,  and  show  again 
That  pea-green  coat,  thou  pink  of  men  ! 
Which  charm'd  all  eyes  that  last  survey'd  it, 

When  B L'S  self  inquired  "who  made  it?" 

When  Cits  came  wondering  from  the  East, 
And  thought  thee  Poet  PYE,  at  least! 

Oh !  come — (if  haply  't  is  thy  week 
For  looking  pale) — with  paly  cheek ; 
Though  more  we  love  thy  roseate  days, 
When  the'rich  rouge  pot  pours  its  blaze 
Full  o'er  thy  face,  and,  amply  spread, 
Tips  even  thy  whisker-tops  with  red — 
Like  the  last  tints  of  dying  Day 
That  o'er  some  darkling  grove  delay ! 

Bring  thy  best  lace,  thou  gay  Philander ! 
(That  lace,  like  H — RRY  AL — x — ND — R, 
Too  precious  to  be  wash'd) — thy  rings, 
Thy  seals — in  short,  thy  prettiest  things  ! 
Put  all  thy  wardrobe's  glories  on, 
And  yield,  in  frogs  and  fringe,  to  none 
But  the  great  R — G — T'S  self  alone ! 


1  This  alludes,  I  believe,  to  a  curious  correspondence 
which  is  said  to  have  passed  lately  between  ALB — N — A, 
Countess  of  B — CK — OH — MS — E,  and  a  certain  ingcniout 
Parodist. 

2  Paternoster  Row. 

3  This  Letter  inclosed  a  Card  for  the  Grand  Fete  on  the 
5th  of  February 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG. 


.61 


\Vlio,  by  particular  desire — 

For  that  night  only,  means  to  hire 

A  dress  from  ROMEO  C — TES,  Esquire — 

Something  between  (  twere  sin  to  hack  it) 

The  Romeo  robe  and  Hobby  jacket! 

Hail,  first  of  Actors!1  best  of  11 — c — TS! 

Born  for  each  other's  fond  allegiance  ! 

Jiolh  gay  Lotharios — both  good  dressers — 

Of  Serious  Farce  both  learned  Professors— 

Both  circled  round,  for  use  or  show, 

With  cocks'-combs,  wheresoe'er  they  go 

Thou  know'st  the  time,  thou  man  of  lore  ! 
It  takes  to  chalk  a  ball-room  floor — 
Thou  know'st  the  time,  too,  well-a-day ! 
It  takes  to  dance  that  chalk  away." 
The  Ball-room  opens — far  and  nigh 
Comets  and  suns  beneath  us  lie ; 
O'er  snowy  moons  and  stars  we  walk, 
And  the  floor  seems  a  sky  of  chalk ! 
But  soon  shall  fade  the  bright  deceit, 
When  many  a  maid,  with  busy  feet 
That  sparkle  in  the  Lustre's  niy, 
O'er  the  white  path  shall  bound  and  play 
Like  Nymphs  along  the  Milky  Way  ! 
At  every  step  a  star  is  fled, 
And  suns  grow  dim  beneath  their  tread  ! 
So  passeth  life — (thus  Sc — TT  would  write, 
And  spinsters  read  him  with  delight)— 
Hours  are  not  feet,  yet  hours  trip  on, 
Time  is  not  chalk,  yet  time 's  soon  gone  !* 

But,  hang  this  long  digressive  flight ! 
I  meant  to  say,  thou'lt  see,  that  night, 
What  falsehood  rankles  in  their  hearts, 

Who  say  the  P E  neglects  the  arts— 

Neglects  the  arts  ! — no,  ST —   G  !  no ; 
7V///  Cupids  answer  "'tis  not  so,'' 
And  every  floor,  that  night,  shall  tell 
How  quirk  thou  daubest,  and  how  well ! 
Shine  as  thou  may'st  in  French  vermilion, 
Thqu'rt  bent — beneath  a  French  cotillion; 
And  still  comest  off,  whate'er  thy  faults, 
With  Jli/ing  colours  in  a  Waltz  ! 
Nor  need'st  thou  mourn  the  transient  date 
To  thy  best  works  assign'd  by  Fate — 
While  some  chefs-d'oeuvre  live  to  weary  one, 
'I'liine  boast  a  short  life  and  a  merry  one ; 
Their  hour  of  glory  past  and  gone 
WTith  "  Molly,  put  the  kettle  on  !" 


1  Quern  In,  Melpomene,  semel 
Kuscuntern  placido  lumine,  videris,  etc.     Horat. 

The  Mini,  upon  whom  Ihou  hnst  rieign'd  to  look  funny 
Thou  great  Tragic  Muse!  at  the  hour  of  his  birth — 

Let  them  say  what  they  will,  that '»  the  man  for  my  money, 
Give  others  thy  tears,  but  let  me  have  thy  mirth ! 

The  assertion  thut  follows,  however,  is  not  verified  in  the 
instance  before  us. 

Ilium 


nou  equuii  unpiger 

Curru  ducet  Jlckaico. 
2  To  those  who  neither  go  to  balls  nor  read  the  Morning 
Post,  it  rimv  be  necessary  to  mention  that  the  floors  of  Ball- 
rooms, in  general,  are  chalked,  for  safety  and  for  ornament, 
with  various  fanciful  devices. 

3  Hearts  are  not  flint,  yet  flints  are  rent, 

Hearts  are  not  steel,  hut  steel  is  bent. 
After  all,  however,  Mr.  Si* — tl  may  well  say  to  the  Colonel 
(mid,  indeed,  to  much  better  wags  than  the  Colonel,)  f*t 


But,  bless  my  soul !  I've  scarce  a  leaf 
Of  paper  left — so,  must  be  brief. 

This  festive  Fete,  in  fact,  will  be 

The  former  Fete's  foe-simile;1 

The  same  long  Masquerade  of  Rooms, 

Trick'd  in  such  different,  quaint  costumes, 

(These,  P — RT — R,  are  thy  glorious  works  ' 

You'd  swear  Egyptians,  Moors,  and  Turks, 

Bearing  Good-Taste  some  deadly  malice, 

Had  clubb'd  to  raise  a  Pic-Nic  Palace ; 

And  each,  to  make  the  oglio  pleasant, 

Had  sent  a  State- Room  as  a  present; 

The  same  fauteuils  and  girondoles — 

The  same  gold  Asses,2  pretty  souls ! 

That,  in  this  rich  and  classic  dome, 

Appear  so  perfectly  at  home! 

The  same  bright  river  'mongst  the  dishes, 

But  not — ah  !  not  the  same  dear  fishes — 

Late  hours  and  claret  kill'd  the  old  ones ! 

So,  'stead  of  silver  and  of  gold  ones 

(It  being  rather  hard  to  raise 

Fish  of  that  specie  now-a-days,) 

Some  sprats  have  been,  by  Y — RM — TH'S  wish, 

Promoted  into  Silver  Fish, 

And  Gudgeons  (so  V — NS — TT — T  told 

The  R — G — T)  are  as  good  as  Gold! 

So,  pr'ythee,  come — our  Fete  will  be 
But  half  a  Fete,  if  wanting  thee ! 


APPENDIX. 


LETTER  IV,  Page  156. 

AMONG  the  papers  inclosed  in  Dr.  D — G — N — N  a 
Letter,  there  is  a  Heroic  Epistle  in  Latin  verse,  from 
POPE  JOAN  to  her  Lover,  of  which,  as  it  is  rather  a 
curious  document,  I  shall  venture  to  give  some  ac- 
count. This  female  Pontiff  was  a  native  of  England 
(or,  according  to  others,  of  Germany)  who,  at  an 
early  age,  disguised  herself  in  male  attire,  and  follow- 
ed her  lover,  a  young  ecclesiastic,  to  Athens,  where 
she  studied  with  such  effect,  that  upon  her  arrival  at 
Rome  she  was  thought  worthy  of  being  raised  to  the 
Pontificate.  This  Epistle  is  addressed  to  her  Lover 
(whom  she  had  elevated  to  the  dignity  of  Cardinal,) 
soon  after  the  fatal  accouchement,  by  which  her  Fal- 
libility was  betrayed. 

She  begins  by  reminding  him  very  tenderly  of  the 
time  when  they  were  in  Athens — when 

"  By  Ilissus'  stream 

We  whispering  walk'd  along,  and  learn'd  to  speak 
The  tenderest  feelings  in  the  purest  Greek; 
Ah!  then  how  little  did  we  think  or  hope, 
Dearest  of  men !  that  I  should  e'er  be  Poj-E  !' 


1  "C — rl — t — n  II e  will  exhibit  a  complete  fae-simile, 

in  respect  to  interior  ornament,  to  wliat  it  did  at  (lie  last 
Fete.    The  same  splendid  draperies,"  etc.  etc.— Morning 
Post. 

2  The  salt-cellars  on  the  P x's  oicn  table  were  in  (lie 

form  of  an  Ass  with  panniers. 

3  Sp-inheim  attributes  the  unanimity  with  which  Joan 
WM  elected,  to  thut  innate  and  irresistible  charm  by  which 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


That  1— the  humble  Joan— whose  house-wife  art 
Seem'd  just  enough  to  keep  thy  house  and  heart 
(And  those,  alai !  at  tiies  and  at  sevens,) 
Should  »oon  keep  all  the  keys  of  all  the  Heavens !' 

Still  less  (she  continues  to  say)  could  they  have 
foreseen,  that  such  a  catastrophe  as  had  happened  in 
Council  would  befal  them— that  she 
"Should  thus  surprise  the  Conclave's  grave  decorum 
And  let  a  little  Pope  pop  out  before  'em- 
Pope  Innocent !  alas,  the  only  one 
That  name  should  ever  have  been  fix'd  upon !" 

She  then  very  pathetically  laments  the  downfal  of 
her  greatness,  and  enumerates  the  various  treasures 
to  which  she  is  doomed  to  bid  farewell  for  ever. 
"  But  oh !  more  dear,  more  precious  ten  times  over — 
Farewell,  my  Lord,  my  Cardinal,  my  Lover ! 
I  made  Ihee  Cardinal — thou  madest  me — ah ! 
Thou  madest  the  Papa'  of  the  World — Mamma !" 

I  have  not  time  now  to  translate  any  more  of  this 
Epistle ;  but  I  presume  the  argument  which  the  Right 
Hon.  Doctor  and  his  friends  mean  to  deduce  from  it, 
is  (in  their  usual  convincing  strain)  that  Romanists 
must  be  unworthy  of  Emancipation  now,  because  they 
bad  a  Petticoat  Pope  in  the  Ninth  Century— Nothing 
can  be  more  logically  clear,  and  I  find  that  Horace 
had  exactly  the  same  views  upon  the  subject : 
Romanus  (eheu  posteri,  negabitis  !) 
Kmancipatus  FOEMIN.B 
Fen  vallum ! — 

LETTER  VIL    Page  160. 

The  manuscript,  which  I  found  in  the  bookseller's 
letter,  is  a  melo-drama,  in  two  Acts,  entitled  "  THE 
BOOK,"*  of  which  the  theatres,  of  course,  had  had 
the  refusal,  before  it  was  presented  to  Messrs.  L — <:'<<• 
— ngt — n  acd  Co. — This  rejected  drama,  however, 
ponetMt  considerable  merit,  and  I  shall  take  the 
liberty  of  laying  a  sketch  of  it  before  my  readers. 

The  first  Act  opens  in  a  very  awful  manner : — Time, 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning — Scene,  the  Bourbon 
Chamber1  in  C — rl — t — n  house — Enter  the  P — 
R— « — T  solus. — After  a  few  broken  sentences,  he 
thus  exclaims : 

Away — away — 

Thou  haunt' st  my  fancy  so,  thou  devilish  BOOK  ! 
I  meet  thee— trace  thee,  wheresoe'er  I  look 


bar  MX,  though  latent,  operated  upon  the  instinct  of  the 
Cardinal* — "  Non  vi  aliqua,  led  c.oncorditer,  omnium  in  s< 
eoaverao  doiderio,  quoe  sunt  blandientU  sexus  aitcu,  laten 
lc»  in  hac  quanquam  '." 

1  This  is  an  anachronism  ;  for  it  was  not  till  the  elcventl 
century,  that  the  Bishop  of  Rome  took  the  title  of  Papa,  o 
Universal  Father. 

*  There  wai  a  mysterious  Book,  in  the  16lh  century,  which 
employed  all  the  anxious  curiosity  of  the  learned  of  that  day 
Every  one  spoke  of  it;  many  wrote  against  it;  though  i 
does  not  appear  that  any  body  had  ever  seen  it;  and  indeoi 
••>  of  opinion  that  no  such  book  ever  existed.  It  w., 
entitled  "  Liber  de  tt ibu«  imposloiibus."  (See  Morhof.  Cap 
de  Libra  damnai».)— Our  more  modern  mystery  of  "  the 
Book"  reswmbta  this  in  many  particulars;  and,  if  the  num 
her  of  lawyen  employed  in  drawing  it  up  be  stated  rorrertlv 
•  flight  alteration  of  the  title  into  "a  tribus  impostorilmi' 
would  produce  a  coincidence  altogether  very  remarkable. 

3  The  chamber,  I  sup|>o*e,  which  was  prepared  for  tli 
receplion  of  the  flourbon*  al  the  first  Grand  Fete,  an 
which  wa«  ornamented  (all  "  for  the  Deliverance  of  Eu 
•ooc"}  with  flrun  de  lyi 


see  thy  damned  ink  in  ELD— x's  brows— 
.  see  ihy  foolscap  on  my  H— RTF— D'S  spouse- 

V s-s T T'S  head  recalls  thy  leathern  case, 

And  all  thy  blank-lea  ces  stare  from  R—  iv—  R'S  face ! 
-Vhile,  turning  here  [laying  his  hand  on  his  heart]  1 

find,  ah,  wretched  elf! 
Thy  1i*t  of  dire  errata  in  myself. 

[Walks  the  stage  in  considerable  agitation.] 
Oh  Roman  Punch  !  oh  potent  Curacoa ! 
Oh  Mareschino  !  Mareschino  oh  ! 
)elicious  drams !  why  have  you  not  the  art 
To  kill  this  gnawing  book-worm  in  my  heart  ? 

Hare  he  is  interrupted  in  his  soliloquy  by  perceiy 
ng  some  scribbled  fragments  of  paper  on  the  ground, 
which  he  collects,  and  "by  the  light  of  two  magnifi- 
entcandelabras"  discovers  the  followingunconnected 
words  : — "  Wife  negkcted"^-"  the  Book" — "  Wrong 
Measures"—"  the  Queen"—"  Mr  Lambert "— "  the 
— T." 

Ha !  treason  in  my  house !— Curst  words,  that  wither 
My  princely  soul  [shaking  the  papers  violently,]  what 

demon  brought  you  hither  ? 

My  wife ! " — "the  Book,"  too ! — stay — a  nearer  look— 
[Holding  the  fragments  closer  to  the  candelabras.] 
Alas  !  too  plain,  B,  double  O,  K,  BOOK— 
Death  and  destruction ! 

He  here  rings  all  the  bells,  and  a  whole  legion  of 
valets  enter. — A  scene  of  cursing  and  swearing  (very 
much  in  the  German  style)  ensues,  in  the  course  of 
which  messengers  are  dispatched,  in  different  direc- 
ions,  for  the  L — RD  CH — NC — LL — R,  the  D — E  of 
3 — B — L — D,  etc.  etc. — The  intermediate  time  is  filled 
up  by  another  soliloquy,  at  the  conclusion  of  which, 
the  aforesaid  personages  rush  on  alarmed — the  D — E 
with  his  stays  only  half-laced,  and  the  CH— NC — LLOR 
with  his  wig  thrown  hastily  over  an  old  red  night- 
cap, "  to  maintain  the  becoming  splendour  of  his 
office."1  The  R — G — T  produces  the  appalling  frag- 
ments, upon  which  the  CH — NC — LL — a  breaks  out 
into  exclamations  of  loyalty  and  tenderness,  and  re- 
lates the  following  portentous  dream  : — 

'Tis  scarcely  two  hours  since 

I  had  a  fearful  dream  of  thee,  my  P F.  ! — 

Methonght  1  heard  thee,  midst  a  courtly  crowd, 

Say  from  thy  throne  of  gold,  in  mandate  loud, 

"  Worship  my  whiskers  !" — [weepf]  not  a  knee  was 

there 

But  bent  and  worshipp'd  the  Illustrious  Pair 
That  curl'd   in   conscious  majesty  .    [Pulls  out  his 

liiinilkcrchief] — while  cries 
Of  "  Whiskers  !    whiskers  !"    shook    the    echoing 

skies ! — 

Just  in  that  glorious  hour,  methought,  there  cn.me, 
With  looks  of  injured  pride,  a  princely  dame, 
And  a  young  maiden  clinging  to  lier  side, 
As  if  she  feared  some  tyrant  would  divide 
The  hearts  that  nature  and  affection  tied  ! 
The  matron  came — within  her  right  hand  glow'd 
A  radiant  torch ;  while  from  her  left  a  load 


1  "To  enable  ihe  individual,  who  holds  llv  office  of 
Chancellor,  to  maintain  it  in  heroni'ms:  s;>kv.<lour."  (-•/  I<md 
laupk.) — Lord  Casllereagli' s  Speech  upun  the  Vitr.  C/itM 
ccllurg  11,11. 


THE  TWOPENNY  POST  BAG 


163 


Of  papers  hung — [wipes  his  eyex] — collected  in  her 

veil — 

The  venal  evidence,  the  slanderous  tale, 
The  wounding  hint,  the  current  lies  that  pass 
From  Post  to  Courier,  form'd  the  motley  mass ; 
Which,  with  disdain,  before  the  throne  she  throws, 
And  lights  the  pile  beneath  thy  princely  nose. 

[Weep.] 

Heavens,  how  it  blaz'd  ! — I'd  ask  no  livelier  fire 
\wilh  animation]  To  roast  a  Papist  by,  my  gracious 

Sire  !— 
But  ah !  the  Evidence — [weeps  again]  I  mourn'd  to 

see — 

Cast,  as  it  burn'd,  a  deadly  light  on  thee  ! 
And  Tales  and  Hints  their  random  sparkles  flung, 
And  hiss'd  and  crackled  like  an  old  maid's  tongue ; 
While  Post  and  Courier,  faithful  to  their  fame, 
Made  up  in  stink  for  what  they  lack'd  in  flame ! 
When,  lo,  ye  gods  ! — the  fire,  asc-ending  brisker, 
Now  singes  one,  now  lights  the  other  whisker ! — 
Ah  !  where  was  then  the  Sylphid,  that  unfurls 
Her  fairy  standard  in  defence  of  curls  ? 
Throne,  whiskers,  wig,  soon  vanish'd  into  smoke, 
The  watchman  cried  "  past  one,"  and — 1  awoke. 

Here  his  Lordship  weeps  more  profusely  than  ever, 
and  the  R — G — T  (who  has  been  very  much  agitated 
during  the  recital  of  the  dream,)  by  a  movement  as 
characteristic  as  that  of  Charles  XII.  when  he  was 
shot,  claps  his  hands  to  his  whiskers  to  feel  if  all  be 
really  safe.  A  privy  council  is  held — all  the  servants, 
etc.  are  examined,  and  it  appears  that  a  tailor  who  had 
come  to  measure  the  R — G — T  for  a  dress  (which 
takes  three  whole  pages  of  the  best  superfine  clin- 
quant in  describing,)  was  the  only  person  who  had 
been  in  the  Bourbon  chamber  during  the  day.  It  is 
accordingly  determined  to  seize  the  tailor,  and  the 
council  breaks  up  with  a  unanimous  resolution  to  be 
rigorous. 

The  commencement  of  the  second  Act  turns 
chiefly  upon  the  trial  and  imprisonment  of  two 
brothers ;  but  as  this  forms  the  under  plot  of  the 
flnuiin,  I  shall  content  myself  with  extracting  from  it 
the  following  speech,  which  is  addressed  to  the  two 
brothers,  as  they  "  exeunt  severally"  to  prison  : 

Go  to  your  prisons — though  the  air  of  spring 
No  mountain  coolness  to  your  cheeks  shall  bring ; 
Though  summer  flowers  shall  pass  unseen  away, 
And  all  your  portion  of  the  glorious  day 
M:iy  be  some  solitary  beam  that  fa  I  Is, 
At  morn  or  eve,  upon  your  dreary  walls — 
Some  beam  that  enters,  trembling  as  if  awed, 
To  tell  how  gay  the  young  world  laughs  abroad! 
Yet  go — for  thoughts,  as  blcssod  as  the  air 
Of  spring,  or  summer  flowers,  await  you  there ; 
Thoughts,  such  as  he,  who  feasts  his  courtly  crew 
Jn  rich  conservatories,  never  knew ! 
Pure  self-esteem — the  smiles  that  light  within — 
The  Zeal,  whose  circling  charities  begin 
With  the  few  loved-ones  Heaven  has  placed  it  near, 
Nor  cease,  till  all  mankind  are  in  its  sphere ! — 
The  Pride,  that  sutlers  without  vaunt  or  plea, 


And  the  fresh  Spirit,  that  can  warble  free, 
Through  prison-bars,  its  hymn  to  Liberty  ! 

The  Scene  next  changes  to  a  tailor  s  work-shop, 
and  a  fancifully-arranged  group  of  these  artists  is  dis- 
covered upon  the  shop-board  ;  their  task  evidently 
of  a  royal  nature,  from  the  profusion  of  gold-lace, 
frogs,  etc.  that  lie  about.  They  all  rise  and  come 
forward,  while  one  of  them  sings  the  following  stan- 
zas, to  the  tune  of  "  Derry  Down." 

My  brave  brother  tailors,  come,  straighten  your  knees, 
For  a  moment,  like  gentlemen,  stand  up  at  ease, 

While  I  sing  of  our  P E  (and  a  fig  for  his  railers,) 

The  Shop-board's  delight !  the  Maecenas  of  Tailors  ! 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Some  monarchs  take  roundabout  ways  into  note, 
But  his  short  cut  to  fame  is — the  cut  of  his  coat ; 
Philip's  son  thought  the  world  was  too  small  for  his 

soul, 
While  our  R — G — T'S  finds  room  in  a  laced  button 

hole! 

Derry  down,  etc. 

Look  through  all  Europe's  Kings — at  least,  those  who 

go  loose — 

Not  a  King  of  them  all 's  such  a  friend  to  the  Goose 
So,  God  keep  him  increasing  in  size  and  renown, 

Still  the  fattest  and  best-fitted  P E  about  town ! 

Derry  down,  etc. 

During  the  "Derry  down"  of  this  last  verse,  a 
messenger  from  the  S— c — t — y  of  S  c'a  Office 
rushes  on,  and  the  singer  (who,  luckily  for  the  effect 
of  the  scene,  is  the  very  tailor  suspected  of  the  mys- 
terious fragments)  is  interrupted  in  the  midst  of  his 
laudatory  exertions,  and  hurried  away,  to  the  no  small 
surprise  and  consternation  of  his  comrades.  The 
Plot  now  hastens  rapidly  in  its  developement — the 
management  of  the  tailor's  examination  is  highly 
skilful,  and  the  alarm  which  he  is  made  to  betray  is 
natural  without  being  ludicrous.  The  explanation, 
too,  which  he  finally  gives,  is  not  more  simple  than 
satisfactory.  It  appears  that  the  said  fragments  formed 
part  of  a  self-exculpatory  note,  which  he  had  intended 

to  send  to  Colonel  M'M N  upon  subjects  purely 

professional,  and  the  corresponding  bits  (which  still 
lie  luckily  in 'his  pocket,)  being  produced,  and  skil- 
fully laid  beside  the  others,  the  following  billet-doux 
is  the  satisfactory  result  of  their  juxta  position: 

Honoured  Colonel — my  WIFE,  who  's  the  QUEEN  o 

all  slatterns, 

NEGLECTED  to  put  up  THE  BOOK  of  new  patterns 
She  sent  the  WRONG  MEASURES  too — shamefully 

wrong — 
They're  the  same  used  for  poor  Mr.  LAMBERT,  when 

young ; 
But,  bless  you !    they  would'nt  go  half  round  the 

R — G — T, 
So,  hope  you'll  excuse  yours  till  death,  most  obedient 

This  fully  explains  the  whole  mystery;  the  R — G — T 
resumes  his  wonted  smiles,  and  the  drama  terminate* 
as  usual  to  the  satisfaction  of  all  parties. 


TIIE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


La  Lejgi  della  Maschera  richiedono  che  una  per- 
•ona  ma»ciierata  non  gia  salulala  per  nome  da  uno 
eke  la  coniwce  malgrado  il  suo  travestinieiito. 

CASTIOLIOM. 


PREFACE. 


In  what  manner  the  following  epistles  came  into 
my  hand*,  it  is  not  necessary  for  the  public  to  know. 
It  will  be  »een  by  Mr.  FUDGE'S  second  letter,  that  he 
is  one  of  those  gentlemen  whose  secret  services  in 

Ireland,  under  the  mild  ministry  of  my  Lord  C GH, 

have  been  so  amply  and  gratefully  remunerated.  Like 
his  friend  and  associate,  THOMAS  REYNOLDS,  Esq. 
he  had  retired  upon  the  reward  of  his  honest  indus- 
try ,  but  has  lately  been  induced  to  appear  again  in 
active  life,  and  superintend  the  training  of  that  Dela- 
torian  Cohort,  which  Lord  S— DM— TH,  in  his  wisdom 
and  benevolence,  has  organized. 

Whether  Mr.  FUDGE,  himself,  has  yet  made  any 
discoveries,  does  not  appear  from  the  following 
page* ; — but  much  may  be  expected  from  a  person  of  pE 
nit  seal  and  sagacity,  and,  indeed,  to  him,  Lord  S — D- 
M — TH,  and  the  Greenland-bound  ships,  the  eyes  of 
all  lovurit  of  discoveries  are  now  most  anxiously  di- 
rected. 

I  regret  that  I  have  been  obliged  to  omit  Mr.  BOB 
FUDGE'*  thud  letter,  concluding  the  adventures  of 
his  Day,  witn  the  Dinner,  Opera,  etc.  etc. — but,  in 
consi-quence  of  some  remarks  upon  Marinette's  thin 
drapery,  which,  it  was  thought,  might  give  offence  to 
certain  well-meaning  persons,  the  manuscript  was 
•ent  back  to  Paris  tor  his  revision,  and  had  not  re- 
turned when  the  last  sheet  was  put  to  press. 

It  will  not,  I  hope,  be  thought  presumptuous,  if  I 
lake  this  opportunity  of  complaining  of  a  very  serious 
injustice  I  have  suffered  from  the  public.  Dr.  KING 
wrote  a  treatise  to  prove  that  BENT  LEY  "  was  not  the 
author  of  his  own  book,"  and  a  similar  absurdity  has 
been  c**?rted  of  me,  in  almost  all  the  best  informed 
literary  circle*.  With  the  name  of  the  real  author 
•taring  them  in  the  face,  they  have  yet  persisted 
attributing  my  works  to  other  people;  and  the  fame  of 
the  Twopenny  Port  Bag — such  as  it  is — having  ho- 
vered doubtfully  over  various  persons,  has  at  last 
•etlled  upon  the  head  of  a  certain  little  gentleman, 
who  wean  it,  1  understand,  as  complacently  as  if  it 
actually  belonged  to  him ;  without  even  the  honesty 
of  avowing,  with  his  own  favourite  author,  (he  will 
i  the  pun) 

E>  .  r  O  Mi!  FOE  mfmt 


at  my  lodgings,  245,  Piccadilly,  I  shall  have  the  ho- 
nour of  assuring  them,  m  propria  persona,  that  1  am— 
lis,  or  her, 

Very  obedient  and  very  humble  servant, 

THOMAS  BRQWN,  TH£  YOUNGER 
,  1818. 


I  can  only  add,  that  if  any  lady  or  gentleman,  cn- 
•Vnu»  m  «urji  matter*,  will  take  the  trouble  of  calling 


THE 


FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


LETTER  I. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  • 

OF  CLONSKILTY,  IN  IRELAND. 

Amiens. 

AR  Doll,  while  the  tails  of  our  horses  are  plaiting 
The  trunks  tying  on,  and  Papa,  at  the  door, 
[nto  very  bad  French  is,  as  usual,  translating 
His  English  resolve  not  to  give  a  sou  more, 
[  sit  down  to  write  you  a  line — only  think  ! — 
A  letter  from  France,  with  French  pens  and  French 

ink, 
How  delightful!  though,  would  you  believe  it,  my 

dear? 

I  have  seen  nothing  yet  very  wonderful  here ; 
No  adventure,  no  sentiment,  far  as  we've  come, 
But  the  corn-fields  and  trees  quite  as  dull  as  at  home; 
And,  but  for  the  post-boy,  his  boots  and  his  queue, 
I  might  just  as  well  be  at  Clonskilty  with  you  ! 
In  vain,  at  DESSEIN'S,  did  I  take  from  my  trunk 
That  divine  fellow,  STERNE,  and  fall  reading  "The 

Monk !" 

In  vain  did  I  think  of  his  charming  dead  Ass, 
And  remember  the  crust  and  the  wallet — alas  ! 
No  monks  can  be  had  now  for  love  or  for  money 
(All  owing,  Pa  says,  to  that  infidel  BONEY  ;) 
And,  though  one  little  Neddy  we  saw  in  our  drive 
Out  of  classical  Nampont,  the  beast  was  alive  ! 

By  the  bye,  though,  at  Calais,  Papa  had  a  touch 
Of  romance  on  the  pier,  which  affected  me  much. 
At  the  sight  of  that  spot,  where  our  darling  ***** 
Set  the  first  of  his  own  dear  legitimate  feet1 
(ModelFd  out  so  exactly,  and — God  bless  the  mark!— 
'Tis  a  foot,  Dolly,  worthy  so  Grand  a  M****queJ 


1  To  co  nmemorate  the  In  ml  ing  of  *****  **  **•*»  from 
Fnslaml,  the  impression  of  his  foot  is  marked  on  the  pier  at 
Calais,  and  a  pillar  with  an  inscription  raised  uppouite  to 
the  »|x>L 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


165 


He  exclaim'd  "  Oh  mon  R** !"  and,  with  tear-drop- 
ping eye, 

Stood  to  gaze  on  the  spot — while  some  Jacobin,  nigh, 
Mutter'd  out  with  a  shrug  (what  an  insolent  thing !) 
"Ma  foi,  he  be  right — 'tis  de  Englishman's  K**g; 
And  dat  gros  pied  de  cochon — begar,  me  vil  say, 
Dat  de  foot  look  mosh  better,  if  turn'd  toder  way." 
There  's  the  pillar,  too — Lord  !  I  had  nearly  forgot — 
What  a  charming  idea ! — raised  close  to  the  spot; 
The  mode  being  now  (as  you've  heard,  I  suppose) 
To  build  tombs  over  legs,1  and  raise  pillars  to  toes. 

This  is  all  that 's  occurr'd  sentimental  as  yet ; 
,  Except,  indeed,  some  little  flower-nymphs  we've  met, 
Who  disturb  one's  romance  with  pecuniary  views, 
Flinging  flowers  in  your  path,  and  then  bawling  for 

sous! 

And  some  picturesque  beggars,  whose  multitudes  seem 
To  recall  the  good  days  of  the  ancien  regime, 
All  as  ragged  and  brisk,  you'll  be  happy  to  learn, 
And  as  thin  as  they  were  in  the  time  of  dear  STERNE. 

Our  party  consists,  in  a  neat  Calais  job, 

Of  papa  and  myself,  Mr.  CONNOR  and  BOB. 

You  remember  how  sheepish  BOB  look'd  at  Kilrandy, 

But,  Lord  !  he 's  quite  alter' d — they've  made  him  a 

Dandy 

A  thing,  you  know,  whisker'd,  great-coated,  and  laced, 
Like  an  hour-glass,  exceedingly  small  in  the  waist : 
Quite  a  new  sort  of  creatures,  unknpwn  yet  to  scho- 
lars, 

With  heads  so  immoveably  stuck  in  shirt-collars, 
That  seats  like  our  music-stools  soon  must  be  found 

them, 
To  twirl,  when  the  creatures  may  wish  to  look  round 

them! 

In  short,  dear,  "a  Dandy"  describes  what  I  mean, 
And  BOB  's  far  the  best  of  the  genus  I've  seen : 
An  improving  young  man,  fond  of  learning,  ambitious, 
And  goes  now  to  Paris  to  study  French  dishes. 
Whose  names — think,  how  quick ! — he  already  knows 

pat, 

A  la  braise,  petite  patets,  and — what  d'ye  call  that 
They  inflict  on  potatoes  ?  oh  !  maitre  d'hotd — 
I  assure  you,  dear  DOLLY,  he  knows  them  as  well 
As  if  nothing  but  these  all  his  life  he  had  ate, 
Though  a  bit  of  them  BOBBY  has  never  touch'd  yet; 
But  just  knows  the  names  of  French  dishes  and  cooks, 
As  dear  Pa  knows  the  titles  and  authors  of  books. 

As  to  Pa,  what  d'ye  think? — mind  it's  all  entre  nous, 
But  you  know,  love,  I  never  keep  secrets  from  you — 
Why  he's  writing  a  book — what !  a  tale  ?  a  romance  ? 
No,  ye  gods,  would  it  were! — but  his  Travels  in 

France ; 

At  the  special  desire  (he  let  out  t'  other  day) 
Of  his  friend  and  his  patron,  my  Lord  C — TL — R — GH, 
Who  said,  "My  dear  FUDGE "  I  forget  th'  exact 

words, 

And,  it's  strange,  no  one  ever  remembers  my  Lord's ; 
But  'twas  something  to  say,  that,  as  all  must  allow, 
A  good  orthodox  work  is  much  wanting  just  now, 
To  expound  to  the  world  the  new — thingummie — 

science, 
Found  out  by  the — what's-its-name — Holy  A*****ce, 


1  Ci-git  la  janibe  de,  etc.  etc. 


And  prove  to  mankind  that  their  rights  are  but  folly, 
Their  freedom  a  joke  (which  it  is,  you  know,  DOLLY) 
"There's  none,"  said  his  Lordship,  "if  /  may  be 

judge, 
Half  so  fit  for  this  great  undertaking  as  FUDGE  !" 

The  matter 's  soon  settled — Pa  flies  to  the  Row 
(The  first  stage  your  tourists  now  usually  go,) 
Settles  all  for  his  quarto — advertisements,  praises — 
Starts  post  from  the  door,  with  his  tablets — French 

phrases — 
"SCOTT'S  Visit,"  of  course — in  short,  every  thing  he 

has 

An  author  can  want,  except  words  and  ideas  : — 
And,  lo  !  the  first  thing  in  the  spring  of  the  year, 
Is  PHIL.  FUDGE  at  the  front  of  a  Quarto,  my  dear ! 

But,  bless  me,  my  paper  's  near  out,  so  I'd  better 
Draw  fast  to  a  close : — this  exceeding  long  letter 
You  owe  to  a  dejeuner  a  la  Fourchelte, 
Which  BOBBY  would  have,  and  is  hard  at  it  yet.— 
What 's  next  ?  oh,  the  tutor,  the  last  of  the  party, 
Young  CONNOR  : — they  say  he 's  so  like  BON****TE, 
His  nose  and  his  chin, — which  Papa  rather  dreads, 
As  the  B*****N'S,  you  know,  are  suppressing  all  heads 
That  resemble  old  NAP'S,  and  who  kiu.»vs  but  their 

honours 
May  think,  in  their  fright,  of  suppressing  poor  CON 

NCR'S? 

Au  resle  (as  we  say,)  the  young  lad  's  well  enough, 
Only  talks  much  of  Athens,  Rome,  virtue,  and  stuff"; 
A  third  cousin  of  ours,  by  the  way — poor  as  Job 

(Though  of  royal  descent  by  the  side  of  Mamma,) 
And  for  charity  made  private  tutor  to  BOB — 
Entre  nous,  too,  a  Papist — how  liberal  of  Pa  ! 

This  is  all,  dear, — forgive  me  for  breaking  off  thus; 
But  BOB  's  dejeuner's  done,  and  Papa  'e  in  a  fuss. 

B.  F. 
P.  S. 

How  provoking  of  Pa !  he  will  not  let  me  stop 
Just  to  run  in  and  rummage  some  milliner's  shop; 
And  my  debut  in  Paris,  I  blush  to  think  on  it, 
Must  now,  DOLL,  be  made  in  a  hideous  low  bonnet 
But  Paris,  dear  Paris — oh,  there  will  be  joy, 
And  romance,  and  high  bonnets,  and  Madame  Lt 
Roi!1 


LETTER  n. 

FROM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESft.  TO  THE  LORD  VISCOUNT 
C H. 

Peru 

AT  length,  my  Lord,  I  have  the  bliss 
To  date  to  you  a  line  from  this 
"  Demoralized"  metropolis ; 
Where,  by  plebeians  low  and  scurvy, 
The  throne  was  turn'd  quite  topsy-turvy, 
And  Kingship,  tumbled  from  its  seat, 
"Stood  prostrate"  at  the  people's  feet; 
Where  (still  to  use  your  Lordship's  tropes) 
The  level  of  obedience  slopes 
(Tpward  and  downward,  as  the  stream 
Of  hydra  faction  kufa  the  beam  !* 


1  A  celebrated  mantua-maker  in  Paris. 

2  This  excellent  imitation  of  the  noble  Lord's  style  chowj 
how  deeply  Mr.  Fudge  must  have  studied  hi*  groat  original 


166 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Whan  the  poor  palace  changes  masters 

Quicker  than  a  snake  its  skin, 
And  •  •  •  *•  is  roUed  out  on  castors 

While  •*•**'«,  borne  on  shoulders  in : 
But  where,  in  every  change,  no  doubt, 

One  special  good  your  Lordship  traces, — 
That  *t  is  the  Kings  alone  turn  out, 

And  Minuter*  still  keep  their  places. 

How  oft,  dear  Viscount  C GH, 

I've  thought  of  thee  upon  the  way, 
As  in  my  job  (what  place  could  be 
More  apt  to  wake  a  thought  of  thee  ?) 
Or,  oftener  far,  when  gravely  sitting 
Upon  my  dickey  (as  is  fitting 
For  him  who  writes  a  Tour,  that  he 
May  more  of  men  and  manners  see,) 
I've  thought  of  thee  and  of  thy  glories, 
Thou  guest  of  Kings,  and  King  of  Tories ! 
Reflecting  how  thy  fame  has  grown 

And  spread,  beyond  man's  usual  share, 
At  home,  abroad,  till  thbu  art  known, 

Like  Major  SEMFLE,  every  where ! 
And  marvelling  with  what  powers  of  breath 
Your  Lordship,  having  speech'd  to  death 
Some  hundreds  of  your  fellow-men, 
Neit  speech'd  to  Sovereigns'  ears, — and  when 
All  sovereigns  else  were  dozed,  at  last 
Speech'd  down  the  Sovereign1  of  Belfast 
Oh  !  'mid  the  praises  and  the  trophies 
Thou  gain'st  from  Morosophs  and  Sophis, 
'Mid  all  the  tributes  to  thy  fame, 

There's  one  thou  shouldst  be  chiefly  pleased  at — 
That  Ireland  gives  her  snuff  thy  name, 

And  C  cu'a  the  thing  now  sneezed  at ! 

But  hold,  my  pen  ! — a  truce  to  praising — 

Though  even  your  Lordship  will  allow 
The  theme's  temptations  are  amazing ; 

But  time  and  ink  run  short,  and  now 
(As  thou  would'st  say,  my  guide  and  teacher 

In  these  gay  metaphoric  fringes,) 
I  must  embark  into  the  feature 

On  which  this  letter  chiefly  hinges  ;a — 
My  Book,  the  Book  that  is  to  prove — 
And  will,  so  help  me  Sprites  above, 
That  sit  on  clouds,  as  grave  as  judges, 
Watching  the  labours  of  the  FUDGES  ! — 
Wul  prove  that  all  the  world,  at  present, 
Is  in  a  state  extremely  pleasant : 
That  "Europe— thanks  to  royal  swords 

And  bayonets,  and  the  Duke  commanding — 


Irieh  oratory,  indeed,  abound*  with  «uch  startling  peculiari- 
ty*    Thus   the    eloquent    Counsellor  B ,   in   de- 
scribing tome  hypocritical  pretender  to  charity,  laid—"  He 
iu  hand  in  hi*  breeche*  pocket,  like  a  crocodile,  and," 

•  title  of  the  chief  magistrate  of  Belfast,  before 
whom  h»  Lord.hip  (with  the  "stadium  immane  lonuendi" 
attributed  by  Ovid  to  that  chattering  and  rapacious  class  of 
inb,  the  pie*)  delivered  sundry  lonj  and  self-gratulatory 
OTaUons,  on  h«  return  from  the  Continent.  It  WM  at  one 
of  ihne  Irish  dinners  that  his  gallant  brother  Lord  S.  pro- 
po.edtone.Jtli  of  "The  best  cavalry  officer  in  EuropV- 

i.  *  ^•'b«t>m  from  one  of  the  noble  Viscount's  speeches— 
'  A«d  BOW,  Sir,  I  most  embark  into  the  feature  on  which 
tt-i  question  chiefly  hinges." 


Enjoys  a  peace  which,  like  the  Lord's, 

Passeth  all  harrmn  understanding: 
That  F  *  *  *ce  prefers  her  go-cart  *  ' 

To  such  a  coward  scamp  as  *****; 
Though  round,  with  each  a  leading-string, 

There  standeth  many  a  R*y*l  crony, 
For  fear  the  chubby,  tottering  thing 

Should  fall,  if  left  there  toMpfmmf  : 
That  England,  too,  the  more  her  debts, 
The  more  she  spends,  the  richer  gets ; 
And  that  the  Irish,  grateful  nation  ! 

Remember  when  by  thee  reign'd  over, 
And  bless  thee  for  their  flagellation, 

As  HELOISA  did  her  lover!' 
That  Poland,  left  for  Russia's  lunch, 

Upon  the  side-board  snug  reposes ; 
While  Saxony 's  as  pleased  as  Punch, 

And  Norway  "on  a  bed  of  roses  !'' 
That,  as  for  some  few  million  souls, 

Transferr'd  by  contract,  bless  the  clods  ! 
If  half  were  strangled — Spaniards,  Poles, 

And  Frenchmen — 't  would  n't  make  much  odd* 
So  Europe's  goodly  Royal  ones 
Sit  easy  on  their  sacred  thrones ; 
So  FERDINAND  embroiders  gaily, 
And  *****  eats  his  salmia*  daily  ; 
So  time  is  left  to  Emperor  SAXDY 
To  be  halfC&szr  and  half  Dandy ; 

And  G GE  the  R— G — T  (who'd  forget 

That  doughtiest  chieftain  of  the  set?) 
Hath  wherewithal  for  trinkets  new, 

For  dragons,  after  Chinese  models, 
And  chambers  where  Duke  Ho  and  Soo 

Might  come  and  nine  times  knock  their  noddles  !— 
All  this  my  Quarto  '11  prove — much  more 
Than  Quarto  ever  proved  before — 
In  reasoning  with  the  Post  I'll  vie, 
My  facts  the  Courier  shall  supply, 
My  jokes  V — NS — T,  P — LE  my  sense, 
And  thou,  sweet  Lord,  my  eloquence ! 

My  Journal,  penn'd  by  fits  and  starts, 
On  BIDDY'S  back  or  BOBBY'S  shoulder, 

(My  son,  my  Lord,  a  youth  of  parts, 
Who  longs  to  be  a.  small  place-holder,) 

Is — though  I  say  't  that  should  n't  say — 

Extremely  good  ;  and,  by  the  way, 

One  extract  from  it — only  one — 

To  show  its  spirit,  and  I've  done. 

"  Jul.  thiriiffrst.  Went,  after  snack, 

To  the  cathedral  of  St.  Denny  ; 
Sigh'd  o'er  the  kings  of  ages  back, 

And — gave  the  old  concierge  a  penny ! 
("Mem. — Must  see  Rheims,  much  famed,  'tis  said, 
For  making  kings  and  gingerbread.) 
Was  shown  the  tomb  where  lay,  so  stately, 
A  little  B***bon,  buried  lately, 
Thrice  high  and  puissant,  we  were  told, 
Though  only  twenty-four  hours  old!3 
Hear  this,  thought  I,  ye  jacobins ; 
Ye  Burdetts  tremble  in  your  skins  ! 


1  See  her  Letters. 

2  Oy»  TI,  o.x  iSovrt  JiOTp«$«i-  £*<riX»£{. 

Homer,  Odyss.  3. 

3  So  described  on  the  coffin,  ''trcs-haute  et  puissante 
Princesse,  agee  d'un  jour." 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


167 


If  R**alty,  but  aged  a  day, 
Can  boast  such  high  and  puissant  sway, 
What  impious  hand  its  power  would  fix, 
Full  fledged  and  wigg'd,1  at  fifty-six?" 

The  argument  's  quite  new,  you  see, 
And  proves  exactly  Q.  E.  D. — 
So  now,  with  duty  to  the  11 — g — t, 
I  am,  dear  Lord, 

Your  most  obedient, 

Hofcl  Brclcuil,  Rue  Rivoli. 
Neat  lodgings — rather  dear  for  me  ; 
But  Biddy  said  she  thought 't  would  look 
Genteeler  thus  to  date  my  book, 
And  Biddy's  right — besides,  it  curries 
Some  favour  with  our  friends  at  Murray's, 
Who  scorn  what  any  man  can  say, 
That  dates  from  Rue  St.  Honore.* 


P.  F. 


LETTER  III. 


FROM  MR.  BOB  FUDGE  TO  RICHARD- 


-,  ESQ. 


O  DICK  !  you  may  talk  of  your  writing  and  reading, 
Your  logic  and  Greek,  but  there  is  nothing  like  feeding; 
And  I  hit  is  the  place  for  it,  Dicky,  you  dog, 
Of  all  places  on  earth — the  head  quarters  of  prog. 
Talk  of  England, — her  famed  MagnaCharta,Iswear,is 
A  humbug,  a  llum,  to  the  Carte3  at  old  Very's ; 
And  as  for  your  Juries — who  would  not  set  o'er  'era 
A  jury  of  tasters,4  with  woodcocks  before  'em? 
Give  Cartwright  his  parliaments  fresh  every  year — 
But  those  friends  of  short  Commons  would  never  do 

here ; 

And  let  Romilly  speak  as  he  will  on  the  question, 
No  digest  of  law  's  like  the  laws  of  digestion  ! 

By  the  bye,  Dick,  /  fatten — but  n'importe  for  that, 
'T  is  the  mode — your  legitimates  always  get  fat; 
There  's  the  R— G — T,  there  'a  ****'s — and  B*n*y 

tried  too ; 
But,  though  somewhat  imperial  in  paunch,  'twouldn't 

do: 

He  improved,  indeed,  much  in  this  point  when  he  wed, 
But  he  ne'er  grew  light  r*y*Jly  fat  in  the  head. 

Dick,  Dick,  what  a  place  is  this  Paris  ! — but  stay — 
As  my  raptures  may  bore  you,  I'll  just  sketch  a  day, 
As  we  pass  it,  myself,  and  some  comrades  I've  got, 
All  thorough-bred  Gnwtics,  who  know  what  is  what. 

After  dreaming  some  hours  of  the  land  of  Cocaigne,5 
That  Elysium  of  all  that  is  J 'Hand  and  nice, 


1  There  is  a  fulness  a>:id  breadth  in  this  portrait  of  Royal- 
.ly,  which  rrinituU  us  of  what  Pliny  says,  in  speaking  of  Tra- 
jan's great  qualities: — "  nonne  loiige  latcque  Principem 
octeotuntf 

•J  .-•  !•  the  (Quarterly  Review  for  May,  1816,  where  Mr. 
Hobhouse  is  accused  of  having  written  his  book  "  in  a  back 
fcri't-t  of  thi!  French  capital." 

3  The  bill  of  Fare. — Very,  a  well-known  Restaurateur. 

4  Mr.  Bob  alludes  particularly,  I  prrsmne,  to  the  famous 
Jury  DeiMi-taleur,  which  used  to  assemble  at  the  Hotel  of 
M.   Grimod   iio   la   Reyniure,   and   of  which   this  modern 
Archeslrutus  has  given  an  account  in  hia  Almanach  des 
Gourmands,  cinquieme  annee,  p.  78. 

5  The  fuiry-land  of  cookery  and  gourmandise;  "  Pays,  ou 
le  ciel  offre  lesviandes  toutes  cuiteS,  et  ou,comme  on  parle, 
ics  alouettes  tombent  toutes  roties.    Du  Latin,  coquere." — 
Dachat. 


Where  for  hail  they  have  bons-bons,  and  claret  for  rain, 
And  the  skaiters  in  winter  show  olF  on  cream-ice; 
Where  so  ready  all  nature  its  cookery  yields, 
Macaroni  au  parmesan  grows  in  the  fields  ; 
lattle  birds  fly  about  with  the  true  pheasant  taint. 
And  the  geese  are  all  bom  with  a  liver  complaint! 
1  rise — put  on  neck-cloth — stiff",  tight  as  can  be — 
For,  a  lad  who  goes  into  the  world,  Dick,  like  me, 
Should  have  his  neck  tied  up,  you  know — there's  no 

doubt  of  it — 

Almost  as  tight  as  some  lads  who  go  out  of  it. 
With  whiskers  well  oil'd,  and  with  boots  that "  hold  up 
The  mirror  to  nature" — so  bright  you  could  sup 
Off  the  leather  like  china;  with  coat,  too,  that  draws 
On  the  tailor,  who  suffers,  a  martyr's  applause  ! — 
With  head  bridled  up,  like  a  four-in-hand  leader, 
And  stays — devil's  in  them — too  tight  for  a  feeder, 
I  strut  to  the  old  Cafe  Hardy,  which  yet 
Beats  the  field  at  a  d£jetiner  ii  la  fourchette. 
There,  Dick,  what  a  breakfast ! — oh,  not  like  yourghosl 
Of  a  breakfast  in  England,  your  curst  tea  and  toast: 
But  a  side-board,  you  dog,  where  one's  eye  roves  about. 
Like  a  Turk's  in  the  Haram,  and  thence  singles  out 
One's  p"iti  of  larks,  just  to  tune  up  the  throat 
One's  small  limbs  of  chickens,  done  en  papillate, 
One's  erudite  cutlets,  drest  all  ways  but  plain, 
Or  one's  kidney — imagine,  Dick— done  with  cham- 
pagne ! 

Then  some  glasses  of  Beaune,  to  dilute — or,  mayhap, 
Chambertin?  which  you  know  's  the  pet  tipple  of  Nap, 
And  which  Dad,  by  the  by,  that  legitimate  stickler, 
Much  scruples  to  taste,  but  /"m  not  so  partic'lar. — 
You  coffee  comes  next,  by  prescription ;  and  then 

DICK,  's 

The  coffee's  ne'er-failing  and  glorious  appendix— 
(If  books  had  but  such,  my  old  Grecian,  depend  on  't 
I'd  swallow  even  W — TK — N'S,  for  sake  of  the  end 

on  't)— 

A  neat  glass  of  parfaitramour,  which  one  sips 
Just  as  if  botfled  velvet3  tipp'd  over  one's  lips*! 
This  repast  being  ended,  and  paid  for — (how  odd ! 
Till  a  man  's  used  to  paying  there  's  something  so 

queer  in  it) — 

The  sun  now  well  out,  and  the  girls  all  abroad, 
And  the  world  enough  air'd  for  us,  Nobs,  to  ap- 
pear in  't, 
We  lounge  up  the  Boulevards,  where — oh  Dick,  the 

phizzes, 

The  turn-outs,  we  meet — what  a  nation  of  quizzes  ! 
Here  toddles  along  some  old  figure  of  fun, 
With  n  coat  you  might  date  Anno  Domini  One ; 
A  laced  hat,  worsted  stockings,  and — noble  old  soul  !— 
A  fine  ribbon  and  cross  in  his  best  button-hole ; 
Just  such  as  our  PR — E,  who  nor  reason  nor  fun  dreads, 
Inflicts,  without  even  a  court-martial,  on  hundreds.* 


1  The  process  by  which  the  liver  of  the  unfortunate  goose 
is  enlarged,  in  order  to  produce  that  richest  of  all  dainties, 
the  foie  graz,  of  wliich  such  renowned  piles  are  made  at 
Strasbourg  and  Toulouse,  is  thus  described  in  the  Court 
(f/i.*tronomique:—On    deplume    I'estomnc  des  oies;    on 
attache  ensuite  ces  animaux  aux  chenets  d'une  cheminee,  et 
on  lesnourritdcvantlefen.  Lacaptiviteet  lachaleurdonncnt 
a  ces  volatiles  une  maladie  h^patique,  qui  fait  goofier  luur 
foie,"  etc.  p.  206. 

2  The  favourite  wine  of  Napoleon. 

3  Velours  en  bout.i  >Ur. 

4  It  was  said  by  Wiequcfort,  more  than  a  hundred  yean 
ago,  "  Le  Roi  d'Angleterre  fait  seul  plus  de  chavalieri  quo 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Here  trips  •  pritette,  with  a  fond,  roguish  eye 
(Rather  eatable  things  these  gruettet  by  the  by;) 
And  then  an  old  demoiselle,  almost  as  fond, 
In  a  silk  that  has  stood  since  ibe  time  of  the  Fronde. 
Then  goes  a  French  dandy— ah,  Dick  !  unlike  some 

ones 
We're  awn  about  White's— the  Mounseers  are  but 

rum  ones ; 

r»uch  hats  !— fit  for  monkeys— I'd  back  Mrs.  Draper 
To  cut  neater  weather-boards  out  of  brown  paper: 
And  coats—*.     •  I  wish,  if  it  wouldn't  distress  'em, 
They'd  club  for  old  B — n— L,  from  Calais,  to  dress  'cm! 
The  collar  sticks  out  from  the  neck  such  a  space, 
That  you'd  swear  'twas  the  plan  of  this  head-lop- 
ping nation, 

To  leare  there  behind  them  a  snug  little  place 
For  the  head  to  drop  into,  on  decapitation  ! 
In  short,  what  with  mountebanks,  Counts  and  friseurs, 
Some  mummers  by  trade,  and  the  rest  amateurs — 


Still  hope  and  suffer,  all  who  can  ! — but  I, 
Who  durst  not  hope,  and  cannot  bear,  must  fly. 

But  whither? — every  where  the  scourge  pursues — 
Turn  where  he  will,  the  wretched  wanderer  views. 
In  the  bright  broken  hopes  of  all  his  race, 
Countless  reflexions  of  the  oppressor's  fare  ' 
Every  where  gallant  hearts,  and  spirits  true, 
Are  served  up  victims  to  the  vile  and  few ; 
While  E******,  every  where — the  goneral  foe 
Of  truth  and  freedom,  wheresoe'er  they  glow- 
Is  first,  when  tyrants  strike,  to  aid  the  blow  ' 
O  E****** !  could  such  poor  revenge  atone 
For  wrongs  that  well  might  claim  the  deadliest  one 
Were  it  a  vengeance,  sweet  enough  to  sate 
The  wrCvCh  who  flies  from  thy  intolerant  hate, 
To  hear  his  curses,  on  such  barbarous  sway, 
Echoed  where'er  he  bends  his  cheerless  way  ; — 
Could  this  content  him,  every  lip  he  meets 


ocmr  muiium  o  i/j    nauv^  o.»u  ».««»-  iv,*»«.  u.«*,Ui,uu. «  . 

What  With  captain,  in  new  jockey-boots  and  silk  Teems  for  his  vengeance  w.th  such  po.sonous  sweets 
i--.  Were  this  his  luxury,  never  is  thy  name 


Old  dustmen  with  swinging  great  opera-hats, 
And  shoeblacks  reclining  by  statues  in  niche?, 
There  never  was  seen  such  a  race  of  Jj.ck  Sprats. 

From  the  Boulevards— but  hearken  !--yea— as  I'm  a 

sinner, 

The  clock  is  just  striking  the  half-hour  for  dinner : 
So  no  more  at  present — short  time  for  adorning — 
fty  day  must  be  finish'd  some  ether  fine  morning. 
Now,  hey  for  old  Beauvilliers'1  larder,  my  boy ! 
And,  once  therf,tf  the  goddess  of  beauty  and  joy 
Were  to  write  "  Come  and  kiss  me,  dear  Bob !"  I'd 

not  budge — 
Not  a  etc  j,  Dick,  as  sure  as  my  name  is 

R.  FUDGE. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO- 


"  RETURN  !" — no,  never,  while  the  withering  hand 
Of  bigot  power  is  on  that  hapless  land  ; 
While  for  the  faith  my  fathers  held  to  God, 
Even  in  the  fields  where  free  those  fathers  trod 
I  am  proscribed,  aqd — like  the  spot  left  bare 
In  Israel's  halls,  to  tell  the  proud  and  fair 
Anvd*t  their  mirth  that  slavery  had  been  there3— 
On  all  I  love — home,  parents,  friends, — I  trace 
The  mournful  mark  of  bondage  and  disgrace  ! 
No  !— let  them  stay,  who  in  their  country's  pangs 
&>e  nought  but  food  for  factions  and  harangue*  ; 
Who  yearly  kneel  before  their  master's  doors, 
Aud  hawk  their  wrongs  a*  beggars  do  their  sores : 
Still  let  your        »•          •  »  » 


urn.  U-»  nulre*  BOM  de  It  Chrtlieute  eiuemble."— What 
would  be  M?  oow  t 
1  A  r*Mmtod  Rentauratrur. 

"  The*  *~d  to  leave  .  rmrd  •qaire  of  the  wall  of  (he 
bouM  un|4.«tend,  on  which  ihry  wnte,  in  larg 
•Mier  th*  fare-oKMioiwd  rone  of  the  P.almi.t  ('  It  i 
!fe  °  **??*?  •*;)  or  (he  wotd*-'  The  memory  of  the 
tooUnoti.'  "—l*t  ft  Modn*. 

I  h»v«  thought  it  prudent  to  omit  lome  parti  of  Mr. 
PU-lim  (  .  noor'.  kilter.     He   n  evidently  an  intemixvatu 
,  tod  hai  moenud  with  hi*  cou»in»,  the  Fudge*, 


Pronounced,  but  he  doth  banquet  on  thy  shame ; 

Hears  maledictions  ring  from  every  side 

Upon  that  grasping  power,  that  selfish  pride, 

Which  vaunts  its  own,  and  scorns  all  rights  beside; 

That  low  and  desperate  envy,  which,  to  blast 

A  neighbour's  blessings,  risks  the  few  thou  hast  ;— 

That  monster,  self,  too  gross  to  be  conceal'd, 

Which  ever  lurks  behind  thy  proffer'd  shield  ; 

That  faithless  craft,  which,  in  thy  hour  of  need, 

Can  court  the  slave,  can  swear  he  shall  be  freed, 

Yet  basely  spurns  him,  when  thy  point  is  gnin'd, 

Back  to  his  masters,  ready  gagg'd  and  chain'd  ! 

Worthy  associate  of  that  band  of  kines, 

That  royal,  ravening  fi°bck,  whose  vampire  wings 

O'er  sleeping  Europe  treacherously  brood, 

And  fan  her  into  dreams  of  promised  good, 

Of  hope,  of  freedom — but  to  drain  her  blood  ! 

If  thus  to  hear  thee  branded  be  a  bliss 

That  vengeance  loves,  there's  yet  more  sweet  than 

this,— 

That  'twas  an  Irish  head,  an  Irish  heart, 
Made  thee  the  fallen  and  tarnish'd  thing  thou  art ; 
That,  as  the  Centaur1  gave  the  infected  vrsi, 
In  which  he  died,  to  rack  his  conqueror's  breast, 

We  sent  thee  C GII  : — as  heaps  of  dead 

Have  slain  their  slayers  by  the  pest  they  spread, 
So  hath  our  land  breath'd  out — thy  fame  to  dim, 
Thy  strength  to  waste,  and  rot  thee,  soul  and  limb— 
Her  worst  infections  all  condensed  in  him  ' 
****** 

When  will  the  world  shake  off  such  yokes  !  oh,  whet 

Will  that  redeeming  day  shine  out  on  men, 

That  shall  behold  them  rise,  erect  and  free 

As  Heaven  and  Nature  meant  mankind  should  be 

When  Reason  shall  no  longer  blindly  bow 

To  the  vile  pagod  things,  that  o'er  her  brow, 

Like  him  of  Jagliernaut,  drive  trampling  now; 

Nor  Conquest  dare  to  desolate  God's  earth ; 

Nor  drunken  Victory,  with  a  Nero's  mirth, 

Strike  her  lewd  harp  amidst  a  people's  groans  ;— • 

But,  built  on  love,  the  world's  exalted  thrones 


1  i  ct  Herculeus  toros 

Urii  

Illo,  ille  victor  vincitur.— Senee.  Hercul.  (Et 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


lf>9 


Shall  to  the  virtuous  and  the  wise  be  given — 
Those  bright,  those  a  >le  legitimates  of  Heaven  ! 

W/i>  n  will  this  be  ? — or,  oh  !  is  it  in  truth, 
But  one  of  those  sweet  day-break  dreams  of  youth, 
In  which  the  soul,  as  round  her  morning  springs, 
'Twist  sleep  and  waking,  sees  such  dazzling  things  ! 
And  must  the  hope,  as  vain  as  it  is  bright, 
Be  all  given  up  ? — and  are  they  only  right, 
Who  say  this  world  of  thinking  souls  was  made 
To  be  by  kings  partitioned,  truck'd,  and  weigh'd 
In  scales  that,  ever  since  the  world  begun, 
Have  counted  millions  but  as  dust  to  one  ? 
Are  they  the  only  wise,  who  laugh  to  scorn 
The  rights,  the  freedom  to  which  man  was  born ; 
Who  ****** 
****** 

Who,  proud  to  kiss  each  separate  rod  of  power, 
Bless,  while  he  reigns,  the  minion  of  the  hour ; 
Worship  each  would-be  god,  that  o'er  them  moves, 
And  take  the  thundering  of  his  brass  for  Jove's! 
If  Iliiii  be  wisdom,  then  farewell  my  books, 
Farewell,  ye  shrines  of  old,  ye  classic  brooks, 
Which  ted  my  soul  with  currents,  pure  and  fair, 
Of  living  truth,  that  now  must  stagnate  there ! — 
Instead  of  themes  that  touch  the  lyre  with  light, 
Instead  of  Greece,  and  her  immortal  fight 
For  Liberty,  which  once  awak'd  my  strings, 
Welcome  the  Grand  Conspiracy  of  Kings, 
The  High  I.*git**ates,  the  Holy  Band, 
Who,  bolder  even  than  he  of  Sparta's  land, 
AiTiiinst  whom  millions,  panting  to  be  free, 
Would  guard  the  pass  of  right-line  tyranny  ! 
Instead  of  him,  the  Athenian  bard,  whose  blade 
Had  stood  the  onset  which  his  pen  pourtray'd, 
Welcome       ***** 
****** 

And,  'stead  of  Aristides — woe  the  day 

Such  names  should  mingle  ! — welcome  C gh  ! 

Here  break  we  off,  at  this  unhallow'd  name, 
Like  priests  of  old,  when  words  ill-ornen'd  came. 
My  next  shall  tell  thee,  bitterly  shall  tell, 
Thoughts  that  *  *  *  * 

****** 

Thoughts  that — could  patience  hold — 't  were  wiser  far 
To  leave  still  hid  and  burning  where  they  are ! 


LETTER  V. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY . 

WHAT  a  time  since  I  wrote! — I'm  a  sad. naughty 

girl- 
Though,  like  a  tee-totum,  I'm  all  in  a  twirl, 
Yet  even  (as  you  wittily  say)  a  tee-totum 
Between  all  its  twirls  gives  a  letter  to  note  'em. 
But,  Lord,  such  a  place  !  and  then,  Dolly,  my  dresses, 
My  gowns,  so  divine  ! — there's  no  language  expresses, 
Except  just  the  two  words  "superbe,"  "macnifique," 
The  trimmings  of  that  which  1  had  home  last  week  ! 
It  is  call'd — 1  forget — </  la — something  which  sounded 
Like  alicampanc — but,  in  truth,  I'm  confounded 
And  bother'd,  my  dear,  'twixt  that  troublesome  boy's 
(Bob's)  cookery  language,  and  Madame  Le  Roi's: 
What  with  fillets  of  roses,  and  fillets  of  veal, 
Things  garni  with  lace,  and  things  garni  with  eel. 


One's  hair,  and  one's  cutlets  both  en  jxi. 
And  a  thousand  more  things  I  shall  ne'er  have  by  rote, 
I  can  scarce  tell  the  difference,  at  least  as  to  phrase, 
Between  beef  fi  la  Psyche  and  curls  fi  lu  bnnxv. — 
But,  in  short,  dear,  I'm  trick'd  out  quite  «  //;  f-'tunittise, 
With  my  bonnet — so  beautiful ! — high  up  and  poking 
Lake  things  that   are   put  to  keep   chimneys  from 
smoking. 

Where  shall  1  begin  with  the  endless  delights 
Of  this  Eden  of  milliners,  monkeys,  and  sights — 
This  dear  busy  place,  where  there  's  nothing  trans- 
acting, 
But  dressing  and  dinnering,  dancing  and  acting  ? 

Imprimis,  the  Opera — mercy,  my  ears  ! 

Brother  Bobby's  remark  t'  other  night  was  a  true 

one; 
"  This  must  be  the  music,"  said  he,  "  of  the  ff>ear/t, 

For  I'm  curst  if  each  note  of  it  doesn't  run  through 

one !" 

Pa  says  (and  you  know,  love,  his  book 's  to  make  out,) 
'Twas  the  Jacobins  brought  every  mischief  about; 
That  this  passion  for  roaring  has  come  in  of  late, 
Since  the  rabble  all  tried  for  a  voice  in  the  State. 
What  a  frightful  idea,  one's  mind  to  o'erwhelm ! 

What  a  chorus,  dear  Dolly,  would  soon  be  let  loose 

of  it ! 
If,  when  of  age,  every  man  in  the  realm 

Had  a  voice  like  old  Lais,1  and  chose  to  make  use 

of  it! 

No — never  was  known  in  this  riotous  sphere 
Such  a  breach  of  the  peace  as  their  singing,  my  dear 
So  bad  too,  you'd  swear  that  the  god  of  both  arts, 

Of  Music  and  Physic,  had  taken  a  frolic 
For  setting  a  loud  tit  of  asthma  in  parts, 

And  composing  a  fine  rumbling  base  to  a  cholic ! 

But,  the  dancing — oA  parlez  mot,  Dolly,  de  ca — 
There,  indeed,  is  a  treat  that  charms  all  but  Papa. 
Such  beauty — such  grace — oh  ye  sylphs  of  romance! 

Fly,  fly  to  Titania,  and  ask  her  if  she  has 
One  light-footed  nymph  in  her  train,  that  can  dance 

Like  divine  Bigottini  and  sweet  Fanny  Bias! 
Fanny  Bias  in  Flora — dear  creature  ! — you'd  swrat, 
When  her  delicate  feet  in  the  dance  twinkle  round, 
That  her  steps  are  of  light,  that  her  home  is  the  air, 

And  she  only  par  complaisance  touches  the  ground 
And  when  Bigottini  in  Psyche  dishevels 

Her  black  flowing  hair,  and  by  daemons  is  driven, 
Oh  !  who  does  not  envy  those  rude  little  devils, 

That  hold  her,  and  hug  her,  and  keep  her  from 

heaven  1 

Then,  the  music — so  softly  its  cadences  die, 
So  divinely — oh,  Dolly  !  between  you  and  I, 
It  'a  as  well  for  my  peace  that  there's  nobody  nigh 
To  make  love  to  me  then — you've  a  soul,  and  can 

judge 
What  a  crisis  't  would  be  for  your  friend  Biddy  Fudge! 

The  next  place  (which  Bobby  has  near  lost  his  heart 

in,) 
They  call  it  the  Play-house — I  think — of  Saint  Mar- 

tin  ;2 


1  The  o'desf,  mi>~t  celebrated,  and  most  noisy  of  ihe  sing- 
ers at  the  French  Opera. 

i!  'I'll-'  Tin'.utro  de  la  Porte  St.Martin, which  was  built  when 
be  Opeia-huuse  in  the  Palais  KuviU  was  burned  down.  In 


r 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Quite  charming-end  «ry  religious-what  folly 
To  «ay  that  the  French  are  not  pious,  dear  l*>lly, 
When  here  one  beholds,  so  correctly  and  rightly, 
Fhe  Testament  turn'd  into  melc-drames  nightly ; 
And,  doubtless,  so  fond  they're  of  scriptural  facts, 
They  will  soon  get  the  Pentateuch  up  in  five  acts. 
Here  Daniel,  in  pantomime,1  bids  bold  defiance 
To  Nebuchadnezzar  and  all  his  stuflTd  lions, 

pretty  young  Israelites  dance  round  the  Prophet, 
In  very  thin  clothing,  and  but  little  of  it ; —    . 
Here  Begrand,*  who  shines  in  this  scriptural  path, 

As  the  lovely  Susanna,  without  even  a  relic 
Of  drapery  round  her,  comes  out  of  the  bath 

In  a  manner,  that,  Bob  says,  is  quite  Eve-angelic.' 

But,  in  short,  dear,  *t  would  take  me  a  month  to  recite 
All  the  exquisite  places  we  're  at,  day  and  night ; 
And,  besides,  ere  1  finish,  I  think  you'll  be  glad 
Just  to  hear  one  delightful  adventure  I've  bad. 

Last  night,  at  the  Beaujon,1  a  place  where— I  doubt 
If  I  well  can  describe — there  are  cars  that  set  out 
From  a  lighted  pavilion,  high  up  in  the  air, 
And  rattle  you  down,  Doll — you  hardly  know  where, 
fhese  vehicles,  mind  me,  in  which  you  go  through 
This  delightfully  dangerous  journey,  hold  two. 
Some  cavalier  asks,  with  humility,  whether 

You'll  venture  down  with  him— you  smile — 'tis  a 

match ; 
In  an  inst  mt  you're  seated,  and  down  both  together 

Go  thundering,  as  if  you  went  post  to  old  Scratch!4 
Well,  it  was  but  last  night,  as  I  stood  and  remark'd 
On  the  looks  and  odd  ways  of  the  girls  who  embark'd, 
The  impatience  of  some  for  the  perilous  flight, 
The  forc'd  giggle  of  others, 'twist  pleasure  and  fright, 
That  there  came  up — imagine,  dear  Doll,  if  you  can — 
A  fine  tallow,  sublime,  sort  of  Werter-fac'd  man, 
With  mustachios  that  gave  (what  we  read  of  so  oft,) 
The  dear  Corsair  expression,  half  savage,  half  soft, 
As  Hyaenas  in  love  may  be  fancied  to  look,  or 
A  something  between  Abelard  and  old  Blucher ! 
Up  he  came,  Doll,  to  me,  and  uncovering  his  head, 
'Rather  bald,  but  so  warlike !)  in  bad  English  said, 
"  Ah !  my  dear— if  Ma'mselle  vil  be  so  very  good — 
Just  for  von  little  course" — though  I  scarce  under- 
stood 

What  he  wUh'd  me  to  do,  I  said,  thank  him,  I  would. 
Off  we  set— and,  though  'faith,  dear,  I  hardly  knew 
whether 

My  head  or  my  heels  were  the  uppermost  then, 


\  few  diYi  after  this  dreadful  fire,  which'lasted  more 
than  a  week,  and  in  which  several  person*  perished,  the  Pa- 
risun  tl-yantn  displayed  flame-coloured  dresses, "  couleur 
fcu  d«  rOp*r«!"— Dulamre,  C*rio*itit  de  Paris. 

1  A  piece  Terjr  popular  lait  year,  called  "  Daniel,  on  la 
FIMM  am  Liom."  The  following  scene  will  ?ive  an  idea 
« f  the  d«rinf  sublimity  of  these  scriptural  pantomimes. 
.%••«!».— La  fournaise  devient  an  berceau  de  nances 
•rare*,  an  road  doqoel  ert  an  gronpe  de  nuaees  plus  lumi- 
•«•<!«.  rt  aa  milieu  'Jehovah'  an  centre  d'tin  cercle  de  rav- 

ilUos,  qui  anonee  la  presence  de  I'Etemel." 
S  Madame  B^frand,  a  finelv  formed  worrnn,  who  acts  in 
«  Sosaaam  and  the  Elders,"  «  L'amour  et  la  Folie,"  etc.  etc. 
Thr  Promenades  Aeriennps,  or  French  Mountains.— 
"VV_**en'"io0        lh™  •'"*"'»'  »nd  fantastic  place  of 
asnow-mrn',  in  a  pamphlet,  Irulv  worthy  of  it,  bv  F.  F.  Cot- 
Utet,  Medrria,  Doctear  de  la  Facnlte  de  Paris,' etc.  etc. 

.-  lo  Dr.  Totterel,  the  can  go  at  the  rate  of 
jht  mileu  an  boor 


For  't  was  like  heaven  and  earth,  Dolly,  coming  to 
gether, — 

Yet,  spite  of  the  danger,  we  dared  it  again. 
And  oh !  as  I  gazed  on  the  features  and  air 

Of  the  man,  who  for  me  all  this  peril  defied, 
I  could  fancy  almost  he  and  I  were  a  pair 

Of  unhappy-young  lovers,  who  thus,  side  by  side, 
Were  taking,  instead  of  rope,  pistol,  or  dagger,  a 
Desperate  dash  down  the  falls  of  Niagara ! 

This  achiev'd,  through  the  gardens'  we   saunter'o 

about, 
Saw  the  fire-works,  exclaim' d  "magnifique!"  al 

each  cracker, 

And,  when  t'  was  all  o'er,  the  dear  man  saw  us  out 
With  the  air,  I  will  say,  of  a  prince,  to  our  fiacre. 
Now,  hear  me — this  stranger — it  may  be  mere  folly — 
But  who  do  you  think  we  all  think  it  is,  Dolly  ? 
Why,  bless  you,  no  less  than  the  great  King  of  Prussia, 
Who 's  here  now  incog.2 — he,  who  made  such  a  fuss, 

you 

Remember,  in  London,  with  Blucher  and  Platoff, 
When  Sal  was  near  kissing  old  Blucher's  cravat  off! 
Pa  says  he  's  come  here  to  look  after  his  money 
(Not  taking  things  now  as  he  used  under  Boney,) 
Which  suits  with  our  friend,  for  Bob  saw  him,  he 

swore, 

Ix>oking  sharp  to  the  silver  received  at  the  door. 
Besides,  too,  they  say  that  his  grief  for  his  Queen 
(Which  was  plain  in  this  sweet  fellow's  face  to  be  seen) 
Requires  such  a  stimulant  dose  as  this  car  is, 
Used  three  times  a  day  with  young  ladies  in  Paris. 
Some  Doctor,  indeed,  has  declared  that  such  grief 
Should — unless 't  would  to  utter  despairing  its  folly 

push — 

Fly  to  the  Beaujon,  and  there  seek  relief 
By  rattling,  as  Bob  says,  "like  shot  through  a  holly- 
bush." 

I  must  now  bid  adieu — only  think,  Dolly,  think 

If  this  should  be  the  King — I  have  scarce  slept  a  wink 

With  imagining  how  it  will  sound  in  the  papers, 

And  how  all  the  Misses  my  good  luck  will  grudge, 
When  they  read  that  Count  Ruppin,  to  drive  a'.vay 
vapours, 

Has  gone  down  the  Beaujon  with  Miss  Biddy  Fudge 

.Vote  Bene. — Papa's  almost  certain  'tis  he — 
For  he  knows  the  L*git**ate  cut,  and  could  see, 
In  the  way  he  went  poising,  and  managed  to  tower 
So  erect  in  the  car,  the  true  Balance  of  Power. 


LETTER  VI. 

FROM  PHIL.  FUDGE,  ESQ.   TO  HIS  BROTHER  TIM 
FUDGE,  ESQ.   BARRISTER  AT  LAW. 

YOTJRS  of  the  12th  received  just  now — 
Thanks  for  the  hint,  my  trusty  brother ! 


1  In  the  Cafe  attached  to  thes^  "arilon-  then-  are  to  bo 
(as  Dr.  Cotterel  inform*  n-O   ''ilnuz^  m'-srcs  t '»'•<-« lertes, 
r|ni  contrasieront,  par  Ptibene  dc  leur  peau  avcc  la  feint  df 
lis  et  de  roses  de  nos  belles.    ].  '-vrvi« 
nar  une  main  U'ten  noire,  fern  davantagc  ressor'ir  |'a!b:itrc 
dcg  bras  arrondU  .'.*  celles-ci."— P.  2-2 

2  His  MajcMv.   whn   «-a*  at  Paris  under  the  travplling 
name  of  Count  Ruppin,  is  known  to  have  gone  down  the 
Beaujon  very  frequently 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


171 


T  is  truly  pleasing  to  see  how 

We  Fudges  stand  by  one  another. 
But  never  fear — I  know  rny  chap, 
And  he  knows  me,  too — verbum  sap. 
My  Lord  and  I  are  kindred  spirits, 
Like  in  our  ways  as  two  young  ferrets ; 
Both  fashion'd,  as  that  supple  race  is, 
To  twist  into  all  sorts  of  places  ; — 
Creatures  lengthy,  lean,  and  hungering, 
Fond  of  blood  and  6urrou>mongcring. 

As  to  my  Book  in  91, 

Call'd  "  Down  with  Kings,  or  Who'd  have  thought 

it?" 
Bless  you,  the  Book 's  long  dead  and  gone, — 

Not  even  th'  Attorney-General  bought  it. 
And,  though  some  few  seditious  tricks 
I  play'd  in  95  and  6, 
As  you  remind  me  in  your  letter, 
His  Lordship  likes  me  all  the  better; 
We,  proselytes,  that  come  with  news  full, 
Are,  as  he  says,  so  vastly  useful ! 
Reynolds  and  I — (you  know  Tom  Reynolds — 

Drinks  his  claret,  keeps  his  chaise — 
I  ucky  the  dog  that  first  unkennels 

Traitors  and  Luddites  now-a-days  ; 
Or  who  can  help  to  bag  a  few, 

When  S — D TH  wants  a  death  or  two  ;) 

Reynolds  and  I,  and  some  few  more, 

All  men  like  us  of  information, 
Friends,  whom  his  Lordship  keeps  in  store, 

As  u»<fer-saviours  of  the  nation — ' 
Have  form'd  a  Club  this  season,  where 
His  Lordship  sometimes  takes  the  chair, 
In  praise  of  our  sublime  vocation ; 
And  gives  us  many  a  bright  oration 
Tracing  it  up  to  great  King  3Iidas, 
Who,  though  in  fable  typified  as 
A  royal  Ass,  by  grace  divine 
And  right  of  ears,  most  asinine, 
Was  yet  no  more,  in  fact  historical, 

Than  an  exceeding  well-bred  tyrant; 
And  these,  his  ears,  but  allegorical, 

Moaning  Informers,  kept  at  high  rent — * 
Gemmen,  who  touch'd  the  Treasury  glisteners, 
Like  us,  for  being  trusty  listeners  ; 
And  picking  up  each  tale  and  fragment, 
For  royal  Midas's  green  bag  meant. 
"And  wherefore,"  said  this  best  of  Peers, 
Should  not  the  R — G — T  too  have  ears,' 
To  reach  as  far,  as  long  and  wide  as 
Those  of  his  model,  good  King  Midas  ?" 
This  speech  was  thought  extremely  good, 
And  (rare  for  him)  was  understood — 


1  Lord  C.'s  tribute  to  the  character  of  liis  friend,  Mr 
Reynolds,  will  long  be  remembered  with  equal  credit  to  both 

2  This  interpretation  of  the  fable  of  Midas's  ears  seem 
the  most  probable  of  any,  and  is  thus  stated  in  Hoffman: — Ha 
alK'Horiu  lignificatam,  Midain,  ut  pote  tvrannum,  subauscu 
tatores  diniiitrre  solitum,  per  quos,  qua:cunque  per  omnci 
rejionem  vel  fierent,  vel  dicercntur,  cognosceret,  nimirum 
illis  nti'ns  annum  vice." 

3  Brossette,  in  a  note  on  this  line  of  Boileau, 

"  Midas,  le  roi  Midas  a  des  oreilles  d'ane," 
tells  us,  that  "  M.  Perrault  le  Medecin  voulnt  faire  a  notr 
auteur  un  crime  d'etat  de  ce  vers,  comme  d'une  maliene  a 
usion  au  Roi."  I  trust,  however,  that  no  one  will  suspec 
the  line  in  the  text  of  any  such  indecorous  allusion. 


nstanf  we  drank  "  The  R — G — T'S  Ears," 
Vith  tnree  times  three  illustrious  cheers, 

That  made  the  room  resound  like  thunder 
The  R — G — T'S  Ears,  and  may  he  ne'er 
'rom  foolish  shame,  like  Midas,  wear 

Old  paltry  ivigs  to  keep  them  under  !"' 
'his  touch  at  our  old  friends,  the  Whigs, 
lade  us  as  merry  all  as  grigs, 
n  short  (I'll  thank  you  not  to  mention 

These  things  again)  we  get  on  gaily ; 
md,  tha.iks  to  pension  and  Suspension, 

Our  little  Club  increases  daily.  , 

Castles,  and  Oliver,  and  such, 

o  don't  as  yet  full  salary  touch, 
Vor  keep  their  chaise  and  pair,  nor  buy 
louses  and  lands,  like  Tom  and  I, 
Of  course  don't  rank  with  us,  salvators,3 
Jut  merely  serve  the  Club  as  waiters. 
,ike  Knights,  too,  we've  our  collar  days 
For  us,  I  own,  an  awkward  phrase,) 
When,  in  our  new  costume  adorn'd, — 
The  R— G — T'S  buff-and-blue  coat 's  turn'd — 
W7e  have  the  honour  to  give  dinners 

To  the  chief  rats  in  upper  stations  ;3 
1  our  W YS,  V NS — half-fledged  sinners, 

Who  shame  us  by  their  imitations ; 
Who  turn,  'tis  true — but  what  of  that  ? 

ive  me  the  useful  preaching  Rat ; 
Not  things  as  mute  as  Punch,  when  bought, 
Whose  wooden  heads  are  all  they've  brought, 
Who,  false  enough  to  shirk  their  friends, 

But  too  faint-hearted  to  betray, 
Are,  after  all  their  twists  and  bends, 

But  souls  in  Limbo,  damri'd  half  way. 
Vo,  no, — we  nobler  vermin  are 
A  genus  useful  as  we're  rare; 
Midst  all  the  things  miraculous 

Of  which  your  natural  histories  brag, 
The  rarest  must  be  Rats  like  us, 
Who  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag. 
Yet  still  these  Tyros  in  the  cause 
Deserve,  I  own,  no  small  applause ; 
And  they're  by  us  received  and  treated 
With  all  due  honours — only  seated 
In  the  inverse  scale  of  their  reward, 
The  merely  promised  next  my  Lord ; 
Small  pensions  then,  and  so  on,  down, 

Rat  after  rat,  they  graduate 
Through  job,  red  ribbon,  and  silk  gown, 

To  Chancellorship  and  Marquisate. 
This  serves  to  nurse  the  ratting  spirit ; 
The  less  the  bribe  the  more  the  merit. 

Our  music 's  good,  you  may  be  sure ; 
My  Lord,  you  know,  's  an  amateur—4 


1  It  was  not  under  wigs,  but  tiarag,  that  King  Midas  eii 
deavoured  to  conceal  thtse  appendage*: 

Tempora  purpureis  tentat  velare  tiaris. — Ovid. 

The  noble  giver  of  the  toast,  however,  had  evidently 
with  his  usual  clearness,  confounded  King  Midas,  Mr.  Li»- 
tor.,  and  the  P e  R — g — t  together. 

•2  Mr.  Fud<je  and  his  friends  should  go  by  this  name — at 
tne  man  who,  some  years  since,  saved  the  late  Right  Hon 
George  Rose  from  drowning,  was  ever  after  cai.ed  Siuvator 
Rosa. 

SThis  intimicy  between  the  Rats  and  Informers  is  just  nt  it 
should  be — "vere  dulre  sodalitium." 

4  Hw  L'Tdship,  daring  one  of  the  busiest  periods  of  hi* 


m 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Take*  *\cry  ptrt  with  perfect  ease, 

'!'!  .....  eh  to  the  Bue  by  nature  suited, 
Arid,  liirni  d  for  all,  a*  best  may  please, 
For  whips  and  bolts,  or  chords  and  keys, 
Turns  from  hi*  victim  to  his  glees, 

And  ha*  them  both  well  executed. 
H  -  T  -  u,  who,  though  no  Rat  himself, 

lv|  ijus  in  all  such  liberal  arts, 
Drinks  largely  to  the  House  of  Guelph, 

And  superintends  the  Corni  parts. 
While  ('  —  NN—  a,1  who'd  be_/Jr*<  by  choice, 
Consents  to  take  an  under  voice  ; 
And  <•  -  s,J  who  well  that  signal  knows, 
Watches  the 


IB  short,  as  I've  already  hinted, 

We  lake,  of  late,  prodigiously  ; 
But  as  our  Club  is  somewhat  stinted 

For  Gentlemen,  like  Tom  and  me, 
We'll  take  it  kind  if  you'll  provide 
A  few  Squireens,4  from  t'other  side  ;— 
Some  of  those  loyal,  cunning  elves 

(  We  often  tell  the  tale  with  laughter) 
Who  used  to  hide  the  pikes  themselves, 

Then  hang  the  fbols  who  found  them  after. 
I  doubt  not  you  could  find  us,  too, 
Some  Orange  Parsons  that  would  do; 
Among  the  rest,  we've  heard  of  one, 
The  Reverend  —  something  —  Hamilton, 
Who  stutf'd  a  figure  of  himself 

(Delicious  thought  !)  and  had  it  shot  at, 
To  bring  some  Papists  to  the  shelf, 

That  could'  nt  otherwise  be  got  at  — 
If  he  '11  but  join  the  Association, 
We'll  vote  him  in  by  acclamation. 

And  now,  my  brother,  guide,  and  friend, 
This  somewhat  tedious  scrawl  must  end. 
I've  gone  into  this  long  detail, 

Because  I  saw  your  nerves  were  shaken 
With  anxious  fears  lest  I  should  fail 

In  this  new,  loyal,  course  I've  taken. 
But,  bless  youi  bean  !  you  need  not  doubt  — 
We  Fudges  know  what  we're  about. 
Look  round,  and  say  if  you  can  see 
A  much  more  thriving  family. 
There  's  Jack,  the  Doctor  —  night  and  day 

Hundreds  of  patients  so  besiege  him, 
You'd  swear  that  all  the  rich  and  gay 

Fell  nick  on  purpose  to  oblige  him. 
And  while  they  think,  the  precious  ninnies, 

He's  counting  o'er  their  pulse  so  steady, 

Mini.tpri»l  career,  took  leMoiu  three  limes  a-week  from  a 
Mtebralrd  mu.ir-muter,  in  fflee-iing  ing. 

rhii  Right  Hon.  G.-nik-man  ought  to  give  up  his  pre- 
sent alliance  with  Lord  C   if  upon  no  other  principle  than 
h   it  inculc.U-d  in  the  following  arrangement  be- 
twoen  two  l.atiie*  of  Fuhion  : 

Bart  riarinda,  "  though  tear*  it  may  co«t, 
II  »  time  we  .hotil.l  pan.  my  de:,r 

For  jroiir  character  '•  totally  lost, 
Ami  /  have  not  iiifficient  for  two!" 

,  *  TI  '  "'  '  *"'''"  '  "«l'i  t'lmsformation,  at 

23£IV1L0f  V?,r<!  "f  the  ""•••fhamb.-r  and  an 

Maim*,  wai  truly  miraculous. 
-»  frrqiK-nt  direction  in  music  book*. 
•  Tbc  ln.li  diuiiuutive  of  Squire. 


The  rogue  but  counts  how  many  guineas 
He's  fobb'd,  for  that  day's  work,  alrea*1* 

I'll  ne'er  forget  the  old  maid's  alarm, 
When,  feeling  thus  Miss  Sukey  Flirt,  he 

Said,  as  he  dropp'd  her  shrivell'd  arm, 

"  Damn'd  bad  this  morning — only  thirty !" 

Your  dowagers,  too,  every  one, 

So  generous  are,  when  they  call  him  in, 
That  he  might  now  retire  upon 

The  rheumatisms  of  three  old  women. 
Then,  whatsoe'er  your  ailments  are, 

He  can  so  learnedly  explain  ye  'em — 
Your  cold,  of  course,  is  a  catarrh, 

Your  head-ache  is  a  hemi-cranium: — 
His  skill,  too,  in  young  ladies'  lungs, 

The  grace  with  which,  most  mild  of  men 
He  begs  them  to  put  out  their  tongues, 
Then  bids  them — put  them  in  again  ! 
In  short  there 's  nothing  now  like  Jack  ; — 

Take  all  your  doctors,  great  and  small, 
Of  present  times  and  ages  back, 

Dear  Doctor  Fudge  is  worth  them  all 

So  much  for  physic — then,  in  law  too, 

Counsellor  TIM  !  to  thee  we  bow  ; 
Not  one  of  us  gives  more  eclat  to 

The  immortal  name  of  FUDGE  than  thou 
Not  to  expatiate  on  the  art 
With  which  you  play'd  the  patriot's  part. 
Till  something  good  and  snug  should  offer, 

Like  one,  who,  by  the  way  he  acts 
The  enlightening  part  of  candle-snuffer, 

The  manager's  keen  eye  attracts, 
And  is  promoted  thence  by  him 
To  strut  in  robes,  like  thee,  my  TIM  ! 
Who  shall  describe  thy  powers  of  face, 
Thy  well-fee'd  zeal  in  every  case, 
Or  wrong  or  right — but  ten  times  warmer 
;As  suits  thy  calling)  in  the  former — 
Thy  glorious,  lawyer-like  delight 
In  puzzling  all  that 's  clear  and  right, 
Which,  though  conspicuous  in  thy  youth, 

Improves  so  with  a  wig  and  band  on, 
That  all  thy  pride  's  to  way-lay  Truth, 

And  leave  her  not  a  leg  to  stand  on. — 
Thy  patent,  prime,  morality, — 

Thy  cases,  cited  from  the  Bible — 
Thy  candour,  when  it  falls  to  thee 

To  help  in  trouncing  for  a  libel : — 
God  knows,  I,  from  my  soul,  profess 

To  hate  all  bigots  and  benightere  ! 
Sod  knows,  I  love,  to  even  excess, 
The  sacred  Freedom  of  the  Press, 

My  only  aim  's  to — crush  the  writers." 
These  are  the  virtues,  TIM,  that  draw 

The  briefs  into  thy  bag  so  fast ; 
And  these,  oh,  TIM— if  Law  be  Law- 
Will  raise  thee  to  the  Bench  at  last. 

I  blush  to  see  this  letter's^ength, 
But 't  was  my  wish  to  prove  to  thee 

How  full  of  hope,  and  wealth,  and  strength 
Are  all  our  precious  family. 

And,  should  affairs  go  on  as  pleasant 

As,  thank  the  Fates,  they  do  at  present  • 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


173 


Should  we  but  still  enjoy  the  sway 

Of  S— DM — it  and  of  C GH, 

(  hope,  ere  long,  to  see  the  day 

When  England's  wisest  statesmen,  judges, 

Lawyers,  peers,  will  all  be — FUDI.KS  ! 

Good  bye — my  paper  'a  out  so  nearly, 
I've  only  room  for 

Yours  sincerely. 


LETTER  VH. 


FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO 


RKFORE  we  sketch  the  Present — let  us  cast 
A  few  short  rapid  glances  to  the  Past. 

When  he,  who  had  defied  all  Europe's  strength, 
Beneath  his  own  woak  rashness  sunk  at  length ; — 
When  loosed,  as  if  by  magic,  from  a  chain 
That  seem'd  like  Fate's,  the  world  was  free  again, 
And  Europe  saw    rejoicing  in  the  sight, 
The  cause  of  Kings,  for  once,  the  cause  or  Right; 
Then  was,  indeed,  an  hour  of  joy  to  those 
Who  sigh'd  for  justice — liberty — repose, 
And  hoped  the  fall  of  one  great  vulture's  nest 
Would  ring  its  warning  round,  and  scare  the  rest. 
And  all  was  bright  with  promise ; — Kings  began 
To  own  a  sjmpathy  with  suffering  Man, 
And  Man  was  grateful — Patriots  of  the  South 
Caught  wisdom  from  a  Cossack  F.mperor's  mouth, 
And  heard,  like  accents  thaw'd  in  Northern  air, 
Unwonted  words  of  freedom  burst  forth  there  1 

Who  did  not  hope  in  that  triumphant  time, 
When  monarchs,  after  years  of  spoil  and  crime, 
Met  round  the  shrine  of  Peace,  and  Heaven  look'd  on, 
W/in  did  not  hope  the  lust  of  spoil  was  gone  ; — 
That  that  rapacious  spirit,  which  had  play'd 
The  gnme  of  Pilnitz  o'er  so  oft,  was  laid, 
And1  Europe's  Rulers,  conscious  of  the  past, 
Would  blush,  and  deviate  into  right  at  last? 
But  no — the  hearts  that  nursed  a  hope  so  fair 
Had  yet  to  learn  what  men  on  thrones  can  dare ; 
Had  yet  to  know,  of  all  earth's  ravening  things, 
The  only  quite  untameable  are  K**gs! 
Scarce  had  they  met  when,  to  its  nature  true, 
The  instinct  of  their  race  broke  out  anew; 
Promises,  treaties,  charters,  all  were  vain, 
And  "Rapine  ! — rapine  !"  was  the  cry  again. 
How  quick  they  carved  their  victims,  and  how  well, 
Let  Saxony,  let  injured  Genoa  tell, — 
Lf'  all  the  human  stock  that,  day  by  day, 
Was  at  the  Royal  slave-mart  truck'd  away, — 
The  million  souls  that,  in  the  face  of  Heaven, 
Were  split  to  fractions,1  barter'd,  sold,  or  given 
To  swell  some  despot  power,  too  huge  before, 
And  weigh  down  Europe  with  one  Mammoth  more  ! 
How  safe  the  faith  of  K"*gs  let  F***ce  decide; — 
Her  charter  broken,  ere  its  ink  had  dried — 


1  "  Whilst  the  Congress  was  re-constructing  Europe — not 
according  to  nail's,  natural  atlianri's,  lunguage,  habits,  or 
laws,  but  by  tables  ol  finance,  which  divided  and  subdivi- 
ded her  population  into  siiuls,  demi-souls,  and  even  frac- 
tions, according  to  a  scale  of  thtr  direct  duties  or  tnxrs 
which  couiri  be  levied  by  the  acquiring  state,"  etc. — Skrtch 
•f  the  Military  and  Pulttical  rower  of  Russia.— The 
words  on  the  Protocol  are  ames,  dtau-ames,  etc. 


Her  Press  enthrall'd — her  Reason  mock'd  again 
With  all  the  monkery  it  had  spurn'd  in  vain — 
Her  crown  disgraced  by  one,  who  dared  to  own 
He  thank'd  not  F'**ce  but  E*****dfor  his  throne— 
Her  triumphs  cast  into  the  shade  by  those 
Who  had  grown  old  among  her  bitterest  foes, 
And  now  return'd,  beneath  her  conquerors'  shields, 
Unblushing  slaves !  to  claim  her  heroes'  fields, 
To  tread  down  every  trophy  of  her  fame, 
And  curse  that  glory  which  to  them  was  shame  !- 
Let  these — let  all  the  damning  deeds,  that  then 
Were  dared  through  Europe,  cry  aloud  to  men, 
With  voice  like  that  of  crashing  ice  that  rings 
Round  Alpine  huts,  the  perfidy  of  K*'gs  ; 
And  tell  the  world,  when  hawks  shall  harmless  bear 
The  shrinking  dove,  when  wolves  shall  learn  to  spare 
The  helpless  victim  for  whose  blood  they  lusted, 
Then,  and  then  only,  monarchs  may  be  trusted ! 

It  could  not  last — these  horrors  could  not  last — 

F***ce  would  herself  have  risen,  in  might,  to  cast 

The  insulters  off— and  oh  !  that  then,  as  now, 

Chain'd  to  some  distant  islet's  rocky  brow, 

N'*OL**N  ne'er  had  come  to  force,  to  blight, 

Ere  half  matured,  a  cause  so  proudly  bright;— 

To  palsy  patriot  hearts  with  doubt  and  shame, 

And  write  on  Freedom's  flag  a  despot's  name ; 

To  rush  into  the  lists,  unask'd,  alone, 

And  make  the  stake  of  all  the  game  of  one? 

Then  would  the  world  have  seen  again  what  power 

A  people  can  put  forth  in  Freedom's  hour ; 

Then  would  the  fire  of  F***ce  once  more  have  blazed ; 

For  every  single  sword,  reluctant  raised 

In  the  stale  cause  of  an  oppressive  throne, 

Millions  would  then  have  leap'd  forth  in  her  own ; 

And  never,  never  had  the  unholy  stain 

Of  B***b"n  feet  disgraced  her  shores  again' 

But  Fate  decreed  not  so— the  Imperial  Bird, 
That,  in  his  neighbouring  cage,  unfear'd,  unstirr  d, 
Had  seem'd  to  sleep  with  head  beneath  his  wing, 
Yet  watch'd  the  moment  for  a  daring  spring ; — 
Well  might  he  watch,  when  deeds  were  done  that  made 
His  own  transgressions  whiten  in  their  shade; 
Well  might  he  hope  a  world,  thus  trampled  o'er 
By  clumsy  tyrants,  would  be  his  once  more : 
Forth  from  its  cage  that  eagle  burst  to  light, 
From  steeple  on  to  steeple1  wing'd  its  flight. 
With  calm  and  easy  grandeur,  to  that  throne 
From  which  a  royal  craven  just  had  flown  ; 
And  resting  there,  as  in  its  aerie,  furl'd 
Those  wings,  whose  very  rustling  shook  the  woral . 

WTiat  was  your  fury  then,  ye  crown'd  array, 

Whose  feast  of  spoil,  whose  plundering  holiday 

Was  thus  broke  up  in  all  its  greedy  mirth, 

By  one  bold  chieftain's  stamp  on  G*ll*c  earth  ! 

Fierce  was  the  cry  and  fulminant  the  ban, — 

"  Assassinate,  who  will — enchain,  who  can, 

The  vile,  the  faithless,  outlaw'd,  low-born  man  ! 

"  Faithless  !" — and  this  from  you — from  you,  forsooih, 

Ye  pious  K**gs,  pure  paragons  of  truth, 

Whose  honesty  all  knew,  for  all  had  tried  ; 

Whose  true  Swiss  zeal  had  served  on  every  sido, 


1  "  L'aigle  volcra  de  c(ocher  en  clocher,  jn*f|u'atix  toiu» 
de  Notrt-IJauie."— N'**or**n'«  Proclamation  on  iaudiuf 
from  Elba. 


174 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Who*  fame  for  breaking  faith  BO  long  was  known, 

WHI  might  ye  claim  the  craft  as  all  your  own, 

And  la.h  your  lordly  tails,  and  fume  to  see 

Such  low-born  apes  of  royal  perfidy  . 

Ye*— yes— to  you  alone  did  it  belong 

To  sin  forever,  and  yet  ne'er  do  wrong— 

The  frauds,  the  lies  of  lords  legitimate 

Are  but  fine  policy,  deep  strokes  of  state ; 

But  let  some  upstart  dare  to  soar  so  high 

In  K**gly  craft,  and  a  outlaw"  is  the  cry  ! 

What,  though  long  years  of  mutual  treachery 

Had  peopled  full  your  diplomatic  shelves 

With  ghosts  of  treaties,  murder'd  'mong  yourselves ; 

Though  each  by  turns  was  knave  and  dupe— what 

then? 

A  Holy  League  would  set  all  straight  again ; 
Like  JUNO'S  virtue,  which  a  dip  or  two 
In  some  bless'd  fountain  made  as  good  as  new  !' 
Most  faithful  Russia— faithful  to  whoe'er 
Could  plunder  best,  and  give  him  amplest  share ; 
Who,  even  when  vaiiquisn'd,  sure  to  gain  his  ends, 
For  want  of  foes  to  rob,  made  free  with/ri«wfc,s 
And,  deepening  still  by  amiable  gradations, 
When  foes  are  stript  of  all,  then  fleeced  relations!1 
Most  mild  and  saintly  Prussia— steep'd  to  the  ears 
In  persecuted  Poland's  blood  and  tears, 
And  now,  with  all  her  harpy  wings  outspread 
O'er  sever'd  Saxony's  devoted  head ! 
Pure  Austria  too,— whose  history  nought  repeats 
But  broken  league*  and  subsidized  defeats  ; 
Whose  faith,  as  Pnnce,  extinguish'd  Venice  shows, 
Whose  faith,  as  man,  a  widow'd  daughter  knows  ! 
And  thou,  oh  England ! — who,  though  once  as  shy 
As  cloister' d  maids,  of  shame  or  perfidy, 

Art  now  broke  m,  and,  thanks  to  C GH, 

In  all  that's  worst  and  falsest  lead's!  the  way ! 

Soch  was  the  pure  divan,  whose  pens  and  wits 

The  escape  from  E**a  frighteft'd  into  fits ; 

Such  were  the  saints  who  doom'd  N**OL**N'S  life, 

In  virtuous  frenzy,  to  the  assassin's  knife ! 

Disgusting  crew  ! — who  would  not  gladly  fly 

To  open,  downright,  bold-faced  tyranny, 

To  honest  guilt,  that  dares  do  all  but  lie, 

From  the  faUe,  juggling  craft  of  men  like  these, 

Tneir  canting  crimes  and  varnish'd  villanies ; — 

These  Holy  Leaguers,  who  then  loudest  boast 

Of  faith  and  honour,  when  they've  stain'd  them  most 

From  whose  affection  men  should  shrink  as  loth 

As  from  their  hate,  for  they'll  be  fleeced  by  both  ; 

Who,  even  while  plundering,  forge  Religion's  nam 

To  frank  their  spoil,  and,  without  fear  or  shame, 

Call  down  the  Holy  Trinity*  to  bless 

Partition  leagues,  and  deeds  of  devilishness! 


2uU«  anni*  in  quodam  Attica>  Come  .ota  virginitate 
neapenwe  ffngitur. . 

8  At  lb«  Peace  of  Tilrit,  where  he  abandoned  hi*  all 
Pm««n,  to  Pranr*,  and  received  a  portion  of  her  territory. 

3  The  seizure  of  Finland  from  Iris  relative  of  Sweden.  ' 

4  Th«  unial  preamble  of  tbete  flagitious  compacts. 
tfce  same  spirit,  Catherine,  hfter  the  dreadful  massacre  o 
WITMW,  ordered  a  solemn  "Uwnkngmng  to  God  in  all  l 
asjMthes,  for  the  MeMtnn  conferred  u:>on  the  Pc.les  ;"  an 
commanded  'hat  each  of  them  should  "swear  fidelity  an 
ley  .Itr  L.  her,  and  to  shed  in  lier  defence  the  la<t  drop 
their  blood,  as  they  should  answer  for  it  to  Cod,  HIX!  h 
tSfiM*  judgment,  killing  the  holy  word  and  cross  of  the 


ut  hold— enough— soon  would  this  swell  of  rage 
'erflow  the  boundaries  of  my  scanty  page,— 
o,  here  I  pause — farewell — another  day 
eturn  we  to  those  Lords  of  prayer  and  prey, 
Those  loathsome  cant,  whose  frauds  by  right  divine 
Reserve  a  lash  —oh .  weightier  far  than  mine . 


LETTER  VIH. 

FROM  MR.  BOB  FUDGE,  TO  RICHARD' 


-,  ESQ. 

EAR  DICK,  while  old  DONALDSON'S'  mending  my 

stays, — 
Vhich  I  knew  would  go  smash  with  me  one  of  these 

days, 

nd,  at  yesterday's  dinner,  when,  full  to  the  throttle. 
fe  lads  had  begun  ourdessertwith  a  bottle 
f  neat  old  Constantia,  on  my  leaning  back 
ust  to  order  another,  by  Jove  I  went  crack ! 
>r,  as  honest  TOM  said,  in  his  nautical  phrase, 
D — n  my  eyes,  BOB,  in  doubling  the  Cape  you've 

miss'd  stays."3 

o,  of  course,  as  no  gentleman 's  seen  out  without  them, 
'hey're  now  at  the  Schneider's' — and,  while  he's 

about  them, 
lere  goes  for  a  letter,  post-haste,  neck  and  crop — 

us  see — in  my  last  I  was — where  did  I  stop  ? 
Oh,  I  know— at  the  Boulevards,  as  motley  a  road  as 

Man  ever  would  wish  a  day's  lounging  upon; 
Vith  its  cafes  and  gardens,  hotels  and  pagodas, 

Its  founts,  and  old  Counts  sipping  beer  in  the  sun  . 
With  its  houses  of  all  architectures  you  please, 
'rom  the  Grecian  and  Gothic,  DICK,  down  by  degrees 
To  the  pure  Hottentot,  or  the  Brighton  Chinese ; 
Where,  in  temples  antique,  you  may  breakfast  or  din- 
ner it, 

l«nch  at  a  mosque,  and  see  Punch  from  a  minaret. 
Then,  DICK,  the  mixture  of  bonnets  and  bowers, 
Of  foliage  and  frippery, /acres  and  flowers, 
reen-grocers,    green-gardens — one    hardly  knowg 

whether 

'Tis  country  or  town,  they're  so  mess'd  up  together ! 
And  there,  if  one  loves  the  romantic,  one  sees 
Jew  clothes-men,  like  shepherds,  reclin'd  under  trees ; 
Or  Quidnuncs,  on  Sunday,  just  fresh  from  the  barber's, 
Enjoying  their  news  and  groseille*  in  those  arbours, 
While  gaily  their  wigs,  like  the  tendrils,  are  curling, 
And  founts  of  red  currant-juice5  round  them  are  purl 
ing. 

Here,  DICK,  arm  m  arm,  as  we  chattering  stray, 
And  receive  a  few  civil  "God-dems"  by  the  way,— 
For  'tis  odd,  these  mounseers, — though  we've  wasted 

our  wealth 
And  our  strength,  till  we've  thrown  ourselves  into 

a  phthisic, 


1  An  English  tailor  at  Paris. 

2  A  ship  is  said  to  miss  stays,  when  she  does  not  obey  the 
helm  in  tacking. 

3  The  dandy  term  for  a  tailor. 

4  "  Lemonade  and  eau-de-groseille  are  measured  out  at 
every  corner  of  every  street,  from  fantastic  vessels,  jingling 
with  bells,  to  thirsty  tradesmen  or  wearied  messengers." — 
See  Lady  Morgan's  lively  description  of  the  streets  of  Paris, 
in  her  very  amusing  work  upon  France,  book  6. 

5  These  jrny,  portable  fountains,  from  which  the  groseille 
water  is  administered,  are  among  the  most  characteristic 
ornamenU  of  the  streets  of  Paris. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


175 


To  cram  down  their  throats  an  old  K**g  for  their 

health, 
As  we  whip  little  children  to  make  them  take 

physic  ; — 

Yet,  spite  of  our  good-natur'd  money  and  slaughter, 
They  hate  us,  as  Beelzebub  hates  holy  water ! 
Rut  who  the  deuce  cares,  DICK,  as  long  as  they 

nourish  us 

Neatly  as  now,  and  good  cookery  flourishes — 
Long  as,  by  bayonets  protected,  we  Natties 
May  have  our  full  fling  at  their  salmis  and  pates  ? 
And,  truly,  1  always  declared  't  would  be  pity 
To  burn  to  the  ground  such  a  choice-feeding  city : 
Had  D.id  but  his  way,  he  'd  have  long  ago  blown 
The  whole  batch  to  Old  Nick — and  the  people,  I  own, 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  their  curst  monkey  looks, 
Well  deserve  a  blow-up — but  then,  damn  it,  their 

cooks ! 
As  to  Marshals,  and  Statesmen,  and  all  their  whole 

lineage, 

For  aught  that  /  care,  you  may  knock  them  to  spinage ; 
But  then,  DICK,  their  cooks — what  a  loss  to  mankind  ! 
What  a  void  in  the  world  would  their  art  leave  behind! 
Their  chronometer  spits — their  intense  salamanders — 
Their  ovens — their  pots,  that  can  soften  old  ganders, 
All  vanish'd  for  ever — their  miracles  o'er, 
And  the  Marmite  PerpetueUe*  bubbling  no  more  ! 

Forbid  it,  forbid  it,  ye  Holy  Allies, 

Take  whatever  ye  fancy — take  statues,  take  money- 
Bat  leave  them,  oh  leave  them  their  Perigueux  pies, 

Their  glorious  goose-livers,  and  high  pickled  tunny!2 
Though  many,  I  own,  are  the  evils  they've  brought  us, 

Though  R**al'y  's  here  on  her  very  last  legs, 
Yet,  who  can  help  loving  the  .and  that  has  taught  us 

Six  hundred  and  eighty-five  ways  to  dress  eggs  ?3 

You  see  DICK,  in  spite  of  their  cries  of  "  God-dem," 
"  Coquin  Anglais,"  et  czt'ra — how  generous  I  am  ! 
And  now  (to  return,  once  again,  to  my  "  Day," 
Which  will  take  us  all  night  to  get  through  in  this  way) 
From  the  Boulevards  we  saunter  thro'  many  a  street, 
Crack  jokes  on  the  natives — mine,  all  very  neat — 
Leave  the  Signs  of  the  Times  to  political  fops, 
And  find  twice  as  much  fun  in  the  Signs  of  the  Shops; — 
Hi-re,  a  L**'s  D*x-h**t — there,  a  Martinmas  goose  • 
(Muchinvoguesinceyoureaglesaregoneoutofuse) — 
Henri  Quatres  in  shoals,  and  of  gods  a  great  many, 
But  Saints  are  the  most  on  hard  duty  of  any  : — 
St.  Tony,  who  used  all  temptations  to  spurn, 
If  erf  hangs  o'er  a  beer-shop,  and  tempts  in  his  turn  ; 
While  there.  St.  Venecia4  sits  hemming  and  frilling  her 
Holy  mnuckoir  o'er  the  door  of  some  milliner; — 
St.  Austin 's  the  "  outward  and  visible  sign 


1  Cettc  mervcilleuse  Marmite  Perpetuelle,  stir  IP  feu  de- 
puis  P'I'-S  d'uii  siccle;  qui  a  dmine  le  jour  :'i  plus  de  300,000 
chapons." — AiiiKin.  des   Gourmands,   Uuatrieme   Annee, 
p.  15-2. 

2  Le  thon  marine,  one  of  the  most  favourite  and  indigpsti- 
bl"  hnrf-ii'iriirrr*.     This  fish  is  taken  chiefly  in  the  Golfe 
de  Lvon.     "  La  tete  et  le  dessous  du  ventre  soni  les  parties 
le  plus  recherciiees  des  gourmets." — Cuurs  Ga.stronomique, 
p.  2.V.!. 

3  Tne  exact  mimoer  mentioned  by  M.  d<>  la  Reyniere — 
"  On  eonnoit  en  France  685  manieres  differentes  d'accom- 
moder  !es  ipufs;  s'uis  compter  celles  que  noa  savans  imagi- 
pent  chaquc  jour." 

4  Veronica,  the  Saint  of  the  Holy  Handkerchief,  is  also, 
under  the  name  of  Venisse  or  Venecia,  the  tutelary  saint  of 
milliners. 


Of  an  inward"  cheap  dinner  and  pint  of  small  wine ; 
While  St.  Denis  hangs  out  o'er  some  hatter  often, 
And  possessing,  good  bishop,  no  head  of  his  own,1 
Takes  an  interest  in  Dandies,  who  've  got — next  to 

none. 
Then  we  stare  into  shops — read  the  evening's  af 

Jiches — 

Or,  if  some,  who  're  Lotharios  in  feeling,  should  wjsh 
Just  to  flirt  with  a  luncheon  (a  devilish  bad  trick, 
As  it  takes  off  the  bloom  of  one's  appetite  Dick,) 
To  the  Passage  des — what  d'ye  call 't — des  Panora- 
mas,3 

We  quicken  our  pace,  there  heartily  cram  as 
Seducing  young  pates,  as  ever  could  cozen 
One  out  of  one's  appetite,  down  by  the  dozen. 
We  vary  of  course — petits  pates  do  one  day, 
The  next  we've  our  lunch  with  the  Gauffrier  Hollan- 

dais,3 

That  popular  artist,  who  brings  out,  like  Sc — TT, 
His  delightful  productions  so  quick,  hot  and  hot ; 
Not  the  worse  for  the  exquisite  comment  that  follows, 
Divine  maresquino,  which — Lord,  how  one  swallows ! 

Once  more,  then,  we  saunter  forth  after  our  snack,  01 
Subscribe  a  few  francs  for  the  price  of  &  fiacre, 
And  drive  far  away  to  the  old  Montagnes  Russes, 
Where  we  find  a  few  twirls  in  the  car  of  much  use 
To  regenerate  the  hunger  and  thirst  of  us  sinners, 
Who  've  lapsed  into  snacks — the  perdition  of  dinners 
And  here,  Dick — in  answer  to  one  of  your  queries, 
About  which  we  Gourmands,  have  had  much  dis 

cussion — 
I've  tried  all  these  mountains,  Swiss,  French,  and 

Ruggieri's, 
And  think,  for  digestion,''  there's  none  like  tha 

Russian ; 
So  equal  the  motion — so  gentle,  though  fleet — 

It,  in  short,  such  a  light  and  salubrious  scamper  is, 

That  take  whom  you  please — take  old  L****  D ****** 

And  stuff  him — ay,  up  to  the  neck — with  stew'd 

lampreys,* 
So  wholesome  these  Mounts,  such  a  solvent  I've  found 

them, 

That,  let  me  but  rattle  the  Monarch  well  down  them 
The  fiend,  Indigestion,  would  fly  far  away, 
And  the  regicide  lampreys6  be  foil'd  of  their  prey ! 


1  St.  Denis  walked  three  miles  after  his  head  was  cutoff. 
The  mot  of  a  woman  of  wit  upon  this  legend  is  well  ki.own: 
"  Je  le  crois  bien;  en  pareil  cas,  il  u'y  a  que  le  premier  pal 
qui  coute." 

2  Off  the  Boulevards  r  aliens. 

3  In  the  Palais  Royal;  successor,  I  believe,  to  the  Fla- 
mand,  so  long  celebrated  for  the  moillrvx  of  his  Gauffres. 

4  Doctor  Cotterel  recommends,  for  this  purpose,  the  !!.•;.  u- 


ty 


jon,  or  French  mountains,  and  calls  them  "  une  inedecii 

aerieime,  cou'eui  dn  rose  ;"  but  I  own  I  prefer  'he  authori 

nl'  Mr.  Holi,  who  scorns,  from  the  following  note  found  in  his 

own  Imml-wriung,  to  have  studied  all  these  mountains  very 

carefully: 

.IffTnoraitrfti.  —  The  Swiss  little  notice  deserves, 

While  llio  fall  at  Knssieri's  is  death  to  weak  nerves; 

And  (whate'er  Doctor  Cotterel  may  write  on  'he  question, 

Tlie  turn  at  the  Beaujon  's  loo  sharp  for  digestion. 

I  doubt  whether  Mr.  Bob  is  quite  correct  in  accenting  fie 

scronil  syllable  of  Rnjrsieri. 

5  A  ilish  s<>  im!  »e«tible,  that  a  late  novelist,  at  the  emf  if 
his  b"ok,  Could  iniMgineno  more  summary  mode  ol 

rid  of  all  his  he-oes  and  heroines  than  by  a  hearty  supper  o| 
stpwfil  lamprrvs. 

6  They  killed  Henry  I.  of  England.—  "A  food  (sav«  Hurof 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Such,  Dick,  Kre  the  Clascal  sports  that  content  us, 
T.1I  five  o'clock  bring,  on  that  hour  so  momentous 

Th^  epoch —but  woa !  my  lad-here  come,,  the 

Schi 
And,  curse  him,  ha.  made  the  stays  three  inches 

Too  wide  by  an  inch  and  a  half-what  a  Guy  ! 
But,  no  matter-'t  will  all  be  set  right  by-and-by- 
As  we've  MassinotV  eloquent  carte  to  eat  still  up, 
An  inch  and  a  half's  but  a  trifle  to  fill  up. 
So-not  to  lose  time,  Dick-here  goes  for  the  task ; 
AH  revoir,  my  old  boy-of  the  gods  I  but  ask, 
That  my  life,  like  "  the  Leap  of  the  German,     may  be, 
"  Du  lit  a  la  table,  de  la  table  au  lit  1" 

R.  F. 


LETTER  K. 

r»0*  PHIL.  FPDGS,  ISO.  TO   THE   LORD  VISCOUNT 
C — ST GH. 

Mr  Lord,  the  Instructions,  brought  to-day, 
"I  shall  in  all  my  best  obey." 

Your  Lordship  talks  and  writes  so  sensibly ! 
And— whatsoe'er  some  wags  may  say— 

Oh  !  not  at  all  incomprehensibly 

I  feel  the  inquiries  in  your  letter 

About  my  health  and  French  most  flattering ; 
Thank  ye,  my  French,  though  sornewhit  better, 

Is  «n  the  whole-  but  weak  and  smattering : 
Nothing,  of  course,  that  can  compare 
With  his  who  made  the  Congress  stare  ; 
(A  certain  Lord  we  need  not  name,) 

Who,  c»-n  in  French,  would  have  his  trope 
AnJ  talk  of  "batir  un  systeme 

Sur  I'etruilUrre  de  1' Europe  !" 
Sweet  metaphor ! — and  then  the  epistle 
Which  lid  the  Saxon  King  go  whistle, 
That  te\.oer  letter  to  "  Mon  Prince,"1 
Which  show'd  alike  thy  French  and  sense ; — 
Oh,  no,  my  Lord,  there 's  none  can  do 
Or  say  un- English  tilings  like  you ; 
And,  if  the  schemes  that  fill  thy  breast 

Could  bat  a  vent  congenial  seek, 
And  use  the  tongue  that  suits  them  best, 

What  charming  Turkish  would' st  thou  speak ! 
Bat  M  for  me,  a  Frenchless  grub, 

At  Congress  never  born  to  stammer, 
Nor  learn,  like  thee,  my  Lord,  to  snub 

Fallen  monarchs,  out  of  Chambaud's  grammar — 
Bless  you,  you  do  not,  cannot  know 
How  far  a  little  French  will  go  ; 
For  all  one's  stock,  one  need  but  draw 

On  tome  half  dozen  words  like  these — 
Comme  ca — pur-la — la-bat — ah  !  ah  ! 

They'll  take  you  all  through  France  with  ease. 


E 


rely,)  which  always  (freed  better  with  hi*  palate  tha 


1  A  homo*  Rnlaorateur — DOW  Dupont. 

9  An  old  French  saying :— "  Faire  le  laut  de  1'AIlemand 
do  lit  A  la  table,  el  d<-  la  table  au  lit" 

3  Tbe  eeklirated  letter  to  Prince  Haidenburgh  (written 
however,  I  believe,  originally  in  English,)  in  which  his  Lord 
•Jup,  proleauag  to  tee  "no  moral  or  political  objection"  t 
HM  di«iMinberfrtent  of  Satony,  denounced  the  unfWtnri.it 
KJOC,  a»  "  not  only  the  mo»t  devoted,  but  the  moat  favouret 
•f  Buonaparte's  vaxala." 


our  Lordship's  praises  of  the  scraps 

1  sent  you  from  my  journal  lately, 
Enveloping  a  few  l.iced  caps 

For  Lady  C.)  del  ght  me  greatly. 
Her  flattering  sp  <  c  — "  what  pretty  things 

One  finds  in  Mr.  FUDGE'S  pages  !" 
s  praise  which  (as  some  poet  sings) 

Would  pay  one  for  the  toil  of  ages 

Tius  flatter'd,  1  presume  to  send 
A  few  more  extracts  by  a  friend  ; 
And  I  should  hope  they'll  be  no  less 
Approved  of  than  my  last  MS  — 
lie  former  ones,  1  fear,  were  creas'd, 

As  BIDDY  round  the  caps  would  pin  them, 
Jut  these  will  come  to  hand,  at  least 
Unrumpled,  for— there's  nothing  in  them. 

Extracts  from  Mr.  Fwlse's  Journal,  addressed  to 
LordC. 

Aug.  10 
WENT  to  the  Mad-house — saw  the  man1 

Who  thinks,  poor  wretch,  that,  while  the  Fiend 
Of  Discord  here  full  riot  ran, 

He  like  the  rest  was  guillotined  : — 
Jut  that  when,  under  BONEV'S  reign 

(A  more  discreet,  though  quite  as  strong  one) 
rhe  heads  were  all  restored  again, 

He,  in  the  scramble,  got  a  wrong  one. 
Accordingly,  he  still  cries  out 

This  strange  head  fits  him  most  unpleasantly ; 
And  always  runs,  poor  devil,  about, 

Inquiring  for  his  own  incessantly  ! 

While  to  his  case  a  tear  I  dropp'd, 

And  saunter'd  home,  thought  I — ye  gods! 
•low  many  heads  might  thus  be  swopp'd. 

And,  after  all,  not  make  much  odds  ! 
For  instance,  there 's  V — s — TT — T'S  head — 
"Tarn  carum"*  it  may  well  be  said) 
T  by  some  curious  chance  it  came 

To  settle  on  BILL  SOAMES'S'  shoulders, 
The  effect  would  turn  out  much  the  same 

On  all  respectable  cash-holders  : 
Except  that  while  in  its  new  socket, 

The  head  was  planning  schemes  to  win 
A  zigzag  way  into  one's  pocket, 

The  hands  would  plunge  directly  in. 

Good  Viscount  S — DM — H,  too,  instead 
Of  his  own  grave  Respected  head, 
Might  wear  (for  ought  I  see  that  bars) 

Old  Lady  WILHELMINA  FRUMP'S — 
So,  while  the  hand  sign'd  Circulars, 

The  head  might  lisp  out  "What  is  trumps?"— 
The  R — G — T'S  brains  could  we  transfer 
To  some  robust  man-milliner, 
The  shop,  the  shears,  the  lace,  and  ribbon 
Would  go,  I  doubt  not,  quite  as  glib  on ; 
And,  vice  versa,  take  the  pains 
To  give  the  P — CE  the  shopman's  brains, 


1  This  extraorci.nary  madman  is,  I  believe,  in  the 

He  imagines,  exactly  :»  Mr  Finite  states  it,  that,  when  the 
heads  of  those  who  hail  been  guillotined  were  restored,  to 
by  mi-take  got  some  other  person's  instead  of  hU  own 

2  Tam  cari  capita. —  Horat. 

3  A  celebrated  pickpocket 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


One  only  change  from  thence  would  flow — 
Ribbons  would  not  be  wasted  so ! 

T  was  thus  I  ponder'd  on,  my  Lord ; 

And,  even  at  night,  when  laid  in  bed, 
I  found  myself,  before  I  snored, 

Thus  chopping,  swopping  head  for  head. 
At  length  I  thought,  fantastic  elf! 
How  such  a  change  would  suit  myself. 
'Twixt  sleep  and  waking,  one  by  one, 

With  various  pericraniums  saddled, 
At  last  I  tried  your  Lordship's  on, 

And  then  I  grew  completely  addled — 
Forgot  all  other  heads,  od  rot  'em! 
And  slept,  and  dreamt  that  I  was — BOTTOM. 

Aug.  21. 

Walk'd  out  with  daughter  Bir> — was  show 
The  House  of  Commons  and  the  Throne, 
Whose  velvet  cushion  's  just  the  same1 
N — POL — x  sat  on — what  a  shnme  ! 
Oh,  can  we  wonder,  best  of  speechers 

When  L s  seated  thus  we  see, 

That  France's  "  fundamental  features" 

Are  much  the  same  they  used  to  be ! 
However, — God  preserve  the  throne, 

And  cushion  too — and  keep  them  free 
From  accidents  which  have  been  known 

To  happen  even  to  Royalty  !2 

Aug.  28. 

Read,  at  a  stall  (for  oft  one  pops 
On  something  at  these  stalls  and  shops, 
That  does  to  quote,  and  gives  one's  book 
A  classical  and  knowing  look. — 
Indeed  I've  found,  in  Latin,  lately, 
A  course  of  stalls  improves  me  greatly.) 
'Twas  thus  I  read,  that,  in  the  East, 

A  monarch's  fat 's  a  serious  matter ; 
And  once  in  every  year,  at  least, 

He's  weigh'd — to  see  if  he  gets  fatter:3 
Then,  if  a  pound  or  two  he  be 
Increased,  there  's  quite  a  jubilee  !4 

Suppose,  my  Lord, — and  far  from  me 
To  treat  such  things  with  levity — 
But  just  suppose  the  R — G — T'S  weight 
Were  made  thus  an  affair  of  state; 
And,  every  sessions,  at  the  close,— 

'Stead  of  a  speech,  which,  all  can  see,  is 


1  Liegiiiinary  yei  i 

2  I  am  afraid  that  Mr.  Fudge  alludes  here  to  a  veryawk- 
ard  accident,  which  is  well  known  to  have  happened  to 

poor  L — s  le  D — s — e,  some  years  since,  at  one  of  the 
R — g — t's  Ffites.  He  was  sitting  next  our  gracious  Queen 
at  the  time. 

3  "  The  third  day  of  the  Feast  the  King  causeth  himself 
to  be  weighed  with  great  care." — F.  Bernier't  Voyage  to 
Surat,  etc. 

4  "  I  remember,"  says  Bernier,  "  that  all  the  Omrahs  ex- 
pressed great  joy  that  the  king  weighed  two  pounds  more 
now  than  the  year  preceding." — Another  author  tells  us  that 
"Fatness,  as   well  as  a  very  large   head,   is  considered, 
throughout  India,  as  one  of  the  most  precious  gifts  of  Hea- 
ven.    An  enormous  skull  is  absolutely  revered,  and  the  hap- 
py owner  is  looked  up  to  as  a  superior  being.    To  a  Prince 
ajoulter  head  is  invaluable." — Oriental  f\cld  Sports. 

rf 


Heavy  and  dull  enough,  God  knows — 

We  were  to  try  how  heavy  he  is. 
Much  would  it  glad  all  hearts  to  hear 

That,  while  the  Nation's  Revenue 
Loses  so  many  pounds  a-year, 

The  P E,  God  bless  him !  gains  a  few 

With  bales  of  muslins,  chintzes,  spices, 

I  see  the  Easterns  weigh  their  kings ; — 
But,  for  the  R — G — T,  my  advice  is, 

We  should  throw  in  much  heavier  things : 
For  instance 's  quarto  volumes, 

WTiich,  though  not  spices,  serve  to  wrap  them ; 
Dominie  ST — DD — T'S  daily  columns, 

"  Prodigious !'' — in,  of  course,  we'd  clap  them — 

Letters,  that  C — RTW T'S  pen  indites, 

In  which,  with  logical  confusion, 
The  Major  like  a  Minor  writes, 

And  never  comes  to  a  conclusion : — 
Lord  S — M — RS'  pamphlet — or  his  head — 
(Ah,  that  were  worth  its  weight  in  lead !) 
Along  with  which  we  in  may  whip,  sly, 
The  Speeches  of  SIR  JOHN  C — x  H — ft — 8LT  • 
That  Baronet  of  many  words, 
Who  loves  so,  in  the  house  of  Lords, 
To  whisper  Bishops — and  so  nigh 

Unto  their  wigs  in  whispering  goes, 
That  you  may  always  know  him  by 

A  patch  of  powder  on  his  nose ! — 
If  this  won't  do,  we  in  must  cram 
The  "Reasons"  of  Lord  B — CK — GH — M: 
(A  book  his  Lordship  means  to  write. 

Entitled  "Reasons  for  my  Ratting:") 
Or,  should  these  prove  too  small  and  light, 

His 's  a  host — we'll  bundle  that  in ! 

And,  gtitt  should  all  these  masses  fail 
To  stir  the  R — G — T'S  ponderous  scale, 
Why  then,  my  Lord,  in  Heaven's  name, 

Pitch  in,  without  reserve  or  stint, 
The  whole  of  R — GL — r's  beauteous  Dame — 

If  that  won't  raise  him,  devil 's  in't ! 

Aug.  3f 
Consulted  MURPHY'S  TACITUS 

About  those  famous  spies  at  Rome,1 
Whom  certain  Whigs — to  make  a  fuss — 
Describe  as  much  resembling  us,2 

Informing  gentlemen,  at  home. 
But,  bless  the  fools,  they  can't  be  serious, 
To  say  Lord  S— DM — TH'S  like  TIBERIUS  ' 
What !  he,  the  Peer,  that  injures  no  man, 
Like  that  severe  blood-thirsty  Roman ! 
'T  is  true,  the  Tyrant  lent  an  ear  to 
All  sorts  of  spies — so  doth  the  Peer,  too. 
'T  is  true,  my  Lord's  Elect  tell  fibs, 
And  deal  in  perjury — ditto  TIB'S. 


1  The  name  of  the  first  worthy  who  set  up  the  trade  of 
informer  at  Rome,  (to  whom  our  Olivers  and  Casllcsei 
ought  to  erect  a  statue)  was  Romanus  Ilispo; — "qui  for- 
mam  vile  iniit,  quam  postea  celebrem  miscritB  temporum  et 
-.udacije  hominum  fecerunt." — Tacit.  Annal.  1.  74. 


nuuies  10  i^orn  oiamooui  s  agenis  : —  socivjs  (»njs  j  vruui 
jf  one  of  them)  libidinum  et  necessitatum,  quo  plttnb*. 
indiciis  Migartt," 


178 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


T  is  true  the  Tyrant  screen'd  and  hid 
Hi*  rogues  from  justice1— ditto  SID. 
•T  M  true,  the  Peer  u  grave  and  glib 
At  moral  speeches— ditto  TIB.' 
Ti»  true,  the  feat*  the  tyrant  did 
Were  in  his  dotage — ditto  SID. 

So  far,  I  own,  the  parallel 

'Twin  TIB.  and  SID.  goes  vastly  well ; 

But  there  are  points  in  TIB.  that  strike 

My  humble  mind  as  much  more  like 

Yourtdf,  my  dearest  Lord,  or  him 

Of  the  India  Board — that  soul  of  whim ! 

Like  him,  TIBERIUS  loved  his  joke,1 

On  matters  too  where  few  can  bear  one ; 
E.  g.  a  man,  cut  up,  or  broke 

Upon  the  wheel — a  devilish  fair  one ! 
Your  common  fractures,  wounds,  and  fits, 
Are  nothing  to  such  wholesale  wits  • 
But,  let  the  sufferer  gasp  for  life, 

The  joke  is  then  worth  any  money  ; 
And,  if  he  writhe  beneath  a  knife, — 

Oh  dear,  that  *s  something  quite  too  funny. 
Tn  this  respect,  my  Lord,  you  see 
The  Roman  wag  and  ours  agree : 
Now,  as  to  your  resemblance — mum — 
This  parallel  we  need  not  follow  ;* 
Though  't  is,  in  Ireland,  said  by  some 

Your  Lordship  beats  TIBERIUS  hollow; 
Whips,  chains,— bat  these  are  things  too  serious 

For  me  to  mention  or  discuss ; 
Whene'er  your  Lordship  acts  TIBERIUS, 

PHIL.  FUDGE'S  pan  is  Tacitus! 

Sept.  2. 

Was  thinking,  had  Lord  S — DM — TH  got 
Up  any  decent  kind  of  plot 
Against  the  winter-time— if  not, 
Alas,  alas,  our  ruin 's  fated ; 
All  done  up,  and  rpiflicaled! 
Ministers  and  all  their  vassals, 
Dow*  from  C — TL — GH  to  CASTLES,— 
Unless  we  can  kick  up  a  riot, 
Ne'er  can  hope  for  peace  or  quiet ! 

What 's  to  be  done  ?— Spa-Fields  was  clever ; 

But  even  that  brought  gibes  and  mockings 
Upon  our  heads — 90,  mem. — must  never 

Keep  ammunition  in  old  stockings , 
For  fear  some  wag  should,  in  his  curst  head, 
Take  it  «,  say  our  force  was  worsted. 
Mem  too — when  SID.  an  army  raises, 
k  ••*  not  be  "  incog."  like  Bayet't ; 


1  "  Neqoe  taraen  id  Sereno  ooze  fait,  quern  odium.  puo. 
bfum  tuturem /ae«t«U.    Nun  at  qui.  di.trictior  accuwtor 
i  '^"w^i  «•«*•"--**««/.  lib.  4,  36.-Or,  M  it  is 
tnuMtad  by  Mr.  Fudge',  friend,  Murphy  :-"  This  dar  ne 
J  the  protection  of 


?'7.eTen  c?,D,feI?,DP°n  one  of  hit  speeches  the  eni- 

rSS£  Mr- Fudge  mi«ht  ha*e  added  <°  C 

that  Tiborms  was  a     o  ' 


•mrtlH  mat  iibcnn.  was  a  good  private  character :- 
hecranam  nu  famiaae  i*»mdfrnat\u.» 

IxUr"!?  Iftf0*^  °/  rwemhlllnce  between  Tiberius  and 
which  Mr.  Fodge  mifkt  bare  mentioned-"  .u,- 
•**ft  temper  rt  obscyra  terbm." 


Nor  must  the  ueneral  be  a  hobbling 
Professor  of  the  art  of  Cobbling ; 
Lest  men,  who  perpetrate  such  puns, 

Should  say,  with  Jacobitic  grin^ 
He  felt,  from  soleing  WcBugtim'tf1 

A  Wellington's  great  soul  within  ! 
Nor  must  an  old  Apothecary 

Go  take  the  Tower,  for  lack  of  pence, 
With  (what  these  wags  would  call,  so  merry) 

Physical  force  and  phial-ence ! 
No — no — our  Plot,  my  Lord,  must  be 
Next  time  contrived  more  skilfully. 
John  Bull,  I  grieve  to  say,  is  growing 
So  troublesomely  sharp  and  knowing, 
So  wise — in  short,  so  Jacobin — 
'T  is  monstrous  bard  to  take  him  in. 

Sept.  6 
Heard  of  the  fate  of  our  ambassador 

In  China,  and  was  sorely  nettled ; 
But  think,  my  Lord,  we  should  not  pass  it  o'er 

Till  all  this  matter 's  fairly  settled ; 
And  here  's  the  mode  occurs  to  me  : 
As  none  of  our  nobility 
Though  for  their  own  most  gracious  King 
They  would  kiss  hands,  or — any  tiling) 

be  persuaded  to  go  through 
fbis  farce-like  trick  of  the  A'o-fou  ; 
And  as  these  Mandarins  won't  bend, 

Without  some  mumming  exhibition, 
Suppose,  my  Lord,  you  were  to  send 

GRIMALDI  to  them  on  a  mission  : 
As  Leg-ate,  JOE  could  play  his  part, 
And  if,  in  diplomatic  art, 
[Tie  "volto  sciolto"2  's  meritorious, 
jsi  JOE  but  grin,  he  has  it,  glorious ! 

A  title  for  him  's  easily  made ; 
And,  by  the  by,  one  Christmas  time, 

f  I  remember  right,  he  play'd 

Lord  MOKLKT  in  some  pantomime  ; — J 
As  Earl  of  M — RL — v,  then,  gazette  him, 

f  t'other  Earl  of  >I — RL — y  '11  let  him. 

And  why  should  not  the  world  be  blest 

Vith  two  such  stars,  for  East  and  West  ?) 

Tien,  when  before  the  Yellow  Screen 
He  's  brought — and,  sure,  the  very  essence 

)f  etiquette  would  be  that  scene 
Of  JOE  in  the  Celestial  Presence  !— 

le  thus  should  say : — "  Duke  Ho  and  Soo, 

11  play  what  tricks  you  please  for  you, 

f  you'll,  in  turn,  but  do  for  me 

L  few  small  tricks  you  now  shall  see. 

'  I  consult  your  Emperor's  liking, 
\t  least  you'll  do  the  same  for  wiy  Kin?." 

te  then  should  give  them  nine  such  grins 

s  would  astound  even  Mandarins  ; 


1  Short  boots,  ro  called. 

2  The  open  countenance,  recommended  by  Lord  Che»- 
rfi.'M. 

3  Mr.  Fudge  is  a  little  mistaken  here.     It  was  nut  Gri- 
aldi,  but  some  very  interior  performer,  who  played  this 

art  of  "  Lord  Morlfi"  in  the  pantomime, — so  much  to  tho 
jrror  of  the  distinguished  Earl  of  that  name.  The  espos- 
latory  letters  of  the  Noble  Earl  to  Mr.  Fl-rr-is,  upon  thu 
ulgar  profanntion  of  his  spic-and-span-new  title,  will  I 
•ual,  some  time  or  other,  be  given  to  the  worl/i. 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


179 


And  throw  such  somersets  before 

The  picture  of  King  GEORGE  (God  bless  him  !) 
As,  should  Duke  Ho  but  try  them  o'er, 

Would,  by  COXFUCHJS,  much  distress  him ! 

I  start  this  merely  as  a  hint, 
But  think  you'll  find  some  wisdom  in  't ; 
And,  should  you  follow  up  '.he  job, 
My  son,  my  Lord  (you  know  poor  BOB,) 
Would  in  the  suite  be  glad  to  go, 
And  help  his  Excellency  JOE  ; — 
At  lea-it,  like  noble  AMU — RST'S  son, 
The  lad  will  do  to  practise  on.' 


LETTER  X. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY  . 

WELL,  it  if!  n't  the  King:,  after  all,  my  dear  creature  ! 
But  don't  you  go  laugh,  now — there's  nothing  to 

quiz  in  't — 

For  grandeur  of  air  and  for  grimness  of  feature, 
He  might  be  a  King,  Doll,  though,  hang  him,  he 

is  n't. 

At  first  I  felt  hurt,  for  I  wish'd  it,  I  own, 
If  for  no  other  cause  than  to  vex  Miss  MALOXE, — 
'The  great  heiress,  you  know,  of  Shandangan,  who  's 

here, 

Showing  off  with  such  airs  and  a  real  Cashmere,2 
While  mine's  but  a  paltry  ojd  rabbit-skin,  dear  !) 
But  says  1'a,  aftor  deeply  considering  the  thing, 
"  I  am  just  us  well  pleased  it  should  not  be  the  King; 
As  I  think  for  my  BIDDY,  so  gentille  andjolie, 
Whose  charms  may  their  price  in  an  honest  way 

fetch, 
That    a    Brandenburg — (what    is    a    Brandenburg, 

DOLLY  ?)— 

Would  be,  after  all,  no  such  very  great  catch. 
If  the  R — G — T,  indeed — "  added  he,  looking  sly — 
(You  remember  that  comical  squint  of  his  eye) 
But  I  stopp'd  him — "  La,  Pa,  how  can  you  say  so, 
When  the  R — G — T  loves  none  but  old  women  you 

know  !" 

Which  is  fact,  my  dear  Dolly — we,  girls  of  eighteen, 
And  so  slim — Lord,  he'd  think  us  not  fit  to  be  seen  ; 
And  would  like  us  much  better  as  old — ay,  as  old 
As  that  Countess  of  Desmond,  of  whom  I've  been  told 
That  she  lived  to  much  more  than  a  hundred  and  ten, 
And  was  kill'd  by  a  fall  from  a  cherry-tree  then  ! 
What  a  frisky  old  girl  !  but — to  come  to  my  lover, 

Who,  though  not  a  king,  is  a  hero  I'll  swear, — 
You  shall  hear  all  that 's  happen'd  just  briefly  run 

over, 
Since  that  happy  night,  when  we  whisk'd  through 

the  air ! 

Let  me  see — 't  was  on  Saturday — yes,  Dolly,  yes — 
'•'rom  that  evening  I  date  the  first  dawn  of  my  bliss ; 
When  we  both  rattled  off  in  that  dear  little  carriage, 
Whose  journey,  Bob  says,  is  so  like  love  and  marriage, 


1  See  Mr.  Kllis's  account  of  the  Embury. 

2  SOP   l.iuly   Mnrsi'n'-i   "  Knincc"  for  tin-  anecdote,   told 
her  by  Madame  do  (ienlis,  of  the  ynun?  gentleman  whose 
love  WHS  cured  by  rinding  that  his  mistress  wore  a  shawl 
"  neixu  de  lapin." 


"  Beginning  gay,  desperate,  dashing  down-hilly; 

And  ending  as  dull  as  a  six-inside  Dilly  !"' 

Well,  scarcely  a  wink  did  I  sleep  the  night  through, 

And,  next  day,  having  scribbled  my  letter  to  you, 

With  a  heart  full  of  hope  this  sweet  fellow  to  meet, 

Set  out  with  Papa,  to  see  L****  D****** 

Make  his  bow  to  some  half-dozen  women  and  boys, 

Who  get  up  a  small  concert  of  shrill  Vive  le  **** — 

And  how  vastly  genteeler,  my  dear,  even  this  is, 

Than  vulgar  Pall-Mall's  oratorio  of  hisses ! 

The  gardens  seem'd  full — so,  of  course,  we  walk'd 

o'er  'em, 

'Mong  orange-trees,  clipp'd  into  town-bred  decorum. 
And  Daphnes,  and  vases,  and  many  a  statue 
There  staring,  with  not  even  a  stitch  on  them,  at  you  ! 
The  ponds,  too,  we  view'd — stood  awhile  on  the  brink 

To  contemplate  the  play  of  those  pretty  gold 

fishes — 
"Live  Bullion"  says  merciless  Bob,  "which  I  think, 

Would,  if  coin'd,  with  a  little  mint  sauce,  be  deli- 
cious !" 

But  what,  Dolly,  what  is  the  gay  orange-grove, 

Or  gold  fishes,  to  her  that 's  in  search  of  her  love  1 

In  vain  did  I  wildly  explore  every  chair 

Where  a  thing  like  a  man  was — no  iover  sat  there  ! 

In  vain  my  fond  eyes  did  I  eagerly  cost 

At  the  whiskers,  mustachios,  and  wigs  that  went  past, 

To  obtain,  if  I  could,  but  a  glance  at  that  curl, 

But  a  glimpse  of  those  whiskers,  as  sacred,  my  girl, 

As  the  lock  that,  Pa  says,2  is  to  Mussulmen  given, 

For  the  angel  to  hold  by  that  "  lugs  them  to  heaven!" 

Alas,  there  went  by  me  full  many  a  quiz, 

And  mustachios  in  plenty,  but  nothing  like  his  ! 

Disappointed,  I  found  myself  sighing  out "  well-a-day, 

Thought  of  the  words  of  T — M  M — RE'S  Irish  melody, 

Something  about  the  "green  spot  of  delight,"3 

(Which  you  know,  Captain  Macintosh  sung  to  us 

one  day  :) 
Ah,  Dolly !  my  "  spot"  was  that  Saturday  night. 

And  its  verdure,  how  fleeting,  had  wither'd  by  rfun 
day! 

We  dined  at  a  tavern — La,  what  do  I  say  1 

If  Bob  was  to  know  ! — a  Restaurateur' g,  dear; 
Where  your properest  ladies  go  dine  every  day, 

And  drink  Burgundy  out  of  large  tumblers,  hkt 

beer. 
Fine  Bob  (for  he  's  really  grown  su^er-fine) 

Condescended,  for  once,  to  make  one  of  the  party ; 
Of  course,  though  but  three,  we  had  dinner  for  nine, 

And,  in  spite  of  my  grief,  love,  I  own  I  ate  hearty 


1  The  cars,  on  the  return,  are  dragged  up  slowly  by  a 

chain. 

12  For  this  scrap  of  knowledge  "  Pa"  was,  I  suspect,  in- 
Jebted  to  a  note  upon  Volaev's  Knins:  a  book  which  usuiilly 
ti-.!  ins  part  of  a  Jacobin's  library,  and  with  which  Mi\ 
Pudge  must  have  been  well  acquainted  at  the  time  when  he 
wrote  his  "  Down  with  Kings,"  etc.  The  note  in  Volney 
•AS: — "  It  is  by  this  tuft  of  hair  (on  the  trown  of 
the  head,)  worn  by  the  majority  of  Mussulmans,  that  the 
Annei  of  llie  Tomb  is  to  take  the  elect  and  tarry  them  lu 
1'atiidise." 

3  The  young  lady,  whose  memory  is  not  very  «orrccf 
must  allude,  I  think,  to  the  following  lines: 

Oh  !  that  fairy  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Which  Kn»t  Love  traced; 
Still  it  lingi-rins  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  Memory's  waste  ' 


ISO 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Indeed,  Doll,  I  know  not  how  't  is,  but  in  grief, 
I  hare  always  found  eating  a  wondrous  relief; 
And  Bob,  who  '•  in  lore,  said  he  felt  the  same 
"My  ugh*,"  wid  he  "  ceased  with  the  first  glass  I 

drank  you; 

The  limb  made  me  tranquil,  the  puffs  made  me  light, 
And  now  that 's  all  o'ei — why,  I'm— pretty  well, 
thank  you !" 

To  fitf  great  annoyance,  we  sat  rather  lat*^ 
For  Bobby  and  Pa  had  a  furious  debate 
About  singing  and  cookery, — Bobby,  of  course, 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  An  in  full  force ; 
And  Pa  saying,  "  God  only  knows  which  is  worst, 

Tbe  French  singers  or  cooks,  but  I  wish  us  well 

orer  it — 
What  with  old  Lais  and  Ve'ry,  I'm  curst 

If  »ty  head  or  my  stomach  will  ever  recover  it !" 
T  was  dark  when  we  got  to  the  Boulevards  to  stroll, 

And  in  vain  did  I  look  'mong  the  street  Macaronis, 
When  sudden  it  struck  me— last  hope  of  my  soul — 

That  some  angel  might  take  the  dear  man  to  Tor- 

toni's!1 
We  entcr'd — and  scarcely  had  Bob,  with  an  air, 

For  a  ffrappe  a  ta  jardiniere  call'd  to  the  waiters, 
When,  oh !  Doll,  I  saw  him — my  hero  was  there 

(For  I  knew  his  white  small-clothes  and  brown 

leather  gaiters,) 

A  group  of  fair  statues  from  Greece  smiling  o'er  him,2 
And  lots  of  red  currant-juice  sparkling  before  him  ! 
Oh  Dolly,  these  heroes — what  creatures  they  are ! 

In  the  boudoir  the  same  as  in  fields  full  of  slaughter ; 
At  cool  in  the  Beaujon's  precipitous  car 

As  when  safe  at  Tortoni's,  o'er  iced  currant-water! 
lie  join'd  us — imagine,  dear  creature  my  ecstasy — 
Join'd  by  the  man  I'd  have  broken  ten  necks  to  see  ! 
Bob  wish'd  to  treat  him  with  punch  a  la  glace, 
But  the  sweet  fellow  swore  that  my  beanie,  my  grace, 
And  my  je-ne-*aix-quoi  (then  his  whiskers  he  twirl'd) 
Wrrp,  to  Awn,  "onde  top  of  allponch  inde  vorld." — 
How  pretty  !— though  oft  (as,  of  course,  it  must  be) 
Both  his  French  and  his  English  are  Greek,  Doll,  to 

me. 

But,  in  short,  I  felt  happy  as  ever  fond  heart  did ; 
And,  happier  still,  when  't  was  fix'd^re  we  parted, 
That,  if  the  next  day  should  be  pastoral  weather, 
We  all  would  set  off  in  French  buggies,  together, 
To  tee  Mmtmorency — that  place  which,  you  know, 
Is  to  famous  for  cherries  and  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau. 
Ms  card  then  he  gave  us — the  name,  rather  creased — 
But 't  was  Calicot — something — a  colonel,  at  least ! 

After  which — sure  there  never  was  hero  so  civil he 

Stw  us  safe  home  to  our  door  in  Rue  Rholi, 
Where  his  latt  words,  as,  at  parting,  he  threw 
A  soft  look  o'er  his  shoulders,  were — "  how  do  you 
do !"' 

B'.i,  T,ord,— there  *s  Papa  for  the  post— I'm  so  vex'd— 
Mimtmomcy  must  now,  love,  be  kept  for  my  next. 
That  dear  Sunday  night !— I  was  charmingly  dress'd, 
And— to  providential— was  looking  my  best ; 


1  A  fa.hionablp  rnfr  glacier  on  the  Italian  Boulevards 
'  You  «t  rour  ire  at  TortoniV  "»•  Mr.  Scott,  "  un- 
n  (.rerun  group." 
*  Not  an  unuiual  miitake  with  foreigner*. 


Such  a  sweet  muslin  gown,  with  a  flounce — and  mj 

frills, 
You've  no  notion  how  rich — (though  Pa  has  by  tha 

bills)— 
And  you'd  smile  had  you  seen,  when  we  sat  rather 

near, 

Colonel  Calicot  eyeing  the  cambric,  my  dear. 
Then  the  flowers  in  my  bonnet — but,  la,  it 's  in  vain — 
So,  good  bye,  my  sweet  Doll — I  shall  soon  write  again, 

B.  F; 

Nota  bcna — our  love  to  all  neighbours  about — 
Your  papa  in  particular — how  is  his  gout  ? 

P.  S. — I've  just  open'd  my  letter  to  say, 
In  your  next  you  must  tell  me  (now  do,  Dolly,  pray 
For  I  hate  to  ask  Bftb,  he  's  so  ready  to  quiz) 
What  sort  of  a  thing,  dear,  a  BraHdeiiburgli  is. 


LETTER  XI. 

FROM  PHELIM  CONNOR  TO . 

YES — 't  was  a  cause,  as  noble  and  as  great 

As  ever  hero  died  to  vindicate — 

A  nation's  right  to  speak  a  nation's  voice, 

And  own  no  power  but  of  the  nation's  choice ! 

Such  was  the  grand,  the  glorious  cause  that  now 

Hunt:  trembling  on  N*p*l**n's  single  brow , 

Such  the  sublime  arbitrement,  that  pour'd, 

In  patriot  eyes,  a  light  around  his  sword, 

A  glory  then,  which  never,  since  the  day 

Of  his  young  victories,  had  illum'd  its  way ! 

Oh  't  was  not  then  the  time  for  tame  debates, 
Ye  men  of  Gaul,  when  chains  were  at  your  gates ; 
When  he  who  fled  before  your  chieftain's  eye, 
As  geese  from  eagles  on  Mount  Taurus  fly !' 
Denounced  against  the  land  that  spurn'd  his  chain, 
Myriads  of  swords  to  bind  it  fast  again — 
Myriads  of  fierce  invading  swords,  to  track 
Through  your  best  blood  his  path  of  vengeance  back; 
When  Europe's  kings,  that  never  yet  combined 
But  (like  those  upper  stars,  that,  when  conjoin'd, 
Shed  war  and  pestilence)  to  scourge  mankind, 
Gather'd  around,  with  hosts  from  every  shore, 
Hating  N*p'l**n  much,  but  freedom  more, 
And,  in  that  coming  strife,  appall'd  to  see 
The  world  yet  left  one  chance  for  liberty  ! — 
No,  't  was  not  then  the  time  to  weave  a  net 
Of  bondage  round  your  chief;  to  curb  and  fret 
Your  veteran  war-horse,  pawing  for  the  fight, 
When  every  hope  was  in  his  speed  and  might — 
To  waste  the  hour  of  action  in  dispute, 
And  coolly  plan  how  Freedom's  bough*  should  shoo; 
When  your  invader's  axe  was  at  the  roof  .' 
No,  sacred  Liberty  !  that  God,  who  throws 
Thy  light  around,  like  his  own  sunshine,  knows 
How  well  I  love  thee,  and  how  deeply  hate 
All  tyrants,  upstart  and  legitimate — 
Yet  in  that  hour,  were  F***ce  my  native  land, 
I  would  have  follow'd,  with  quick  heart  and  hand, 


1  See  ./Elian,  lib.  5.  cap.  29 — who  tolls  us  that  these  eeese, 
from  a  consciousness  of  thoir  own  loquacity,  always  cross 
Mount  Tnnrus  with  s'ones  in  their  bills,  to  prevent'any  un- 
lucky cackle  from  betraying  them  to  the  eagles — S  «X-ITC'»T»I 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


181 


N*P*L**O.V,  NERO — ay,  no  matter  whom — 
To  snatch  my  country  from  that  damning  doom, 
That  deadliest  curse  that  on  the  conquered  waits — 
A  conqueror's  satrap,  throned  within  her  gates  ! 

True,  he  was  false — despotic — all  you  please — 
Had  trampled  down  man's  holiest  liberties — 
Had,  by  a  genius  form'd  for  nobler  things 
Than  lie  within  the  grasp  of  vulgar  kings, 
But  raised  the  hopes  of  men — as  eaglets  dy 
With  tortoises  aloft  into  the  sky — 
To  dash  them  down  again  more  shatteringly ! 
All  this  1  own— but  still1         *  *  * 


LETTER  Xn. 

FROM  MISS  BIDDY  FUDGE  TO  MISS  DOROTHY . 

AT  last,  DOLLY, — thanks  to  a  potent  emetic 
Which  BOBBY  and  Pa,  with  grimace* sympathetic, 
Have  swallowed  this  morning,  to  balance  the  bliss 
Of  an  eel  matelote  and  a  bisque  d'ecrevisses — 
I've  a  morning  at  home  to  myself,  and  sit  down 
To  describe  you  our  heavenly  trip  out  of  town. 
How  agog  you  must  be  for  this  letter,  my  dear ! 
Lady  JANE,  in  the  novel,  less  languish' d  to  hear 
If  that  elegant  cornet  she  met  at  Lord  NEVILLE'S 
W;is  actually  dying  with  love  or — blue  devils. 
But  love,  DOLLY,  love  is  the  theme  I  pursue ; 
With  blue  devils,  thank  heaven,  I've  nothing  to  do — 
Except,  indeed,  dear  Colonel  CALICOT  spies 
Any  imps  of  that  colour  in  certain  blue  eyes, 
Which  he  stares  at  till  /,  DOLL,  at  his  do  the  same  ; 
Then  he  simpers — I  blush — and  would  often  exclaim, 
If  I  knew  but   the  French  for  it,   "Lord,  Sir,  for 
shame  !" 

Well,  the  morning  was  lovely — the  trees  in  full  dress 
For  the  happy  occasion — the  sunshine  express — 
Had  we  order'd  it  dear,  of  the  best  poet  going, 
It  scarce  could  be  furnish'd  more  golden  and  glowing. 
Though  late  when  we  started,  the  scent  of  the  air 
Was  Like  GATTIE'S  rose-water — and  bright,  here  and 

there, 

On  the  grass  an  odd  dew-drop  was  glittering  yet, 
Like  my  aunt's  diamond  pin  on  her  green  tabbinet ! 
And  the  birds  seem'd  to  warble  as  blest,  on  the  boughs, 
As  if  each  a  plumed  CALICOT  had  for  her  spouse, 
And  the  grapes  were  all  blushing  and  kissing  in  rows, 
And — in  short,  need  I  tell  you,  wherever  one  goes 
With  the  creature  one  loves,  'tis  all  coideur  de  rose; 
And  ah,  1  shall  ne'er,  lived  I  ever  so  long,  see 
A  day  such  as  that  at  divine  Montmorency ! 

There  was  but  one  drawback — at  first  when  we  started, 

The  Colonel  and  I  were  inhumanly  parted  ; 

How  cruel — young  hearts  of  such  moments  to  rob  ! 

He  went  in  Pa's  bugfry,  and  I  went  with  BOB  ; 

And,  I  own,  1  felt  spitefully  happy  to  know 

That  Papa  and  his  comrade  agreed  but  so-.io. 


1  Somebody  (Fontenelle,  I  brliovo,)  has  said,  that  if  he 
ha.1  his  hanil  full  '«f  truths,  he  would  open  but  one  tinjrr  at 
a  time;  and  I  find  it  npcessi.ry  to  us>-  the  same  sort  of 
reserve  willi  resncet  to  Mr.  Pli>*litn  Connor's  very  plain- 
spoken  letters.  The  remainder  of  ihi<  Kp.Mle  is  so  full  of 
unsafe  muttfr-of-fiirr,  tint  it  must,  for  the  present  at  least, 
be  withheld  fioiu  the  public. 


For  the  Colonel,  it  seems,  is  a  stickler  of  BONEV'S — 
Served  with  him,  of  course — nay,  I'm  sure  they  were 

cronies 

So  martial  his  features !  dear  DOLL,  you  can  trace 
1 1m,  AiiBterlitz,  Lodi,  as  plain  in  his  face 
As  you  do  on  that  pillar  of  glory  and  brass1 
Which  the  poor  Due  de  B**RI  must  hate  so  to  pass 
It  appears,  too,  he  made — as  most  foreigners  do — 
About  English  affairs  an  odd  blunder  or  two. 
For  example — misled  by  the  names,  I  dare  say — 
He  confounded  JACK  CASTLES  with  LordC— — GH 
And — such  a  mistake  as  no  mortal  hit  ever  on — 
Fancied  the  present  Lord  C — MD — N  the  clever  one ! 

But  politics  ne'er  were  the  sweet  fellow's  trade ; 
'T  was  for  war  and  the  ladies  my  Colonel  was  made. 
And,  oh,  had  you  heard,  as  together  we  walk'd 
Through  that  beautiful  forest,  how  sweetly  he  talk'd ; 
And  how  perfectly  well  he  appear'd,  DOLL,  to  know 
All  the  life  and  adventures  of  JEAN  JACQUES  ROUS- 
SEAU ! — 
"'Twas  there,"  said  he — not  that  his  words  I  can 

state — 

'T  was  a  gibberish  that  Cupid  alone  could  translate ; — 
But  "there,"  said  he  (pointing  where,  small  and  re- 
mote, 
The  dear  Hermitage   rose,)   "there   his  JULIE   he 

wrote, 

Upon  paper  gilt-edged,  without  blot  or  erasure- 
Then  sanded  it  over  with  silver  and  azure, 
And — oh,  what  will  genius  and  fancy  not  do  ? — 
Tied  the  leaves  up  together  with  nomparieUe  blue  !"* 
What  a  trait  of  Rousseau  !  what  a  crowd  of  emotions 
From  sand  and  blue  ribbons  are  conjured  up  here ! 
Alas,  that  a  man  of  such  exquisite3  notions 

Should  send  his  poor  brats  to  the  Foundling,  my 
dear! 

"  'Twas  here,  too,  perhaps,"  Colonel  CALICOT  said-  • 
As  down  the  small  garden  he  pensively  led — 
(Though  once  I  could  see  his  sublime  forehead  wrinkle 
With  rage  not  to  find  there  the  loved  periwinkle;* 
"  'T  was  here  he  received  from  the  fair  D'Eri.v\ v, 
(Who  call'd  him  so  sweetly  her  Bear,''  every  day,) 
That  dear  flannel  petticoat,  pull'd  oil"  to  form 
A  waistcoat  to  keep  the  enthusiast  warm !"" 
Such,  DOLL, were  the  sweet  recollections  we  ponder'd, 
As,  full  of  romance,  through  that  valley  we  wander'd, 


1  The  column  in  the  Place  Vend&me. 

2  "  Kmployant  pour  cela  la  plus  beau  papiei  (lore,  si-chant 
1'ecriture  avt-c  de  la  poudre  d'azur  ei  d'aigeut,  et  cuu.-ant 
mes  cahiers  avec  de  la  numpareille  bleue." — Let  Confes- 
sions, Part  2.  liv. .». 

3  This  word.  "  exquisite,"  is  evidently  a  favourite  of  Mis* 
Fudge's  :  and  I  understand  she  was  not  a  little  angry  u  !  •  n 
her  brother  Bob  committed  a  pun  on  the  last  two  syllable* 
of  it  in  the  following  couplet: — 

"  I'd  fain  praise  your  poem  -but  tell  me,  how  n  n, 
When  /cry  out  "  Exquisite,"  t'.cho  cries  "9111:  it!" 

4  The  flower  which  Rousseau  brought  into  such  fashion 
among  the  Parisians,  by  exclaimi.ig  one  day,  "  Ah,  voila  de 
la  pervenche!" 

5  "  Man  ours,  voila  votre  asyle-    -et  vous,  won  ours  ne 
viendrezvous  pas  aussi?" etc.  etc. 

ti  ••  I'n  jour,  qu'il  gelait  tres-fort,  en  ouvrant  un  paquyt 
qu'elle  m'envoyait,  je  trouvai  un  petit  jupon  de  flanelle 
d'Angleterre,  qu'elle  me  marqtiait  avoir  pone,  et  dont  elle 
voulait  que  je  me  fisse  faire  un  gilet.  Ce  soin,  plus  qu'ami- 
cal,  me  parti:  si  tendre,  comme  si  clle  se  tut  depouilie  pour 
me  vetir,  qiip,  dans  mon  emotion,  je  baisai  vingt  fois,  er 
pleurant,  le  billet  et  le  jupon." 


m 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  flannel  (one's  train  of  ideas,  how  odd  it  is !) 
Led  u»  to  talk  about  other  commodities, 
Cambric,  and  silk,  and  I  ne'er  shall  forget, 
For  the  sun  was  then  hastening  in  pomp  to  its  set, 
And  full  on  the  Colonel's  dark  whiskers  shone  down, 
When  he  a.k'd  me,  with  eagerness,— who  made  my 

gown? 
The  question  confused  me-for,  DOLL,  you  must 

know, 

And  I  ought  to  have  told  my  best  friend  Jong  ago, 
That,  by  Pa's  strict  command,  I  no  longer  employ1 
That  enchanting  couturiere,  Madame  LE  Roi, 
But  am  forc'd,  dear,  to  have  VICTORINE,  who— deuce 

take  her! — 

II  seems  is,  at  present,  the  King's  mantua-maker— 
I  mean  of  hit  party — and,  though  much  the  smartest, 
LK  Roi  is  condemned  as  a  rank  B*n*pa+t*st.a 
Think,  DOLL,  how  confounded  I  look'd— BO  well 

knowing 
The  Colonel's    opinions— my  cheeks    were    quite 

glowing; 

I  etammer'd  out  something— nay,  even  half  named 
The  legitimate  sempstress,  when,  loud,  he  exclaimed, 
"Yes,  yes,  by  the  stitching  'tis  plain  to  be  seen 

It  was  made  by  that  B**rb*n**t  b h.,  VICTORINE !" 

What  a  word  for  a  her«j .  but  heroes  will  err, 

And  I  thought,  dear,  I'd  tell  you  things  just  as  they 

were. 

Besides,  though  the  word  on  good  manners  intrench, 
I  assure  you  'tis  not  half  so  shocking  in  French. 

But  this  cloud,  though  embarrassing,  soon  pass'd 

away, 

And  the  bliss  altogether,  the  dreams  of  that  day, 
The  thoughts  that  arise  when  such  dear  fellows  woo 

w,— 

The  nothings  that  then,  love,  are  every  Qiing  to  us — 
That  quick  correspondence  of  glances  and  sighs, 
And  what  BOB  calls  the  "Twopenny-Post  of  the 

Eyes"— 

Ah  DOLL,  though  I  know  you  've  a  heart,  'tis  in  vain 
To  a  heart  so  unpractised  these  things  to  explain. 
They  can  only  be  felt  in  their  fulness  divine 
By  her  who  has  wander'd,  at  evening's  decline, 
Through  a  valley  like  that,  with  a  Colonel  like  mihe! 

But  here  I  must  finish— for  BOB,  my  dear  DOLLY, 
Whom  physic,  I  find,  always  makes  melancholy, 
Is  seized  with  a  fancy  for  church-yard  reflexions ; 
And  full  of  all  yesterday's  rich  recollections, 
Is  just  setting  otf  for  Montmartre — "for  there  is," 
Said  he,  looking  solemn,  "  the  tomb  of  the  VERYS  !3 
Long,  long  have  I  wish'd,  as  a  votary  true, 

O'er  the  grave  of  such  talents  to  utter  my  moans ; 
And  to-day — as  my  stomach  is  not  in  good  cue 

For  thejIetA  of  tlie  VERYS — I'll  visit  their  bonesT 


\   Mm  Kiililjr'i  notioni  of  French  pronunciation  may  be 
<I  in  iliu  rhymes  which  khc  always  select*  for  "  Le 
Hoi." 

2  /*  /tot,  who  wai  th«  ConturiVre  of  the  Emprem  Maria 
Ixxiiin,  ii  at  present,  of  course,  out  of  fashion,  and  ig  HUC 
e»»duil  in  her  nation  by  the  Ruyulut  mantua-makcr,  Victo 
rimt. 

3  It  ii  the  bratker  of  the  pnwnt  excellent  Reataurateu 
who  lie*  entombed  »o  ma-mlii  .-n  ly  in  the  (JirnrMnr  Moui 
toarlre.     The  inscription  on  the  column  at  the  head  of  the 

omb  conclude*  with  the  follow  lug  words—"  Toule  sa  vie 
V  cnoucrt*  MIX  art*  utiltt." 


Ie  insists  upon  my  going  with  him — how  teaz.-ng ' 
This  letter,  however,  dear  DOLLY,  shall  lie 
Unseal'd  in  my  drawer,  that,  if  any  thing  pleasing 
Occurs  while  I'm  out,  I  may  tell  you — Good  b 

B.  F. 

Four  o'clock. 
Oh  DOLLY,  dear  DOLLY,  I'm  ruin'd  for  ever— • 

ne'er  shall  be  happy  again,  DOLLY,  never ! 
To  think  of  the  wretch — what  a  victim  was  I ! 
Tis  too  much  to  endure — I  shall  die,  I  shall  di 
My  brain 's  in  a  fever— my  pulses  beat  quick- 
shall  die,  or,  at  least,  be  exceedingly  sick ! 
Oh  what  do  you  think  ?  aftef  all  my  romancing, 
tfy  visions  of  glory,  my  sighing,  my  glancing, 
This  Colonel — I  scarce  can  commit  it  to  paper — 
This  Colonel 's  no  more  than  a  vile  linen-draper! ! 
Tis  true  as  I  live — I  had  coax'd  brother  BOB  so 
You'll  hardly  make  out  what  I'm  writing,  I  sob  so,) 
?OT  some  little  gift  on  my  birth-day — September 
The  thirtieth,  dear,  I'm  eighteen,  you  remember- 
That  BOB  to  a  shop  kindly  order'd  the  coach 

(Ah,  little  thought  I  who  the  shopman   would 

prove,) 

To  bespeak  me  a  few  of  those  mouchoirs  de  poche, 
Which,  in  happier  hours,  I  have  sigh'd  for,  my 

love — 
The   most    beautiful    things — two  Napoleons    the 

price — 

And  one's  name  in  the  corner  embroider'd  so  nice !) 
Well,  with  heart  full  of  pleasure,  I  enter' u  the  shop. 
But — ye  gods,  what  a  phantom  ! — I  thougnt  I  should 

drop — 
There  he  stood,  my  dear  DOLLY— no  room  for  a 

doubt — 
There, behind  the  vile  counter,  these  eyes  saw  him 

stand, 
With  a  piece  of  French  cambric  before  him  roll'd 

out, 

And  that  horrid  yard-measure  upraised  in  his  hand 
Oh — Papa,  all  along  knew  the  secret,  'tis  clear — 
'T  was  a  shojimah  he  meant  by  a  "  Brandenburgh, 

dear ! 
The  man,  whom  I  fondly  had  fancied  a  King, 

And,  when  thai  too  delightful  illusion  was  past, 
As  a  hero  had  worshipp'd — vile  treacherous  thing— 

To  turn  out  but  a  low  linen-draper  at  last ! 
My  head  swam  around — the  wretch  smil'd,  I  be- 
lieve, 

But  his  smiling,  alas !  could  no  longer  deceive — 
I  fell  back  on  BOB — my  whole  heart  seem'd  to 

wither — 

And,  pale  as  a  ghost,  I  was  carried  back  hither ! 
I  only  remember  that  BOB,  as  I 'caught  him, 

With  cruel  facetiousness  said — "  Curse  the  Kiddy 
A  staunch  Revolutionist  always  I've  thought  him, 
But  now  I  find  out  he  's  a  Counter  one,  BIDDY  !'' 

Only  think,  my  dear  creature,  if  this  should  be  known 
To  that  saucy,  satirical  tiling,  Miss  MAJ.O.\E  ! 
What  a  story  't  will  be  at  Shandangan  for  ever ! 
What  laughs  and  what  quizzing  she'll  have  with  the 

men ! 
It  will  spread  through  the  country — and  never,  oh 

never 
Can  BIDDY  be  seen  at  Kilrandy  again  ! 


THE  FUDGE  FAMILY  IN  PARIS. 


183 


Farewell — I  shall  do  something  desperate,  I  fear — 
And,  ah  !  if  my  fate  ever  readies  your  ear, 
One  tear  of  companion  my  UOLL  will  not  grudge 
To  her  poor — broken-hearted — young  friend, 

BIDDY  FCDGE. 


Nota  Bejie. — I'm  sure  you  will  hear  with  delight, 
That  we're  going,  all  three,  to  see  BRUNET  to-night 
A  laugh  will  revive  me — and  kind  Mr.  Cox 
(Do  you  know  him  ?)  has  got  us  the  Governor's  box . 


NOTES. 


Oil  this  learning,  what  a  thing  it  is. Shakgpeare. 


Page  166,  line  75. 
PD  FERDINAND  embroiders  paily. 
IT  would  be  an  edifying  thing  to  write  a  history  of 
rhe  private  amusements  of  sovereigns,  tracing  them 
down  from  the  fly-sticking  of  Domitian,  the  mole- 
catching  of  Artabanus,  the  hog-mimicing  of  Parme- 
nides,  the  horse-currying  of  Aretas,  to  the  petticoat- 
embroidering  of  Ferdinand,  and  the  patience-playing 
of  the  P e  R 1 ! 

Page  167,  line  60. 
Your  curst  tea  and  toast. 

Is  Mr.  Bob  aware  that  his  contempt  for  tea  renders 
him  liable  to  a  charge  of  atheism  1  Such,  at  least,  is 
(he  opinion  cited  in  Christian.  Falster.  Ameeiutat. 
Philoloff. — "  Atheum  ir.terpretabaturhominem  ab  her- 
oa  The  aversum."  He  would  not,  I  think,  have  been 
so  irreverent  to  this  beverage  of  scholars,  if  he  had 
read  Pctrr  Pctit's  Poem  in  praise  of  Tea,  addressed 
to  the  learned  Huet — or  the  Epigraph  which  Pechli- 
nus  wrote  for  an  altar 'he  meant  to  dedicate  to  this 
herb— or  the  Anacreontics  of  Peter  Francius,  in 
which  he  calls  Tea 

The  following  passage  from  one  of  these  Anacre- 
ontics will,  I  have  no  doubt,  be  gratifying  to  all  true 
Theists :— 


AlJsi    TO    VfXTKjl    Hi*. 

£<  u:i  JIXXOVOIWTO 
Exujoij  ir  iuvppivoi<ri, 

KxXaic  x!fl<rrt  xcupai. 

Which  may  be  thus  translated  : — 

Yes,  let  Hebe,  ever  young, 

Iliirli  in  heaven  her  nectar  hold, 
And  to  Jove's  immortal  throng 

Pour  the  tide  in  cups  of  gold. — 
ril  nin  envy  heaven's  princes, 

While,  with  snowy  hands,  Tor  me, 
KATE  the  china  tea-cup  rinses, 

And  pours  out  her  best  Bohea! 

Page  169,  line  39. 

Here  break  we  off,  at  this  unhallow'd  name. 

The  late  Lord  C.  of  Ireland  had  a  curious  theory 

itbout  names ; — he  held  that  every  man  with  three 

names  was  a  jacobin.     His  instances  in  Ireland  were 

numerous: — viz.  Auhibald  Hamilton  Rowan,  Theo- 


bald Wolfe  Tone,  James  Napper  Tandy,  John  Phil- 
pot  Curran,  etc.  etc  and,  in  England,  he  produced  a* 
examples  Charles  James  Fox,  Richard  Brinsley  She- 
ridan, John  Home  Tooke,  Francis  Burdett  Jones, 
etc.  etc. 

The  Romans  called  a  thief  "homo  trium  liter*, 
rum." 

Tun*  trium  literarutn  homo 

Mevituperas!     Fur.1 

Plautue,  Aulular.    Act  2.  Scene  4. 

Page  170,  line  4. 
The  Testament,  turn'd  into  melo-drames  nightly. 

"The  Old  Testament,"  says  the  theatrical  Critic  in 
the  Gazette  de  France,  "  is  <«  mine  of  gold  for  the  ma- 
nagers of  our  small  play-houses.  A  multitude  crowa 
round  the  Theatre  de  la  Gaite  every  evening  to  see 
the  Passage  of  the  Red  Sea." 

In  the  play-bill  of  one  of  these  sacred  melo-drame» 
at  Vienna,  we  find  "The  Voice  of  G— d,  by  Mr. 
Schwartz." 

Page  171,  note  3 

No  one  can  suspect  Boileau  of  a  sneer  at  his  royal 
master,  but  the  following  lines,  intended  for  praise, 
look  very  like  one.    Describing  the  celebrated  pas- 
sage of  the  Rhine,  during  which  Louis  remained  on 
the  safe  side  of  the  river,  he  says, 
f  Louis,  les  auimant  du  feu  de  son  courage, 
Se  plaint  de  sa  grandeur,  qui  Yaltaclie  au  freagt, 

Epit.  4. 

Page  172,  line  5. 
Turns  from  his  victims  to  his  gleei, 
And  has  them  both  well  executed. 

How  amply  these  two  propensities  of  the  NoMe 
Lord  would  have  been  gratified  among  that  ancient 
people  of  Etruria,  who,  as  Aristotle  tells  us,  used  to 
whip  their  slaves  once  a  year  to  the  sound  of  flutes ! 

Page  175,  line  79. 

Lampreys,  indeed,  seem  to  have  been  always  a 
favourite  dish  with  Kings — whether  from  some  con- 
geniality between  them  and  that  fish,  I  know  not ; 
but  Dio  Casaius  tells  us  that  Pollio  fattened  his  lam- 
preys with  human  blood.  St.  Louis  of  France  was 
particularly  fond  of  them. — See  the  anecdote  of 


1  Difsaldfus  supposes  this  word  to  be  a  fr!onsrmn:—  — 
that  is,  he  thinks  "  Fur"  has  made  his  t*cap«  from  the  mar 
gin  into  the  text. 


184 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thoma*  Aquinu  eating  up  his  majesty's  lamprey,  in 
a  note  upon  Rabdau,  hv.  3.  chap.  2. 

Page  176,  line  2. 

Till  fire  o'clock  brings  on  that  hour  so  momentous. 
Had  Mr.  Bob's  Dinner  Epistle  been  inserted,  I  was 
prepared  with  an  abundance  of  learned  matter  to  il- 
lustrate it,  for  which,  as  indeed,  for  all  my  "  scientia 
popini,"1  I  am  indebted  to  a  friend  in  the  Dublin 
University, — whose  reading  formerly  lay  in  the  magic 
line ;  but,  in  consequence  of  the  Provost's  enlightened 
alarm  at  such  studies,  he  has  taken  to  the  authors 
b<fe  re  cabana"  instead;  and  has  left  Bodin,  Remi- 
fhu,  Agrippa,  and  his  little  dog  FHiolut,  for  Apicius, 
Nonius,  and  that  most  learned  and  savoury  Jesuit, 
Btdengena. 

Page  179,  line  64 

"  Live  htllion,"  uy«  mercile«  Bob,  "  which  I  think 
Would,  if  cum'd  with  a  little  mint  (UUCP,  be  delicious !" 

Mr.  Bob  need  not  be  ashamed  of  his  cookery  jokes, 
when  be  is  kept  in  countenance  by  such  men  as  Ci- 
&ro,  St.  Augustine,  and  that  jovial  bishop,  Venantius 
Forlunatit.  The  pun  of  the  great  orator  upon  the 
"jus  Verrinum,"  which  he  calls  bad  hog  broth,  from 


Civitat.  Dei,  lib.  16.  cap.  30.— The  jokes  of  the  pioiu 
favourite  of  Queen  Radagunda,  the  convivial  Bishop 
Venantius,  may  be  found  among  his  poems,  in  some 
lines  against  a  cook  who  had  robbed  him.  The  fol- 
lowing is  similar  to  Cicero's  pun  : — 

Pita  juscella  Cod  quam  mea  jura  valet. 
See  his  poems,  Corpus  Pcetar.  Latin,  torn.  2.  p. 
1732. — Of  the  same  kind  was  Montmaur's  joke,  when 
a  dish  was  spilt  over  him — "summum  jus,  summa  in- 
juria;"  and  the  same  celebrated  parasite,  in  ordering 
a  sole  to  be  placed  before  him,  said, 

Eligi  cui  dicns,  ttt  mihi  sola  places. 
The  reader  may  likewise  s«e,  among  a  good  deal 
of  kitchen  erudition,  the  learned  Lipsius's  jokes  on 
Cutting  up  a  capon,  in  his  Saturnal.  Sermon,  lib.  2 
cap.  2. 

Page  180,  line  9. 

Upon  singing  and  cookery,  BOBBY,  of  course, 
Standing  up  for  the  latter  Fine  Art  in  full  force. 

Cookery  has  been  dignified  by  the  researches  of  a 
Bacon  (see  his  Natural  History,  Receipts,  etc.)  and 
takes  its  station  as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts  in  the  follow- 
ng  passage  of  Mr.  Duff  aid  Stewart.— "  Agreeably  to 


a  play  upon  both  the  words,  is  well  known ;  and  the !  lll.'s  view  of  the  subJect>  *"***  may  be  said  to  be  in- 


Saint'*  puns  upon  the  conversion  of  Lot's  wife  into 
•alt  are  equally  ingenious. — "  In  salem  conversa  ho- 
fuii'libtu  quoddam  pnestitit  condimentum,  quo 


trinsically  pleasing,  and  bitter  to  be  relatively  pleas 
ing ;  which  both  are,  in  many  cases,  equally  essential 
to  those  effects,  which,  in  the  art  of  cookery,  corres- 


aliquid,  unde  itlutl  cavealur  ejtemplum." De  pon(* to  l^at  composite  beauty,  which  is  the  object  of 

'  the  painter  and  of  the  poet  to  create." — Philosophical 
£»ay« 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL,  TO  CONGRESS, 


A\A.'  SUK'  oiot  nTKTIKHi:   1TAEOX  METEXEIN  TOU;   a-Jtoviriou;  iwirri,ftti  r,  xai  iftnifix 
H  lIOAEMIKHi:;    Eya,   i?>|.— Plato,  de  Rep.  lib.  4. 

"If  any  man  doubt  the  significancy  of  the  language,  we  refer  him  to  the  third  volume  of  Reports, 
set  forth  by  the  learned  in  the  laws  of  Canting,  and  published  in  this  tongue."— Ben  Junson 


PREFACE. 


THE  Public  have  already  been  informed,  through 
the  medium  of  the  daily  prints,  that,  among  the  d^s- 
tinguished  visitors  to  the  Congress  lately  held  at 
Aix-la-Chapclle,  were  Mr.  BOB  GREGSON,  Mr. 
GEORGE  COOPER,  and  a  few  more  illustrious  brethren 
of  THE  FANCY.  It  had  been  resolved  at  a  Grand 
Meeting  of  the  Pugilistic  Fraternity,  that,  as  all  the 
milliny  Powers  of  Europe  were  about  to  assemble, 
personally  or  by  deputy,  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  it  was 
but  right  that  THE  FANCY  should  have  its  representa- 
tives there  as  well  as  the  rest,  and  these  gentlemen 
were  accordingly  selected  for  that  high  and  honoura- 
ble office.  A  description  of  this  Meeting,  of  the 
speeches  spoken,  the  resolutions,  etc.  etc.  has  been 
given  in  a  letter  written  by  one  of  the  most  eminent 
of  the  profession,  which  will  be  found  in  the  Appen- 
dix, No.  I.  Mr.  CRIB'S  Memorial,  which  now,  for 
die  first  time,  meets  the  public  eye,  was  drawn  up  for 
the  purpose  of  being  transmitted  by  these  gentlemen 
10  Congress  ;  and,  as  it  could  not  possibly  be  in  better 
hands  for  the  enforcement  of  every  point  connected 
with  the  subject,  there  is  every  reason  to  hope  that  it 
has  made  a  suitable  impression  upon  that  body. 

The  favour  into  which  this  branch  of  Gymnastics, 
'.ailed  Pugilism  (from  the  Greek  sru«,  as  the  author  of 
Boxi;ina  learnedly  observes,)  has  risen  with  the  Pub- 
lic of  late  years,  and  the  long  season  of  tranquillity 
which  we  are  now  promised  by  the  new  Millenna- 
rians  of  the  Holy  League,  encourage  us  to  look  for- 
ward with  some  degree  of  sanguineness  to  an  order 
•>f  things,  like  that  which  PLATO  and  TOM  CRIB  have 
described  (the  former  in  the  motto  prefixed  to  this 
work,  and  the  latter  in  the  interesting  Memorial  that 
follows,)  when  the  Milling  shall  succeed  to  the  Mili- 
tary system,  and  THE  FANCY  will  be  the  sole  arbi- 
iress  of  the  trifling  disputes  of  mankind.  From  a 
ivish  to  throw  every  possible  light  on  the  history  of 
an  Art,  which  is  destined  ere  long  to  have  such  influ- 
ence upon  the  affairs  of  the  world,  I  have,  for  some 
time  past,  been  employed  in  a  voluminous  and  elabo- 
rate work,  entitled  "  A  Parallel  between  Ancient  and 
Modern  Pugilism,"  which  is  now  in  a  state  of  con- 
siderable forwardness,  and  which  I  hope  to  have 
ready  for  delivery  to  subscribers  on  the  morning  of 
the  approaching  fight  between  Randal  and  Martin. 
Had  the  elegant  author  of  Boxiana  extended  his  in- 
quiiies  to  the  ancient  state  of  the  art,  I  should  not 
2  A 


have  presumed  to  interfere  with  a  historian  so  com- 
petent. But,  as  his  researches  into  antiquity  have 
gone  no  farther  than  the  one  valuable  specimen  of 
erudition  which  I  have  given  above,  I  feel  the  less 
hesitation 


-novos  decerpere  flores, 


lusiirnernque  meo  ca;>iti  petere  inde  coronam, 
Unde  prius  nulli  velarint  teinpora  Music.' 

Lucret.  lib.  4.  v.  3. 

The  variety  of  studies  necessary  for  such  a  task, 
and  the  multiplicity  of  references  which  it  requires, 
as  well  to  the  living  as  the  dead,  can  only  be  fully  ap- 
preciated by  him  who  has  had  the  patience  to  perform 
it.  Alternately  studying  in  the  Museum  and  the 
Fives  Court — passing  from  the  Academy  of  Plato  to 
that  of  Mr.  Jackson — now  indulging  in  AUic  flashes 
with  Aristophanes,  and  now  studying  Flash  in  the 
Allies  of  Cock-Court? — between  so  many  and  such 
various  associations  has  my  mind  be^n  divided  during 
the  task,  that  sometimes,  in  my  bewilderment,  I  have 
confounded  Ancients  and  Modems  together, — mis- 
taken the  Greek  of  St.  Giles's  for  that  of  Athens,  and 
have  even  found  myself  tracing  Bill  Gibbons  and  his 
Bull  in  the  "taurum  tibi,  pulcher  Apollo,''  of  VirgiL 
My  Printer,  too,  has  been  affected  with  similar  hallu- 
cinations. The  Mil.  Glorios.  of  Plautus  he  convert- 
ed, the  other  day,  into  a  Glorious  Mill;  and  more 
than  once,  when  I  have  referred  to  Tom.  prim,  or 
Tom.  quart,  he  has  substituted  Tom  Crib  and  Tom 
Oliver  in  their  places.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  the 
work  will  be  found,  I  trust,  tolerably  correct ;  and  as 
an  Analysis  of  its  opening  Chapters  may  not  only 
gratify  the  impatience  of  the  Fanciful  World,  but 
save  my  future  reviewers  some  trouble,  it  is  here  given 
as  succinctly  as  possible. 

CJtnp.  i.  contains  some  account  of  the  ancient  in- 
ventors of  pugilism,  Epeus  and  Amycus. — The  early 
exploit  of  the  former,  in  millim;  his  twin-brother,  in 
ventre  matris,  and  so  getting  before  him  into  the  world, 
as  related  by  Eustathius  on  tho  authority  of  Lycophron. 
— Amycus,  a  Royal  Amateur  of  THE  FANCY,  who 
challenged  to  the  scratch  all  strangers  that  landed  on 


1  To  wander  through  THK  FANCY'S  bowers, 
To  gather  new,  unhi>ard-iif  flowers, 
Ami  breathe  such  <Mrl.tml>  lor  my  brow 
As  Poet  never  wreathed  till  now  '. 

2  The  residence  of  the  Nonp  ireil.  Jack  Uindall. — where 
the  day  nl'tcr   his  last  great  vict.irv,  lie  In  M 

ailed,  of  course,  by  all  the  leading  chdiartujs  nf  Hi 
Giles's. 


186 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


his  «h^re.— The  Combat  between  him  and  Pollux 
•who,  to  iwe  -the  classic  phrase,  served  him  out,)  as 
described  bj. Theocritus,1  Apollonius  Rhodius,3  and 
Valerius  Flaccus.1— Respective  merits  of  these  three 
descriptions.-Theocritus  by  far  the  best ;  and,  alto- 
gether, perhaps,  the  most  scientific  account  of  a  Box- 
ing-match in  all  antiquity  .-Apollonius  ought  to  have 
done  better,  with  such  a  model  before  him;  but,  evi- 
dently not  up  to  the  thing  (whatever  Scaliger  may 
•ay,)  and  his  similes  all  alum.*— Valerius  Flaccus,  the 
first  Latin  Epic  Poet  after  Virgil,  has  done  ample 
justice  to  this  Set-to  ,•  feints,  facers,*  and  ribbers,  all 
described  most  spiritedly. 

Chap.2.  proves  that  the  Pancratium  of  the  ancients, 
M  combining  boxing  and  wrestling,  was  the  branch 
of  their  Gymnastics  that  most  resembled  our  modern 
Pugilism ;  cross-buttocking  (or  what  the  Greeks  called 
IwoKtlifav)  being  as  indispensable  an  ingredient  as 
nobbing,  flooring,  etc.  etc.— Their  ideas  of  a  stand-up 
Jight  were  very  similar  to  our  own,  as  appears  from 
the  TO  xatttv  oAAijXovs  OP6OSTAAHN  of  Lucian,— 


Chap.  3.  examines  the  ancient  terms  of  THE  FANCY, 
as  given  by  Pollux  (Onomast.  ad.  fln.  lib.  3.)  and 
others ;  and  compares  them  with  the  modern. — For 
example,  ay%ttv,  to  throttle — Xvyt|fiv,  evidently  the 
origin  of  our  word  to  lug — ayxvpi^uv,  to  anchor  a 
fellow  (see  Grose's  Greek  Dictionary,  for  the  word 
anchor)— ipaaauv  (perf.  pass.  itSpayitai,)  from  which 
is  derived  to  drag ;  and  whence,  also,  a  flash  etymo- 
logist might  contrive  to  derive  (papa,  drama,  Thespis 
having  first  performed  in  a  drag.6  This  chapter  will 
be  found  highly  curious ;  and  distinguished,  I  flatter 
myself,  by  much  of  that  acuteness  which  enabled  a 
late  illustrious  Professor  to  discover  that  our  English 
"  Son  of  a  Gun"  was  nothing  more  than  the  IIu<s 
rvtns  (Dor.)  of  the  Greeks. 

Chap.  4.  enumerates  the  many  celebrated  Boxers 
of  antiquity. — Eryx  (grandson  of  the  Amycus  already 
mentioned,)  whom  Hercules  is  said  to  have  finished 
in  style. — Phrynon,  the  Athenian  General,  and  Auto- 
lycus,  of  whom,  Pausanias  tells  us,  there  was  a  statue 
in  the  Prytaneum — The  celebrated  Pugilist,  who, 
the  very  moment  he  was  expiring,  had  game  enough 


1  Idyl.  22. 

2  Argonaut,  lib.  2. 

'  one, 


oi»,  which  is  good,  and  whicl 


,  ,  , 

Fnwk'-«,  therefore,  has  omitted.  The  following  couple 
from  hi*  translation  is,  however,  fanciful  enough  :  — 

"  S.>  fmm  their  batter'd  cheeks  loud  echoes  sprung  ; 

Their  iU-.li'  J  teeth  crackled  and  their  jaw-bones  rung." 

5  F.micst  hie,  dextramque  paral,  deilrnmque  minatur 
Tuiil  irides  ;  redit  hue  oculis  et  pondcre  Bebryz 
Sic  ratiu  :  ilia  autein  celeri  rapit  ora  sinistra. 

Lib.  4.  v.  290. 

We  h*re  here  a  feint  and  a  fiver  together.  The  mnnne 
In  which  Valerius  Flaccoi  describes  the  multitude  of  black 
guards  that  usually  assemble  on  such  occasions,  is  highly 
poetical  and  picturesque  :  he  supposes  them  to  be  Shade 
from  Tartarus  :— 

El  pater  nrantcs  riorum  Tartarus  umbra* 

•  -:iva  tandem  ad  men'rn  apectacula  pugnn 
Emittit  ;  summi  nifretcunl  cuimiaa  montis.      V.  258. 
f  The  flash  term  for  a  cart. 


o  make  his  adversary  give  in;  which  interesting  cir- 
cumstance forms  the  subject  of  one  of  the  Pictures  of 

'liilostratus,  Icon.  lib.   2.  imag.  6. — and  above  all, 

hat  renowned  Son  of  the  Fancy,  Melancomas,  the 
"avourite  of  the  Emperor  Titus,  in  whose  praise  Dio 
Chrysostomus  has  left  us  two  elaborate  orations.1 — 

The  peculiarities  of  this  boxer  discussed — his  powei 
of  standing  with  his  arms  extended  for  two  whole 

[ays,  without  any  rest  (Auvaros  rjv,  says  Dio,  KUI  Svo 

pcpas  i^1S  fitvf.iv  avaTtraxus  ras  ^£ipaj,  KUI  OVK  a» 
&cv  ov&ets  ixptvra  aur'ov  1  avairavaantvov  laavtp  £iu>- 

aai.  Oral.  28,)  by  which  means  he  wore  out  his 
adversary's  bottom,  and  conquered  without  cither 
giving  or  taking.  This  bloodless  system  of  milling, 
which  trusted  for  victory  to  patience  alone,  has  af- 

brded  to  the  orator,  Themistius,  a  happy  illustration 

if  the  peaceful  conquests  which  he  attributes  to  the 

imperor  Valens.2 

Chap.  5.  notices  some  curious  points  of  similarity 
>etween  the  ancient  and  modern  FANCY. — Thus, 
Theocritus,  in  his  Milling-match,  calls  Amycus  "  a 
glutton,"  which  is  well  known  to  be  the  classical 
>hrase  at  Moulsey-Hurst,  for  one  who,  like  Amycus 
takes  a  deal  of  punishment  before  he  is  satisfied. 
Uias  yap  <5>?  Aiof  via;  AAH<I>ArON  av&pa  KaOtiXev. 

[n  the  same  Idyl  the  poet  describes  the  Bebrycian 
:iero  as  TrXijyatj  ptQvuv,  "  drunk  with  blows,"  which 
s  precisely  the  language  of  our  Fancy  bulletins;  fot 
example,  "Turner  appeared  as  if  drunk,  and  made  a 
neavy  lolloping  hit,"3  etc.  etc. — The  resemblance  in 
:he  manner  of  fighting  is  still  more  striking  and  import 
ant.  Thus  we  find  CRIB'S  favourite  system  of  milling 
on  the  retreat,  which  he  practised  so  successfully  in 
nis  combats  with  Gregson  and  Molyneux,  adopted  by 
Alcidamus,  the  Spartan,  in  the  battle  between  him 
and  Capan'eus,  so  minutely  and  vividly  described  by 
Statius,  Tliebaid.  lib.  6. 

sed  non,  tamen,  immemor  artia, 

Adversus  fugit,  vtfugiens  tamen  ictibus  ubstat.* 

And  it  will  be  only  necessary  to  compare  together 
two  extracts  from  Boxiana  and  the  Bard  of  Syracuse 
to  see  how  similar  in  their  manoeuvres  have  teen  the 
millers  of  all  ages — "  The  Man  of  Colour,  to  prevent 
being_/iW>ed,  grasped  tight  hold  of  Carter's  hand"5 — 
(Accent  of  the  Fight  between  Robinson  the  Black 
and  Carter,)  which,  (translating  AiAoio/ici/oj, "  the  Lily- 
white,"6)  is  almost  word  for  word  with  the  following : 
Hrot  bys  pcfat  TI  AiAaio/uvo?  jutya  tpyov 
Sicaii;  jiiv  OKairjv  IIoXuotuKtoj  eAAa/3c  XelPa' 

'J'krocrit. 


1  The  following  words,  in  which  Dio  so  decidedly  prefers 
the  art  of  the  Boxer  to  that  of  the  soldier  would  imrhiips 
have  been  a  .still  more  significant  motto  to  Mr.  Crili's  Me- 
morial than  that  which  I  have  chosen  from  Plato  :  K»i 
xaSsXou  Si  lyojyi  TOVTO  T>]{  «v  roif  0-oX.ljuoi;  apiriff 


2  Hv  rif  tin  TOJV  jrpoyov 
iXse^xojuaf    ovs,ua     XVT-M 


XT)|; 


vt(f 


rauf   aKT«!raXou{.  —  Themist 


XVXTTXCTU   TTXVTX;   x 
Oral.  Tip"  E»(mv<;. 

3  Kent's  \Vi-okly  Despatch. 

4  Yet,  not  unmindful  of  his  art,  he  hieo, 
But  turns  his  face,  and  combats  as  he  flies. 

L«wii 

5  A  mannmvre,  generally  called  Tom  Owrn's  stop. 

6  The  Flash  terra  for  a  negro,  and  also  for  a  chimney 
sweeper. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


187 


Chap.  G.  proves,  from  thejawi/iir-match  and  Set-to 
net  ween  Ulysses  and  the  Beggar  in  the  18th  Book  of 
the  Odyssey,  that  the  ancients  (notwithstanding  their 
iticaia  jia-^ovrdiv,  or  Laws  of  Combatants,  which,  Ar- 
temidorus  says  in  his  chap.  33.  ircpi  Movo/^a^;.  ex- 
tended to  pugilism  as  well  as  other  kinds  of  combats) 
did  not  properly  understand  fair  play  ;  as  Ulysses  is 
here  obl'ged  to  require  an  oath  from  the  standers-by, 
that  they  will  not  dud  him  a  sly  knock,  while  he  is 
cleaning  out  the  mumper — 


Il>;i;  ar<i<T0a>AU»<,  TOUTU    e  pt  i(j>i    a/jiaaatj. 

Cliap.  7.  describes  the  Cestus,  and  shows  that  the 
Greeks,  for  mere  exercise  of  sparring,  made  use  of 
innfjlr-.i  or  frloi-i-x,  as  we  do,  which  they  called  o<f>atpai. 
This  appears  particularly  from  a  passage  in  Plato,  de 
/,<•«•.  lili.  8,  where,  speaking  of  training,  he  says,  it  is 
only  by  frequent  use  of  the  gloves  that  a  knowledge  of 
sfii/ifiiiiic  and  hilling  can  be  acquired.  The  whole 
passage  is  curious,  as  proving  that  the  Divine  Plato 
was  not  altogether  a  novice  in  the  Fancy  lay.' — Kat 
a>?  syyvTara  TOV  bpowv,  avri  Ijiavrtav  £<1>AIPAS  av 
rrtftufuviitSa,  bvas  at  HAHFAI  rt  Kai  al  TiZN  IIAH- 
Fi?.N  EYAABEIAI  iup&tnfvn  £ij  TI  Svvarov  Ixavias. 
— These  muffles  were  called  by  the  Romans  sacculi, 
as  we  find  from  Trebellius  Pollio,  who,  in  describing 
a  triumph  of  Gallienus,  mentions  the  "  Pugiles  sac- 
culi.v  non  veritate  pugilantes." 

Chap.  8.  adverts  to  the  pugilistic  exhibitions  of  the 
Spartan  ladies,  which  Propertius  has  thus  comme- 
morated— 

I'nlverulentaque  ad  extremes  stat  femina  metag, 

Ft  pntiiur  iluro  vulnera  pancrntio ; 
Nune  ligat  ad  ca'Stumgaudentia  brachia  loris,  etc.  etc. 
Lib.  3.  el.  14. 

and,  to  prove  that  the  moderns  are  not  behind-hand 
with  the  ancients  in  this  respect,  cites  the  following 
instance  recorded  in  Boxiana : — "  George  Madox,  in 
this  battle,  was  seconded  by  his  sister,  Grace,  who, 
upon  its  conclusion,  tossed  up  her  hat  in  defiance, 
and  offered  to  tight  any  man  present ;" — also  the  me- 
morable challenge,  given  in  the  same  work,  (vol.  i.  p. 
3(H),  which  pasM'd  between  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Wilkin- 
son of  Clcrkoiiwoll,  and  Miss  Hannah  Hyfield  of 
Newgate-Market — another  proof  that  the  English 
may  boast  many  a  "  dolce  guerriera"  as  well  as  the 
Greeks. 

dm/).  9.  contains  Accounts  of  all  the  celebrated 
H/ !-/<!•<  of  antiquity,  translated  from  the  works  of  the 
different  authors  that  have  described  them, — viz.  the 
famous  Aeronautic  Battle,  as  detailed  by  the  three 
poets  mentioned  in  chap.  1. — the  Fight  between 
Epeiis  and  Euryalus,  in  the  23d  Book  of  the  Iliad, 


1  Another  pliiliisiiplic-r,  Seneca,  has  shown  himselfequally 
ft, 1.1/1.  on  ills'  siil'jeel,  and,  111  liis  Mill  Kpistle,  lays  il  down  Ys 
,111  iixiom,  Unit  no  pugilist. CUM  be  considered  worth  any 
thin;.',  till  lie  Ins  hud  Ins  i>i',/>tn  tnhin  iiirti.iurr  uf  fur  a 
suit  ,if  niHiiriiiny,  or,  ill  common  language,  h»s  received  a 
pair  of  bl-ic-k  eyes.  The  whole  pass  i^-c  is  edifying  : — "  Xon 
potesl  athleta  iiKi^'iMis  vpiritus  ail  ccrtunicn  ati'crre,  qui  nun- 
q'liun  .-tii^ill(itn.t  i-.il.  llle  quividet  saiiL'ninein  siuim,cuju9 
denial  crepuemnt  sub  pnffno,  ille  qui  lapplMtatW  ailver- 
sariuai  Into  tu!it  corjiorc,  nee  projecit  anitnuin  projectile, 
qui  quoiies  ceeidit  contumacior  resuircxit,  cum  magna  spe 
descendit  ad  pugnam." 


and  between  Ulysses  and  Irus  in  the  18th  Book  of  the 
Odyssey — the  Combat  of  Dares  and  Entellus  in  thu 
5th  .Km  >iil — of  Capaneus  and  Alcidamus,  already  re- 
ferred to,  in  Statius,  and  of  Achelous  and  Hercules 
in  the  9th  Book  of  the  Metamorphoses ;  though  this 
last  is  rather  a  wrestling-bout  than  a  milt,  resembling 
that  between  Hercules'  and  Antzus  in  the  4th  Book 
of  Lucan.  The  reader  who  is  anxious  to  know  how 
I  have  succeeued  in  this  part  of  my  task,  will  find,  as 
a  specimen,  my  translation  from  Virgil  in  the  Appen- 
dix to  the  present  work,  No.  2. 

Chap.  10.  considers  the  various  arguments  for  and 
against  Pugilism,  advanced  by  writers  ancient  and 
modern. — A  strange  instance  of  either  ignorance  or 
wilful  falsehood  in  Lucian,  who,  in  his  Anacharsis, 
has  represented  Solon  as  one  of  the  warmest  advo- 
cates for  Pugilism,  whereas  we  know  from  Diogenes 
Laertius  that  that  legislator  took  every  possible  pains 
to  discourage  and  suppress  it. — Alexander  the  Great, 
too,  tasteless  enough  to  prohibit  THE  FANCY  (Plu 
tarch  in  Vit.) — Galen  in  many  parts  of  his  works,  but 
particularly  in  the  Hortat.  ad  Art.  condemns  the 
practice  as  enervating  and  pernicious.2 — On  the  other 
side,  the  testimonies  in  its  favour,  numerous. — The 
greater  number  of  Pindar's  Nemean  Odes  written  in 
praise  of  pugilistic  champions ; — and  Isocrates,  though 
he  represents  Alcibiades  as  despising  the  art,  yet  ac- 
knowledges that  its  professors  were  held  in  high  esti- 
mation through  Greece,  and  that  those  cities,  where 
victorious  pugilists  were  born,  became  illustrious 
from  that  circumstance;3  just  as  Bristol  has  been 
rendered  immortal  by  the  production  of  such  heroes 
as  Tom  Crib,  Harry  Harmer,  Big  Ben,  Dutch  Sam, 
etc.  etc. — Ammianus  Marcellinus  tells  us  how  much 
that  religious  and  pugnacious  Emperor,  Constantius, 
delighted  in  the  Set-tos,  "  pugilum*  vicissim  se  con- 
cidentium  perfusorumque  sanguine." — To  these  are 
added  still  more  flattering  testimonies  ;  such  as  that 
of  Isidorus,  who  calls  Pugilism  "virtus,"  as  if  par 
excellence;*  and  the  yet  more  enthusiastic  tribute 
with  which  Eustathius  reproaches  the  Pagans  of  hav- 
ing enrolled  their  Boxers  in  the  number  of  the  Gods. 
— In  short,  the  whole  chapter  is  full  of  erudition  and 


1  Though  wrestling  was  evidently  the  favourite  sport  of 
Hercules,  we  lind  him,  in  the  Alceeles,  just  returned  from  a 
Hruixinir-iiiiitr/t ;  and  it  is  a  curious  proof  of  the  inperiol 
consideration  in  which  these  arts  were  held,  that  tor  the 
lighter  exercises,  he  tells  us,  horses  alone  were  the  reward, 
while  to  conquerors  in  thu  higher  games  of  pugilism  and 
wrestling,  whole  herds  of  cattle  (with  sometimes  a  young 
lady  into  the  bargain)  were  given  as  prizes. 

rttft   J'au  T»  ftnfyv» 


vi)  J'  IT 


F.urip. 


2  It  ttas  remarked  by  the  ancient  physicians,  that  men  ' 
who  were  in  the  habit  of  boxing  and  \vreslliny  became  re- 
markably lean  and  slender  IVom  the  loins  downward,  while 
i  he  upper  part*  of  tlieir  frame  acquired  prodigious  size  and 
strength.  I  could  name  some  piiL'ilist.-s  of  the  present  day 
\vho~i'  persons  see  m  lo  win  rant  the  truth  of  this  observation 

.yvo^iv«f  T«v    VIX»VT»V.      ISOCRAT.   *tf'  TOU  Ziuyo«( 
An  oration  written  by  Isocrates  for  the  son  of  Alcibiades. 

4  Notwithstanding  that  the  historian  expressly  says  "  pu 
gilum,"  Lipsius  is  so  anxious  to  press  this  circumstance  into 
his  Account  of  the  Ancient  ("Jladiators,  that  lie  insists  such 
an  etl'nsion  o(  claret  could  nnly  have  taken  place  in  the  gla- 
diatorial combat.    Hut  Lipsius  never  was  at  Moulsey  Hunt 
—  See  his  Saturnal.  Sermon,  lib.  i.  cap.  2. 

5  Origin,  lib.  xviii.  c.  18. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


trot;— from  Lycophron  (whose  very  name  smacks  |  To  the  cultivation,  in  our  times,  of  the  science  of 
of  pugilism,)  down  to  Boxiana  and  the  Weekly  Des-  j  Pugilism,  the  Flash  language  is  indebted  for  a  con 
patch,  not  an  author  on  the  subject  is  omitted.  siderable  addition  to  its  treasures.  Indeed,  so  impos- 

sible is  it  to  describe  the  operations  of  THE  FAXCT 

So  much  for  my  "  Parallel  between  Ancient  and  without  words  of  proportionate  energy  to  do  justice 
Modern  Pugilism."  And  now  with  respect  to  that  tQ  the  subjcct)  that  we  find  Pope  and  Cowper,  in  their 
peculiar  language  called  Flash,  or  St.  Giles's  G«A,  translation  of  the  Set.to  m  the  IIiad)  pressing  wordg 
in  which  Mr.  Crib's  Memorial  and  the  othi  irticles  intQ  ^  gervice  whlch  had  seldonl)  j  thjnk)  lf  ever> 
in  the  present  volume  are  written,  I  beg  to  trouble  the  been  enlisted  mto  ^  n^  of  poet  before.  Thus 
reader  with  a  few  observations.  As  this  expressive  p 
language  was  originally  invented,  and  is  still  used, 
like  the  cipher  of  the  diplomatists,  for  purposes  of 
rscrecy,  and  as  a  means  of  eluding  the  vigilance  of  a 


certain  class  of  persons,  called  Jlashice,  Traps,  or, 
in  common  language,  Bow-street  Officers,  it  is  sub- 


Secure  this  hand  shall  liis  whole  frame  confound, 
Mask  all  his  bones,  and  all  his  body  pound. 

Cowper,  in  the  same  manner,  translates  xo\j,e  ie  .  . . . 
v,  "path'd  him  on  the  cheek ;"  and,  in  describ- 


ject  of  course  to  continual  change,  and  is  perpetually  ing  the  wrestling-match,  makes  use  of  a  term,  now 
either  altering  the  meaning  of  old  words,  or  adding  more  properly  applied  to  a  peculiar  kind  of  blow,1 
new  ones,  according  as  the  great  object,  secrecy,  of  which  Mendoza  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  in- 
renders  it  prudent  to  have  recourse  to  such  innova-  venl 
dons.  In  this  respect,  also,  it  resembles  the  cryp- 
tography of  kings  and  ambassadors,  who,  by  a  con- 
tinual change  of  cipher,  contrive  to  baffle  the  inquisi- 


timiiess  of  the  enemy.    But,  notwithstanding  the  Pro- 


Then  his  wiles 

For;rat  not  he,  but  on  the  ham  behind 
Chopji'd  him. 

Before  I  conclude  this  Preface,  which  has  already, 

lean  nature  of  the  Flash  or  Cant  language,  the  greater  I  fear,  extended  ,to  an  unconscionable  length,  I  can- 
part  of  its  vocabulary  has  remained  unchanged  for  not  help  expressing  my  regret  at  the  selection  which 
centuries,  and  many  of  the  words  used  by  the  Cant- '  Mr.  Crib  has  made  of  one  of  the  Combatants  intro- 
ing  Beggars  in  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,1  and  theGip- ;  duced  into  the  imaginary  Set-to  that  follows.  Tha' 
•es  in  Ben  Jonson's  Masque,*  are  still  to  be  heard  person  has  already  been  exhibited,  perhaps,  "  usque 
among  the  Onostics  of  Dyot-street  and  Tothill-fields.  °d  nauseam,"  before  the  Public  ,  and,  without  enter- 
To  prig  is  still  to  steal  ;J  to  fib,  to  beat ;  lour,  money ;  ing  into  the  propriety  of  meddling  with  such  a  per- 
duds,  clothes  ;*  pmncers,  horses  ;  bauzing-ken,  an  ale-  j  sonage  at  all,  it  is  certain  that,  as  a  mere  matter  of 
house ;  coot,  a  fellow ;  a  sow's  baby,  a  pig,  etc.  etc. i  taste,  he  ought  now  to  be  let  alone.  All  that  can  be 
There  are  also  several  instances  of  the  same  term,  alleged  for  Mr.  Crib  is — what  Rabelais  has  said  in 
preserved  with  a  totally  different  signification.  Thus,  defending  the  moral  notions  of  another  kind  of  cat- 
to  mill,  which  was  originally  "  to  rob,"s  is  now  "  to ;  tie — he  "  knows  no  better."  But  for  myself,  in  my 
beat  or  fight ;"  and  the  word  rum,  which  in  Ben  Jon- 1  editorial  capacity,  I  take  this  opportunity  of  declaring 
son's  time,  and  even  so  late  as  Grose,  meant  fine  and  that,  as  far  as  /  am  concerned,  the  person  in  question 
good,  is  now  generally  used  for  the  very  opposite  shall  henceforward  be  safe  and  inviolate ;  and,  as  the 
qualities ;  as,  "  he '»  but  a  mm  one,"  etc.  Most  of  |  Convent-garden  Managers  said,  when  thev  withdrew 
the  Cant  phrases  in  Head's  English  Rogue,  which  j  their  much-hissed  elephant,  this  is  positively  the  last 
was  published,  I  believe,  in  1666,  would  be  intelli-  time  of  hi&  appearing  an  the  stage. 
gible  to  a  Greek  of  the  present  day ;  though  it  must 
be  confessed  that  the  Songs  which  both  he  and  Dek- 
ker  hare  given  would  puzzle  even  that  "  Graiaj  gentis 
decns,"  Caleb  Baldwin  himself.  For  instance,  one 
of  the  simplest  begins, 


Bing  out,  bien  Modi,  and  tonre  and  toure, 
Bin?  out,  bien  Moru  and  toure ; 

For  all  your  duds  are  bing'd  await; 
The  bien  Cove  hath  the  loure. 


1  Inlber 


comedy  of  "The 


Bush. 


'  n  peculiar  customs,  differs  but  littlcTrom  lb 


ary  . 

; 


ahj 


at  ma 

to  the  life 


ie»*2!n  ty  consulting  the  Vocabu- 
of  Bamfylde  Moore  Carew. 

of  the  History  of  Jon  t- 
of  the  great  anti- 


«*rn« 


r  d*dt  it  thai  described  by  Dekker 
*  m  his  hand,  which  ii  called  i 


•!!. 


into  which,  upon  any  pure  of  .ervice,  when  ho  eocs  a  tlch- 
*V,he  paiteili  a  hooke  of  in,,,,  with  wh.ch  hook^he  aWles 
al  a  window  in  the  dea.l  of  niirht,  for  .hirt.  ., 


v  rai»f  or 
•~-Rfn  .Fnngoi 
•  UJ"    Tlm«, 


. 

cant  or  mi//?  are  ihcy  master*  of  their  art?" 
FO  m,//  however,  sometMno,  <-ie,,ifIPd  "to 
to  ••  a  blealmg  cheat,  i.  e.  lo  kill  a  Bheep. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO 
CONGRESS. 

MOST  Holy,  and  High,  aid  Legitimate  squad, 
First  Suxlls*  of  the  world,  since  Boney'  s  in  quod,3 
Who  have  every  thing  now,  as  Bill  Gibbons  would 

say, 

"  Like  the  bull  in  the  china-shao,  all  your  own  way" — 
Whatsoever  employs  your  magnificent  nobs,4 
Whether  diddling  your  subjects,  and  gutting  then 

/o6»,s 


1      A  chopper  is  a  blow,  struck  op  ihe  face  with  the  back 
pt  the  hand.     Bfeodon  claims  the  honour  of  its  a:< 
but  unjustly;   he  certainly  revived,  and  considerably  im- 
proved it.     It  was  practised  lutii?  I.Htore  our  time.— Brbu»ri 
ton  occasionally  !.«•<!  it ;  nn.l  Sl.ick,  it  also  ci>p.>ars,  struck 
the  chopper  in  givin<;  th.i  return  in  many  of  his  battles."— 
.  vol.  ii.  p.  ijt). 
•i  great  man. 

3  In  prison.    The  dab  '*  in  quod:  the  rogu"  is  in  prison. 

4  Head*, 

5  Taking  out  the  content*.    Thus,  fruiting  a  quart  not 
'or  taking  uut  Ike  lining  of  it,)  i.  e.  drinking  it  off. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


189 


(While  you  hum  the  poor  spoonies1  with  speeches,  so 

pretty, 

'Bout  Freedom,  and  Order,  and — all  my  eye,  Betty,} 
Whether  praying,  or  dressing,  or  dancing  the  hays, 
Or  luppims  your  congo*  at  Lord  C-STL-R — GH'SJ 
(While  his  Lordship,  as  usual,  that  very  great  dab* 
At  the  flowers  of  rhet'ric,  is  flushing  his  gai5) — 
Or  holding  State  Dinners,  to  talk  of  the  weather, 
And  cut  up  your  mutton  and  Europe  together ! 
Whatever  your  caramon,  whatever  your  talk, 
Oh  deign,  ye  illustrious  Cocks  of  the  Walk, 
To  attend  for  a  moment, — and  if  the  Fine  Arts 
Of  jibbing*  and  luring  be  dear  to  your  hearts ; 
If  to  lentf  to  punish,6  to  ruffian*  mankind, 
And  to  darken  their  daylights?  be  pleasures  refined 
(As  they  must  be,)  for  every  Legitimate  mind, — 
Oil,  listen  to  one,  who,  both  able  and  willing 
To  spread  through  creation  the  mysteries  of  milling, 
(And,  as  to  whose  politics,  search  the  world  round, 
Not  a  sturdier  Pit-tite*  e'er  lived  under  ground,) 
Has  thought  of  a  plan,  wliich — excuse  his  presump- 
tion, 
He  hereby  submits  to  your  royal  rumgumption.9 

It  being  now  settled  that  emperors  and  kings, 
Like  kites  made  of  foolscap,  are  high-flying  things, 
To  whose  tails  a  few  millions  of  subjects,  or  so, 
Have  been  tied  in  a  string,  to  be  whisk'd  to  and  fro, 
Just  wherever  it  suits  the  said  foolscap  to  go — 
This  being  all  settled,  and  freedom  all  gammon,10 
And  nought  but  your  honours  worth  wasting  a  d — n 

on ; 

While  snug  and  secure  you  may  now  run  your  riss,1 ' 
Without  fear  that  old  Boney  will  bother  your  gigs — 
As  your  Honours,  too,  bless  you !  though  all  of  a  trade, 
Yet  agreeing  like  new  ones,  have  lately  been  made 
Special  constables  o'er  us,  for  keeping  the  peace, — 
Let  us  hope  now  that  wars  and  rumbustions  will  cease ; 
That  soldiers  and  guns, like  "the Devil  and  hisworks," 
Will  henceforward  be  left  to  Jews,  Negers,  and  Turks ; 
Till  Brown  Bess11  shall  soon,  like  Miss  Tabitha  Fusty, 
For  want  of  a  spark  to  go  off  with,  grow  rusty, 
And  lobsters13  will  lie  such  a  drug  upon  hand, 
That  our  do-nothing  Captains  must  all  gctjapann'd  ! '  * 


1  Simpletons,  alias,  Innocents. 

2  Drinkins  your  tea. 

3  s!"e  i he  Appendix,  No.  3. 

4  An  Adept. 

5  Showing  off  his  talk.— Belter  expressed,  perhaps,  by  a 
«ie  wit,  who,  upon  being  asked  what  was  going  on  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  answered,  "  Only  Lord  C.  airing  his 
Vocabulary." 

C  All  terms  of  the  Fancy,  and  familiar  to  those  who  read 
the  Transactions  of  the  Pugilistic  Society. 

7  To  close  up  their  eyes — alias,  to  seta  tip  their  sees. 

8  TOM  received  his  first  education  iu  a  coal-pit;  from 
whence  he  has  been  honoured  with  the  name  of  "  the  Black 
Diamond." 

9  Gumption, or  Rumtrumptii/n,  comprehension,  capacity. 

10  Nonsense  or  humbug. 

11  Play  yur  tricks. 

1-2  A  soldier's  fire-lock. 

13  Soldiers,  from  the  colour  of  their  clothes.     "  To  boil 
mu's  lobster  means  for  a  churchman  to  turn  soldier;  lob- 
sters, which  are  of  a  bluish  black,  beinsj  made  red  by  boil- 
ine." — (irose.    Butler's  ingenious  simile  will  occur  to  the 
reader : 

When,  like  a  lobster  boil'd,  the  Morn 
From  black  to  red  began  to  turn. 

14  Ordained — i.  e.  become  clergymen. 


-Vy  eyes,  how  delightful !— the  rabble  well  gagg'd, 
The  Suxtts  in  high  feather,  and  old  Boney  lagg'd.11 

But,  though  we  must  hope  for  such  good  times  as 

these, 

Yet  as  something  may  happen  to  kirk  up  a  breeze — 
Some  quarrel  reserved  for  your  own  private  picking- 
Some  grudge,  even  now  in  your  great  gizzards  sticking, 
(God  knows  about  what — about  money  mayhap, 
Or  the  Papists,  or  Dutch,  or  that  kid,'1  Master  Nap) — 
And,  setting  in  case  there  should  come  such  a  rumjna, 
As  some  mode  of  settling  the  chat  we  must  compass, 
With  which  the  tag-rag3  will  have  nothing  to  do — 
What  think  you,  great  Swells,  of  a  ROYAL  SET-TO?* 
A  King  and  fair  Jitl-work  at  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
Or  at  old  Moulsey-Hurst,  if  you  like  it  as  weD — 
And  that  all  may  be  fair  as  to  wind,  weight,  and 

science, 

FU  answer  to  train  the  whole  HOLT  ALLIANCK  ! 
Just  think,  please  your  Majesties,  how  you  'd  prefer  it 
To  mills  such  as  Waterloo,  where  all  the  merit 
To  vulgar  red-coated  rapscallions  must  fall, 
Who  have  no  Right  Divine  to  have  merit  at  all ! 
How  much  more  select  your  own  quiet  Set-tos  ! — 
And  how  vastly  genteeler  't  will  sound  in  the  news, 
(Kenfs  Weekly  Despatch,  that  beats  all  others  hollow 
For  Fancy  transactions,)  in  terms  such  as  follow  : — 


ACCOUNT  OF  THE  GRAND  SET-TO  BE- 
TWEEN LONG  SANDY  AND  GEORGY  THE 
PORPUS. 

LAST  Tuesday,  at  Moulsey,  the  Balance  of  Power 
Was  settled  by  Twelve  Tightixh  Rounds,  in  an  hour — 
The  Buffers,"  both  "  Boys  of  the  Holy  Ground;"—9 
LONG  SANDY,  by  name  of  the  Bear  much  renown'd, 
And  GEORGY  the  Porpus,  prime  glutton  reckon'd — 
Old  thinsrummeePoTrso1  was  LONG  SANDY'S  second, 
And  GEORGY'S  was  Pat  C — STL — R — GH, — he  who 

lives 

At  the  sign  of  the  King's  Arms  a-kimbo,  and  gives 
His  small  beer  about,  with  the  air  of  a  chup 
Who  believed  himself  a  prodigious  strong  tap. 
This  being  the  first  true  Legitimate  Mutch 
Since  TOM  took  to  training  these  Swells  for  the 

scratch, 

Every  lover  of  life,  that  had  rhino  to  spare, 
From  sly  little  Moses  to  B — R— G,  was  there 


1  Transported. 

2  Child. — Hence  our  useful  word,  kidnapper — to  nab  a  kid 
being  to  steal  a  child.     Indeed,  we  need  but  recollect  ihc 
niai.y  i  .Vflk'iit  and  necessary  words  to  which  Johnson  hnj 
affixed  the  stigma  of  "cant  term,"  to  be  aware  how  consi- 
derablv  the  Enslish  1  inguaee  has  been  enriched  by  the  con- 
tributions of  the  Flash  fraternity. 

3  The  common  people,  the  mobility. 

4  A  boxing-match. 

5  Boxers—  Irish  cant. 

6  The  hitch  in  the  metre  here  was  rendered  necessary  by 
the  quotation,  which  is  from  the  celebrated  Fancy  Chant 
ending,  every  verse,  thus  : — 

For  we  are  the  boys  of  the  Holy  Ground, 

And  we'll  dance  upon  nothing,  and  turn  us  round! 

It  is  almost  needless  to  add,  that  the  Holy  Ground,  or 

Land,  is  a  wi-ll-known  r-gion  of  St.  Giles's. 

7  TOM   means,   I  presume,  the  celebrated  diplomatist. 

,  Hc.rgo. — The  Irish  used  to  claim  the  chincer  l)nl<" 
lot  as  their  countrvman,  insisting  that  the  O  had  dipped  out 
of  it*  rislit  place,  and  that  his  real  name  was  Mr.  O' Diddle 
On  the  ^ime  principle  they  will,  perhaps,  awert  their  right 
to  M.  Pozyo. 


190 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Never  since  the  renown'd  days  of  BROUGHTON  and 

Fioo1 

Was  the  Franciful  World  in  such  very  prime  twig— 
And  long  before  daylight,  gigs,  ratllert,'  and  prads* 

MI  motion  for  Moulsey,  brimful  of  the  Lads. 
JACK  ELD— N,  Old  SID.  and  some  mose,  had  come 

down 

On  the  evening  before,  and  put  up  at  The  Crown,— 
Their  old  favourite  sign,  where  themselves  and  their 

brothers 

G«t  grub*  at  cheap  rate,  though  it  Jleeces  all  others ; 
Nor  matters  it  how  we  plebeians  condemn, 
As  The  Crown  'a  always  sure  of  its  license  from  them. 

T  was  diverting  to  see,  as  one  ogled  around, 

How  Corinthian*?  and  Commoners  mixed  on  the 

ground. 

Here  M — NTR — SE  and  an  Israelite  met  face  to  face, 
The  Duke,  a  place-hunter—the  Jew,  from  Duke's 

Place ; 

While  NICKT  V — NS — TT — T,  not  caring  to  roam, 
Got  among  the  white-bag-men,''  and  felt  quite  at  home. 
Here  stood  in  a  comer,  well  screen'd  from  the  wea- 
ther, 

Old  SID.  and  the  great  Doctor  EADY  together, 
Both  famed  on  the  wall* — with  a  d — n,  in  addition, 
Prefix'd  to  the  name  of  the  former  Physician. 
Here  C — MD— N,  who  never  till  now  was  suspected 
Of  Fancy,  or  aught  that  is  therewith  connected, 
Got  close  to  a  dealer  in  dortkies,  who  eyed  him, 
Jack  Scroggin*  remark'd,  "just  as  if  he'd  have  buy'd 

him ;" 
While  poor  Bogy  B — CK — GH — M  well  might  look 

pale, 
As  there  stood  a  great  Rat-catcher  close  to  his  tail ! 

'Mongst  the  vehicles,  too,  which  were  many  and  va- 
rious, 

From  natty  barouche  down  to  buggy  precarious, 
We  tungg'd  more  than  one  queensh  sort  of  turn-out ; — 
C — NN — G  came  in  a  job,  and  then  canter'd  about 
On  a  showy,  but  hot  and  unsound,  bit  of  blood 
(For  a  leader  once  meant,  but  cast  off,  as  not  good,) 
Looking  round  to  secure  a  snug  place  if  he  could : — 
While  ELD — N,  long  doubting  between  a  grey  nag 
And  a  white  one  to  mount,  took  his  stand  in  a  drag.' 
At  a  quarter   past  ten,  by  Pat  C — STL — R — GH'S 

tattler* 

CRIB  came  on  the  ground  in  a  four-in-hand  rattler  ; 
(For  Ton,  since  he  took  to  these  Holy  Allies, 
b  as  tip-top  a  beau  as  all  Bond-street  supplies ;) 
And,  oh  seeing  the  CHAMPION,  loud  cries  of  "  Fight, 

fight," 
"Rinjt,  ring,"  "Whip  the  Gemmen,"  were  heard  left 

and  right. 

But  the  kirts,  though  impatient,  were  doorn'd  to  delay, 
As  the  old  P.  C."  ropes  (which  are  now  mark'd  H 
A.") 


1  The  rhicf  founden  of  the  modern  school  of  pugilism. 

9  Hi*h  ipiriu  or  condition.  3  Coaches. 

4  llurte*.  5  Victuali. 

6  Men  or  rank — ride  Roxinna,  pasxim. 

|.ock«U.          8  A  cart  or  waggon.         9  A  watch. 

nl  The  ropr»  and  itakei  used  at  the  prize-fights, ! 
properly  of  the  Pugilistic  Club,  are  marked  with  the  initials 
T  C  11  For  "  Holy  Alliance 


Being  hack'd  in  the  service,  it  seems  had  given  way, 
And,  as  rope  is  an  article  much  up  in  price 
Since  the  bank  took  to  hanging,  the  lads  had  to  splice. 
At  length  the  two  Swells  having  enter'd  the  Ring, 
To  the  tune  the  Cow  died  of,  called  "  God  save  the 

King," 

Each  threw  up  his  castor*  'mid  general  huzzas — 
And,  if  dressing  would  do,  never  yet,  since  the  days 
When  HUMPHRIES  stood  up  to  the  Israelite's  tlntmps, 
In  gold-spangled  stockings  and  touch-me-not  pumps,* 
Has  there  any  thing  equall'd  the  fal-lals  and  tricks 
That  bedizen'd  old  GEORGY'S  bang  up  topr  ami  kick*.'3 
Having  first  shaken  daddies*  (to  show,  JACKSON  said, 
It  was  "pro  bono  Pimlico"^  chiefly  they  bled) 
Roth  peel" d6 — but,  on  laying  his  Danriij  lilt  l>y, 
Old  GEORGY  wentjloush,  and  his  backers  looked  shy; 
For -they  saw,  notwithstanding  CRIB'S  honest  en- 
deavour 

To  train  down  the  crummy,''  't  was  monstrous  as  ever! 
Not  so  with  LONG  SANDY — prime  meat  every  inch — 
Which,  of  course,  made  the  Gnostics8  on  t'  other  side 

flinch ; 
And  BOB  W — LS — N  from  Southwark,  the  gamest 

chap  there, 
Was  now  heard  to  sing  out  "Ten  to  one  on  the  Bear!" 

FIRST   ROUND.    Very  cautious — the  Kiddies  both 

sparr'd 

As  if  shif  of  the  scratch — while  the  Porpus  kept  guard 
O'er  his  beautiful  mug9  as  if  fearing  to  hazard 
One  damaging  touch  in  so  dandy  a  muzztml. 
Which  t'  other  observing  put  in  his  O.NE-Two10 
Between  GEORGY'S  left  ribs,  with  a  knuckle  so  true, 
That  had  his  heart  lain  in  the  right  place,  no  doubt 
But  the  Bears  double-knock  would  have  rummaged  it 

out — 

As  it  was,  Master  GEORGY  came  souse  with  the  whack, 
And  there  sprawl'd,  like  a  turtle  iiuu'd  queer  on  ila 

back. 

SECOND  ROUND.    Rather  sprightly — the   Bear,  in 

high  gig, 

Took  a  fancy  to  Jlirt  with  the  Porpus's  wig; 
And,  had  it  been  either  a  loose  tie  or  bob, 
He'd  have  cla.w'd  it  clean  off,  but 't  was  glued  to  his 

nob. 

So  he  tipp"d  him  a  set'ler  they  call  "  a  Spoil- Dandy" 
Full  plump  in  the  whisker.—  High  betting  on  Sandy 


I  Hat. 


. 

2  "The  fine  manly  form  of  Humphries  was  seen  to  great 
advantage;  he  had  on  a  pair  of  fine  flannel  drawers,  white 
silk  stockinjs,  th>-  dorks  of  which  were  spangled  with  gold, 
and  pumps  lied  with  ribbon."  —  (Account  of  the  First  Buttle 
between    Humphries  and   Mendoza.)  —  The  epistle   which 
Humphries  wrote  to  a  friend,  communicating  the  result  of 
this  fight,  is  worthy  of  a  Lacedaemonian.  —  "  Sir,  1  have  done 
the  Jew,  and  am  in  good  health.     Rich.  Hinnpli!  i«-s." 

3  Tog  and  kicks,  coat  and  breeches.  —  Tag  is  one  of  the 
cant  words  which  Dekker  cites,  as  "  retaining  a  certain  sail 
and  tasting  of  some  wit  and  learning,"  being  derived  from 
the  Latin  toga.  4  Hands. 

5  Mr.  Jackson's  residence  is  in  Pimlico.  —  This  gentleman 
(as  he  well  deserves  to  be  called,  from  the  correctness  uf  his 
conduct  and  the  peculiar  urbanity  of  his  manners)  forms  that 
useful  link  between  the  amateurs  and  the  professors  of  pu- 
gilism, which,  when  broken,  it  will  be  difficult,  if  not  wholly 
ini|M>ssilile  to  replace.  (i  Stripped. 

1  Fat.  8  Knowing  ones.  9  Face. 

10  Two  blows  succeeding  each  other  rapidly.  Thus 
,'speaking  of  Randall)  "his  ONE-TWO  are  put  in  with  the 
sharpness  of  lightning." 


' 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


1UJ 


THIRD  ROUND.   Somewhat  slack — GEORGY  tried  to 

make  play, 

But  his  own  victualling-office*  stood  much  in  the  way ; 
Whilo  SANDY'S  long  arms — long  enough  for  a  douse 
All  the  way  from  Kamschatka  to  Johnny  Groat's 

House — 

Kept  paddlituf  about  the  poor  Porpus's  muns? 
Till  they  made  him  as  hot  and  as  cross  as  Lent  buns!3 

FOURTH   ROUND.    GEORGY'S  backers  look'd  blank 

at  the  lad, 

When  they  saw  what  a  rum  knack  of  shifting*  he  had — 
An  old  <ucA-  of  his  youth — but  the  Bear,  up  to  slum,* 
Follow'd  close  on  my  gentleman,  kneading  his  crum 
As  expertly  as  any  Dead  Man6  about  town, 
All  the  way  to  the  ropes — where,  as  GEORGY  went 

down, 

SANDY  tipjfd  him  a  dose  ofthat  kind,  that,  when  taken, 
It  is  n't  the  stuff,  but  the  patient  that 's  shaken. 

FIFTH  ROUND.    GEORGY  tried  for  his  customer's 

head — 

(The  part  of  LONG  SANDY  that's  softest,  'tis  said  ; 
And  the  chat  is  that  NAP,  when  he  had  him  in  tow, 
Found  his  knowledge-box1   always  the  first  thing  to 

go)— 

Neat  mill-ing  this  Round — what  with  clouts  on  the  nob, 
Home  hits  in  the  bread-basket,3  clicks  in  the  gob,3 
And  plumps  in  the  daylights,'0  a  prettier  treat 
Between  two  Johnny  Raws1 '  't  is  not  easy  to  meet. 

SIXTH  ROUND.    GEORGY'S  friends  in  high  flourish 

and  hopes ; 

JACK  ELD — N,  with  others,  came  close  to  the  ropes — 
And  when  GEORGV,  one  time^ot  the  head  of  the  Bear 
Into  Chancery™  ELD — N  sung  out  "  KEEP  him  there ;" 
But  the  cull  broke  away,  as  he  would  from  Lob's 

pound,13 

And,  after  a  nun  sort  of  ruffuming  Round, 
Like  cronies  they  hugg'd,  and  came  smack  to  the 

ground ; 

Poor  SANDY  the  undermost,  smother'd  and  spread 
Like  a  German  tuck'd  under  his  huge  feather-bed!14 


1  The  stomach  or  paunch.  2  Mouth. 

3  Hot  rro-s  buns. 

4  "  Some  have  censured  shifting  as  an  unmanly  custom." 
— Bar  in  n  a. 

5  Iliiiiilin?  (|r  gammon. 

6  Dead  Me*  arc  Bakers — so  called  from  the  loaves  false- 
ly ehar:," •<!   to  their  master's  customers.     The  following  is 
from  an  Account  of  the  liatlle  fought  by  Nosworthy,  the 
IVaker,  with  Martin,  the  .lew  : 

"  First  round.  iVosworthy,  on  the  alert,  planted  a  tre- 
mendous hit  »n  Martin's  month,  which  not  only  dra werl  forth 
a  p'ol'iisioii  ol'  rln rut,  but  he  went  down. — Loud  shouting 
from  the  Dual  .Mi  it! 

'•H.'.-ond  Hound.  Nosworthy  began  to  serve  the  Jew  in 
style,  and  hi*  hits  told  most  tmoeodoacly.  Martin  made  a 
good  round  of  it,  but  fell  rather  distressed.  The  Dead  Mm 
now  o:>ened  their  months  wide,  and  loudly  offered  six  to 
four  on  the  Muster  of  the  Rolls!" 

7  The  head.  8  The  stomach.  9  The  mouth. 
]0  The  ej  m.                       11  Novices. 

12  Getting  tho  head  under  the  arm,  for  the  purpose  of 

jttlll',lt<r. 

13  A  prison. — Pee  Dr.  Grey's  explanation  of  this  phrase 
in  his  notes  upon  Hndihrns. 

14  The  Germans  sleep  between  two  beds:   and  it   is  re- 
lated that  an  Irish  traveller,  upon  finding  a  feather  bed  thus 
laid  over  him,  took  it  into  his  head  that  the  people  slept  in 
strata,  one  upon  the  other,  and  said  to  the  attendant,  "will 
you  be  good  enough  to  tell  the  gentleman  or  lady  that  is  to 
lie  over  me,  to  make  haste,  as  I  want  to  go  asleep !" 


All  pitied  the  patient — and  loud  exclamations, 

" My  eyes!"  and  "my  wig!"  spoke  the  general  sen 

sations — 
"T  was  thought  SANDY'S  soui  was  squeezed  out  of 

his  corpus, 
So  heavy  the  crush. — Two  to  one  on  the  Porpus! 

Nota  bene. — 'Twas  curious  to  see  all  the  pigeons 
Sent  off  by  Jews,  Flashmen,  and  other  religions, 
To  office,1  with  all  due  despatch,  through  the  air, 
To  the  Butts  of  the  alley  the  fate  of  the  Bear; 
(For  in  these  Fancy  times,  't  is  your  hits  in •  the  muns, 
And  your  choppers  and  floorers,  that  govern  tha 

Funds)— 

And  Consols,  which  had  been  all  day  shy  enough, 
When  't  was  known  in  the  Alley  that  Old  Blue  and 

Buff 
Had  been  down  on  the  Bear,  rose  at  once — up  to 

snuff!2 

SEVENTH  ROUND.    Though  hot-pressed,  and  as  flat 

as  a  crumpet, 
LONG  SANDY  shov/'dgame  again,  acorningto  rump  it; 
And,  fixing  his  eye  on  the  Porpus's  snout,3 
Which  he  knew  that  Adonis  felt  peery*  about, 
By  SL  feint,  truly  elegant,  tipp'd  him  a  punch  in 
The  critical  place,  where  he  cupboards  his  luncheon, 
Which  knock'd  all  the  rich  Curacoa  into  cruds, 
And  doubled  him  up,  like  a  bag  of  old  duds.'* 
There  he  lay  almost  frummagem'd6 — every  one  said 
'T  was  all  Dicky  with  GEORGY,  his  mug  hung  so  dead. 
And  'twas  only  by  calling"  your  wife,  Sir,  your  wife!'" 
(As  a  man  would  cry  "  fire !")  they  could  start  him 

to  life. 

Up  he  rose  in  a  funk,*  lapp'd  a  toothful  of  brandy, 
And  to  it  again  — Any  odds  upon  SANDY. 

EIGHTH  ROUND.    SANDY  work'd  like  a  first-rate  do- 

molisher : 

Bear  as  he  is,  yet  his  VcJe  is  no  poHxhr.r ; 
And,  take  him  at  ruffuining  work  (though  in  com 

mon,  he 

Hums  about  Peace  and  all  that,  like  a  Domine*) 
SANDY  's  the  boy,  if  once  to  it  they  fall, 
That  will  play  up  old  goosebern/  soon  with  them  all. 
This  round  was  but  short — after  humouring  awhile, 
He  proceeded  to  serve  an  ejectment,  in  style, 
Upon  GEORGY'S  front  grinders,*  which  damaged  hii 

smile 

So  completely  that  bets  ran  a  hundred  to  tea 
The  Adonis  would  ne'er  flash  his  ivory'0  again — 
And  'twas  pretty  to  see  him  roil'd  round  with  the 

shook, 
Like  a  cask  of  fresh  blubber  in  old  Greenland  Dock ! 


1  To  signify  by  letter. 

2  This   phrase,  denoting  elevation  of  various  kinds,   i* 
often  rendered  more  emphatic  by  such  adjuncts  as  "  l'/i  to 
snuff  and  twopenny. —  Up  to  snuff,  and  a  pinch  above  it" 
etc.  etc. 

3  Nose.  4  Suspicious.  5  Clothei. 
<>  Chnaked.                7  Fright. 

8  A  Parson.— Thus  in  that  truly  classical  song  the  CWM 
toning  of  Little  Joey: 

When  Domine  had  named  the  Kid, 
Then  home  again  they  piked  it; 

A  flash  of  Kgktming  was  prepared 
For  every  one  that  liked  it." 

9  Teeth.    •  10  Show  Ms  teeth. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


NINTH  ROUND.  One  of  GEORGY'S  bright  ogkt1  was 
put 

On  the  bankruptcy  lift,  with  its  shop-windows  shut; 
While  the  other  won  made  quite  as  tag-rag  a  show, 
All  rimm'd  round  with  black,  like  the  Courier  in  woe! 
Much  alarm  was  now  seen  'mong  the  Israelite  Kids, 
And  B—  R— «,— the  deviTs  own  boy  for  the  quids,3— 
Despatched  off  a  pigeon  (the  species,  no  doubt, 
That  they  call  B— »— o's  *toc*-dove)  with  word  "to 
•ell  out." 

From  this  to  the  finish  'twas  all  Jiddle  f addle— 
Poor  GKORGY,  at  last,  could  scarce   hold   up   his 

doddle— 
With   grinders   dislodg'd    and  with  peepers   both 

poach'd,1 
T  was  not  till  the  Tenth  Round  his  dare?  was 

broach  d: 

AM  the  cellarage  lay  so  deep  down  in  the  fat, 
Like  his  old  M a's  purse,  't  was  cursed  hard  to 

get  at. 

Bat  tpelt  in  the  metiers*  (too  pretty  to  shun, 
If  the  lad  even  could)  set  it  going  like  fun , 
And  this  being  the  first  Royal  Claret  let  flow, 
Since  Ton  took  the  Holy  Alliance  in  tow, 
The  uncorking  produced  much  sensation  about, 
As  bets  had  been  flush  on  the  first  painted  snout. 
Nota  bene. — A  note  was  wing'd  off  to  the  Square, 
Just  to  hint  of  this  awful  phlebotomy  there  ;— 
BOB  Gi.  EGSON,  whose  wit  at  such  things  is  exceeding,6 
Inclosing  a  large  sprig  of  "Low  lies  a  bleeding!" 

In  short,  not  to  dwell  on  each/acer  and/aZZ, 
Poor  GKORGY  was  done  up  in  no  time  at  all, 
And  his  tpunkicst  backers  were  forced  to  sing  small.'' 
In  vain  did  they  try  to  fig  up  the  old  lad ; 
T  was  like  using  persuaders'  upon  a  dead  prod;* 
In  vain  Bogy10  B— CK — GH — M  fondly  besought  him, 
To  show  like  himself,  if  not  game  at  least  bottom ; 
While  M — RL — Y,  that  very  great  Count,  stood  de- 
ploring 

He  had  n't  taught  GEORGY  his  new  modes  of  boring:11 
All  useless — no  an  can  transmogrify  truth — 
It  was  plain  the  conceit  was  milfd  out  of  the  youth. 
In  the  Twelfth  and  Last  Round  SANDY  fetch'd  him 

a  downer, 

That  left  him  all 's  one  as  cold  meat  for  the  Croumer ;  '* 
On  which  the  whole  populace  flash'd  the  while  grin 
Like  a  basket  of  chips,  and  poor  GEORGY  gave  in:11 
While  the  fiddlers  (old  POTTS  having  tipp'd  them  a 

bandy)14 

Play'd  "Green  grow  the  rushes"1*  in  honour  of 
SANDY! 


Now,  what  say  your  Majesties  ? — is  n't  this  primel 
Was  there  ever  French  Bulletin  half  so  sublime? 
Or  could  old  NAP  himself,  in  his  glory,1  have  wish'd 
To  show  up  a  fat  Gi-minan  more  handsomely  dish'd  ? — 
Oh,  bless  your  great  hearts,  let  them  say  what  they 

will, 

Nothing's  half  so  genteel  as  a  regular  Mitt; 
And,  for  settling  of  balances,  all  I  know  is, 
'Tis  the  way  CALEB  BALDWIN  prefers  settling  7<i.f.s 
As  for  backers,  you  've  lots  of  Big-wigs  about  Court 
That  will  back  you — the  raff  being  tired  of  that 

sport, — 
And  if  quids  should  be  wanting  to  make  the  match 

good, 
There's  B — R — NG,  the  Prince  of  Rag  Rhino,  who 

stood 
(T'  other  day,  you  know)  bail  for  the  seedy3  Right 

Liners : 
Who  knows  but,  if  coax'd,  he  may  she]!  out  the 

shiners  ?* 

The  shiners  !  Lord,  Lord,  what  a  bounce  do  I  say ! 
As  if  we  could  hope  to  have  rag's  done  away, 
Or  see  any  tiling  shining,  while  VAN.  has  the  sway  ! 

As  to  training,  a  Court 's  but  a  rum  sort  of  station 
To  choose  for  that  sober  and  chaste  operation  ;* 
For,  as  old  IKEY    Pic6  said  of  Courts,  "by  de 

heavens, 

Dey  're  all,  but  the  Fires  Court,  at  sires  and  sevens.'" 
What  with  snoozing,7  high  grubbing,a  and  guzzling 

likeCloe, 

Your  Majesties,  pardon  me,  all  get  so  doughy, 
That  take  the  whole  kit,  down  from  SANDY  the  Bear 
To  him  who  makes  duds  for  the  Virgin  to  wear, 
I  'd  chuse  but  JACK  SCROGGINS,  and  feel  disappointed 
If  JACK  did  n't  fcZZ  out  the  whole  Lord's  Anointed  ! 

But,  barring  these  nat'ral  defects  (which,  I  feel, 
My  remarking  on  thus  may  be  thought  ungentccl,) 
And  allowing  for  delicate  fams,3  which  have  merely 
Been  handling  the  sceptre,  and  that,  too,  but  qucerly, 
I  'm  not  without  hopes,  and  would  stand  a  tight  bet, 
That  I  '11  make  something  game  of  your  Majesties  yet 
So,  say  but  the  word — if  you  're  up  to  the  freak, 
Let  us  have  a  prime  match  of  it,  Greek  against  Greek, 
And  I  '11  put  you  on  beef-steaks  and  sweating  next 

week — 

While,  for  teaching  you  every  perfection,  that  throws  a 
Renown  upon  milling — the  tact  of  MENDOZA — 


I  Eyes.  2  Money. 

3  French  ennt ;  Lei  jreux  pocket  an  bevrre  noir. — See 
the  Jlii-tioxnaire  Comique. 

4  Blood.  5  The  nose. 

«  Some  specimens  of  Mr.  Gregson's  lyrical  talents  are 
fi.en  in  the  Appendix,  No.  4. 

7  To  be  humhl.-d  or  abiuhed.        8  Spurs.      9  Horse. 
10  For  the  meaning  of  this  term,  see  druse. 

II  "The  ponderosity  of  Crib,  when  in  close  quarter*  with 
•it  opponent,  evidently  bored,  in  upon  him,"  etc. 

12  The  Cor. 

13  The  ancient  Greeks  had  a  phrase  of  similar  structure 

14  A  handy  or  cripple,  a  sixpence :  "  that  piece  being 
commi-rly  much  bcm  and  distorted." — Grose. 

15  The  well-known  compliment  paid  to  the  Emperor  of 
«fl  Ihe  Riuitai  by  some  Irish  musicians. 


1  See  Appendix,  No.  5. 

2  A  trifling  instance  of  which  ia  recorded  in  Boxiana1. — 
"  A  fracas  occurred  between  Caleb  Baldwin  and  the  keeper* 
of  the  gate.    The  latter  not  immediately  recognizing   ilia 
veteran  of  the  ring,  refused  his  vehicle  admittance  without 
the  usual  tip;  but  Caleb,  finding  argufying  the  topic  would 
not  do,  instead  of  paying  them  in  the  new  coinage,  dealt 
out  another  sort  of  currency,  and,  although  destitute  of  tne 
W.  W.  P.  it  had  such  an  instantaneous  effect  upon  the 
Johnny  Raws,  that  the  gale  flew  open,  and  Caleb   rode 
through  in  Triumph." 

3  Poor.  4  Produce  the  guineas. 

5  The  extreme  rigour,  in  these  respects,  of  the  ancient 
system  of  training,  may  be  inferred  from  the  instances  men- 
tioned by  ./Elian.     Not  only  pugilists,  but  even  players  on 
the  harp,  were,  during  the  time  of  their  probation,  (rvvou<ri»» 
apxiu;  x»i  a-iif-i. — De  .'Inimal.  lib.  6.  cap.  1. 

6  A  Jew,  so  nick-named— one  of  the  Rig  ones.    He  wai 
beaten  by  Crib,  on  Blackheatb,  in  the  year  1805. 

7  Sleeping.  6  Feeding 
9  Famt  at  f ambles,  bands. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


The  charm,  by  which   HUMPHRIES'   contrived  to 

infuse 

The  Qiree  Graces  themselves  into  all  his  One- Twos — 
The  nobtiers    of  JOHNSON* — BIG   BEN'S'  longing 

brain-blows — 

The  wring  of  SAM,*  that  turn'd  faces  to  rainbows — 
OKI  (  ORCORAN'S  dick,*  that  laid  customer*  flat — 
PADDY    RYAN  from  DMin's*  renown'd  "coup  de 

Pat;" 

And  MY  own  improved  method  of  tickling  a  rib, 
Vou  may  always  command — 

Your  devoted 

TOM  CRIB. 


APPENDIX. 

No.  I. 

Account  of  a  Grand  Pugilistic  Meeting,  held  at  BEL- 
CHER'S (Castle  Tavern,  HoUiorn,)  TOM  CRIB  in 
the  Chair,  to  take  into  consideration  the  propriety 
of  sending  Representatives  of  the  Fancy  to  Con- 
gress.— Extracted  from  a  letter  written  on  the  occa- 
sion by  HARRY  HARMER,  the  Hammererf  to  NED 
PAINTKR. 


LIST  Friday  night  a  bang-up  set 

Of  milling  blades  at  BELCHER'S  met ; 

All  high-bred  Heroes  of  the  Ring, 

Whose  very  gammon  would  delight  one; 
Who,  nursed  beneath  The  Fancy's  wing, 

Show  all  her  feathers — but  the  white  one. 

Brave  TOM,  the  CHAMPION,  with  an  air 
Almost  Corinthian*  took  the  Chair ; 
And  kept  the  Coves3  in  quiet  tune, 

By  showing  such  a.  fist  of  mutton 
As,  on  a  Point  of  Order,  scon 

Would  take  the  shine  from  Speaker  SCTTON. 


1  Humphries  was  called  "  The  Gentleman  Boxer."     He 
was  (says  the  author  of  Boxiana)  remarkably  graceful,  and 
hia  attitudes  were  of  the  most  elegant  and  impressive  nature. 

2  Tom  Johnson,  who,  till  his  fight  with  Big  Bun,  was 
hailed  as  the  Champion  of  England. 

3  Bf.n  Brain,  alias  Big  Bun,  wore  the  honours  of  the 
Championship  till  bin  death. 

4  Dutch  Sam,  a  hero,  of  whom  all  the  lovers  of  the 
Fancy  spenk,  as  the  Swedes  do  of  Charles  the  Twelfth, 
with  tears  in  their  eyes. 

5  Celebrated  Irish  pugilists. 

6  So  called  in  his  double  capacity  of  Boxer  and  Copper- 
tmith. 

7  The  passage  in  Pindar,  from  which  the  following  lines 
of  "Hark,  the  merry  Christ  Church  Bells,"  art)  evidently 
borrowed : 

The  devil  a  man, 

Will  leave  his  can, 

Till  he  hears  the  Mighty  Tom. 

8  i.  e.  With  the  air,  almost,  of  a  man  of  rank  nnrl  fashion. 
Indeed,  according  t<>  Horace's  notions  of  a  peerage,  Tom't 
claims  to  it  are  indisputable ; 

•  ilium  superare  pugnis 


9  FeMows. 


2B 


And  all  the  lads  look'd  gay  and  bright, 
And  gin  and  genius  flash'd  about, 

And  whosoe'er  grew  unpolite, 
The  well-bred  CHAMPION  served  him  out 

As  we'd  been  summon'd  thus  to  quaff 

Our  Deady1  o'er  some  State  affairs. 
Of  course  we  mix'd  not  with  the  raff, 

But  had  the  Sunday  room,  up  stairs. 
And  when  we  well  had  sluiced  our  gobs,* 

'Till  all  were  in  prime  twig  for  chatter, 
TOM  rose,  and  to  our  learned  nobs 

Propounded  thus  the  important  matter : — 

"  Gemmen"  says  he — TOM'S  words,  you  know 
Come  like  his  hitting,  strong  but  slow — 
"  Seeing  as  how  those  Swells,  that  made 
Old  Boncy  quit  the  hammering  trade 
(All  prime  ones  in  their  own  conceit,) 
Will  shortly  at  THE  CONGRESS  meet — 
(Some  place  that 's  like  THE  FINISH,'  lads. 
Where  all  your  high  pedestrian  pads, 
That  have  been  up  and  out  all  night, 

Running  their  rigs  among  the  rattlers,* 
At  morning  meet,  and — honour  bright — 

Agree  to  share  the  blunt  and  tattlers  ."">- 
Seeing  as  how,  I  say,  these  Swells 

Are  soon  to  meet,  by  special  summons, 
To  chime  together  like  '  hell's  bells,' 

And  laugh  at  all  mankind  aa  rum  ones — 
I  see  no  reason,  when  such  things 
Are  going  on  among  these  Kings, 
Why  We,  who  're  of  the  Fancy  lay,' 
As  dead  hands  at  a  mill  as  they, 
And  quite  as  ready,  after  it, 
To  share  the  spoil  and  grab  the  bit,'' 
Should  not  be  there  to  join  the  chat, 
To  see,  at  least,  what  fun  they're  at, 
And  help  their  Majesties  to  find 
New  modes  of  punishing  mankind. 
What  say  you,  lads  ?  is  any  spark 
Among  you  ready  for  a  lark  * 
To  this  same  Congress  ? — CALEB,  JOE, 
BILL,  BOB,  what  say  you  ? — yes  or  no  ?" 
Thus  spoke  the  CHAMPION,  Prime  of  men, 

And  loud  and  long  we  cheer'd  his  prattle 
With  shouts,  that  thunder'd  through  the  ken, 

And  made  TOM'S  Sunday  tea-things  rattle  ! 

A  pause  ensued — 'till  cries  of  "GREGSON" 
Brought  BOB,  the  Poet,  on  his  legs  soon — 
(My  eyes,  how  prettily  BOB  writes  ! 
Talk  of  your  Camels,  Hogs,  and  Crabs,10 


1  Deady's  gin,  otherwise  Deady's  brilliant  stark  naked 

2  Had  drunk  heartily. 

3  A  public-house  in  Covent-Garden,  memorable  as  on* 
of  the  places  where  the  Gentlemen  Depredators  of  the  night 

the  Holy  League  of  the  Road)  meet,  early  in  the  morning, 
or  the  purpose  of  sharing  the  spoil,  and  arranging  other 
matters  connected  with  their  most  Christian  Alliance. 

4  Robbing  travellers  in  chaises,  etc. 

5  The  money  and  watches. 

6  Particular  pursuit  or  enterprise.    Thus,  "he  is  on  trie 
fnd-lay,"  i.  e.  stopping  children  with  parcels  and  robbing 
hem — the  ken-crack-lay,  house-breaking,  etc.  etc. 

7  To  seize  the  money. 

8  A  frolic  or  party  of  Pleasure.  9  House. 

10  By  this  curious  zoological  assemblage  (something  lid* 
?crni's  "porci,  e  poeti,  e  piddochi,")  the  writer  means, 
luppose,  Messrs.  Campbell,  Crabbe,  and  Hogg. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  twenty  more  such  Pidcock  frights— 

BOB'B  worth  a  hundred  of  these  dabs: 
For  a  short  turn  up1  at  a  sonnet, 

A  round  of  odes,  or  Pastoral  hout, 
All  LtmAardritrtet  to  nine-pence  on  it,1 

BOBBY'S  the  boy  would  clean  them  out!) 
*Gtmme*,"  says  he— (Boa's  eloquence 

Lies  much  in  C—NN—G'S  line,  't  is  said ; 
For,  when  BOB  can't  afford  us  feme, 

He  tip*  us  poetry,  instead  )- 
"  Gemmen,  before  I  touch  the  matter, 
On  which  I'm  here  had  up  for  palter,1 
A  few  short  words  I  first  must  spare, 
To  him,  THE  HERO,  that  sits  there, 
Stngging  Blue  Ruin,4  in  that  chair. 
(Hrar—hear) — His  fame  I  need  not  tell, 

For  that,  my  friends,  all  England's  loud  with ; 
But  this  I'll  say,  a  civiler  Swell 

I'd  never  wish  to  blow  a  cloud*  with  !" 

At  these  brave  words,  we,  every  one, 

Nun/r  out  u  hear—  hear" — and  clapp'd  like  fun, 

For,  knowing  how,  on  Moulsey's  plain, 

The  CHAMPION fbVd  the  POET'S  nob,' 
This  butlering-up,"1  against  the  grain, 

We  thought  was  cursed  genteel  in  BOB. 
And  here  again,  we  may  remark 

BOB'S  likeness  to  the  Lisbon  jobber* — 
For,  though  all  know  lhatjiashy  fpark 

From  C — ST — R — GH  received  a  nobber, 
That  made  him  look  like  sneaking  Jerry, 
And  laid  him  up  in  ordinary,3 
Yet  now,  such  loving  pals'-"  are  they, 

That  Georgy,  wiser  as  he  's  older, 
Instead  offacingC — ST — R — on, 

Is  proud  to  be  his  bottle-holder 

But  to  return  to  BOB'S  harangue, 
Twas  deuced  fine— no  slum  or  slang — 
But  such  as  you  could  smoke  the  bard  in, — 
All  full  of  flower*,  like  Common  Garden, 
With  lots  ofjigures,  neat  and  bright, 
Like  Mother  Salmon's — wai-work  quite ! 

The  next  was  TURNER — nobbing  NED — 
Who  put  his  right  leg  forth,"  and  said, 
"  Ton,  I  admire  your  notion  much  ; 

A  no  please  the  pips,  if  well  and  hearty, 
I  somehow  thinks  I'll  have  a  touch, 

Myself,  at  this  said  Congress  party. 


1  A  turn-up  is  properly  a  casual  and  hasty  set-to. 

2  More  initially  "Lombard-street  to  a  China  orange.' 
Thore  are   icreral   of  these  fanciful  forms  of  betting— 
"  Chelsea  College  to  a  centry-box,'1  "  Pompey's  Pillar  to  a 

•I  irk     (if  B*»lintf-u-a  v    '*    »tr*      aTn 


stick  of  sealing-  wax,"  etc.  etc. 


4  Gin. 


. 

5  To  imoka  •  pipe.    This  phrase  ii  highly  poetical,  and 
•X  plain*  what  Homer  meant  by  Ihc  fptliet,  •m^^ifirm 
5  In  UM  yeu  1808,  when  CRIB  defeated  GRKOSON. 
7  Praising  or  (Uttering. 
)  Thete  parallel!  between  great  men  are  truly  edifying 

9  Sec  cart—  •  good  deal  of  which  has  been  introduced 
into  the  regular  Flash,  by  such  cltuiic  heroes  as  Scroggins, 
Crockey,  etc. 

10  Fri-nds. 

1  1  Ned's  farourite  Prolegomena  in  battle  as  well  as  in  de- 
l>«tc.  A«  this  position  is  snul  to  render  him  "  very  hard  to 
be  got  at,"  I  would  recommend  poor  Mr.  V—  niHt—  t  to  try 
n  u  a  last  resource,  in  his  next  tet-ta  with  Mr.  T—  rn—  y 


Though  no  great  shakes  at  learned  chat, 

If  settling  Euroj«  be  the  sport, 
They'll  find  I'm  just  the  boy  for  that, 

As  tipping  settlers1  is  my  forte  J" 

Then  up  rose  WARD,  the  veteran  JOE, 
And,  'twill  his  whiffs,2  suggested  briefly 

That  but  a.  few,  at  first,  should  go, 

And  those,  the  light-weight  Gemmen  chiefly ; 

As  if  too  many  "Big  ones  went, 
They  might  alarm  the  Continent!.'" 

JOE  added,  then,  that  as  't  wa.s  known 

The  R — G — T,  bless  his  wig !  had  shown 

A  taste  for  Art  (like  JOEY'S  own-1) 

And  meant,  'mong  other  sporting  things, 

To  have  the  heads  of  all  those  Kings, 

And  conqu'rors,  whom  he  loves  so  dearly, 

Taken  off — on  canvas,  merely ;  •/ 

God  forbid  the  other  mode  ! — 

He  (JoE;  would  from  his  own  abode 

(The  dragon4 — famed  for  Fancy  works, 

Drawings  of  Heroes,  and  of — corks) 

Furnish  such  Gemmen  of  the  Fist,* 

As  would  complete  the  R — G — T'S  h'st. 

'Thus,  Champion  TOM,"  said  he,  "would  look 

[light  well,  hung  up  beside  tlie  Duke — 

TOM'S  noddle  being  (if  its  frame 

[lad  but  the  gilding)  much  the  same — 

And,  as  a  partner  for  Old  Bin, 

BILL  GIBBONS  or  myself  would  do." 

Loud  cheering  at  this  speech  of  JOEY'S-  - 
\VTio,  as  the  Dilettanti  know,  is 

With  all  his  other  learned  parts) 
Down  as  a  hammer*  to  the  Arts  ! 

Old  BILL,  the  Black,7 — you  know  him,  NEDDT — 
(With  mug,*  whose  hue  the  ebon  shames, 


1  A  kind  of  blow,  whose  sedative  nature  is  sufficiently 
expluined  by  the  name  it  boars. 

2  Joe  being  particularly  fond  of  "  that  costly  and  gentle- 
manlike smoke,"  as  Ut-kker  calls  it.    The  talent  which  Joe 
mssesses  of  uttering  Flash  while  he  smokes — "  ex  fumo 

dare  lucem'' — is  very  remarkable. 

3  Joe's  taste  for  pictures  has  been  thus  commemorated 
>y  the  great  Historian  of  Pugilism—"  If  Joe  Ward  cannot 
>oast  of  a  splendid  gallery  of  pictures  formed  of  selections 
rom  the  great  foreign  masters,  he  can  sport  such  a  col- 
ection  of  natirr  subjects  as,  in  many  instances,  mu-t  be 

considered  unique.  Portraits  of  nearly  all  the  pugilists 
'many  of  them  in  whole  lengths  and  attitudes)  arc  to  be 
bund,  from  the  days  of  Figg  and  Broughton  down  to  the 
irescnt  period,  with  likenesses  of  many  distiniriiislied  arna- 
eurs,  among  whom  are  Captain  Barclay,  the  ciassic  Dr- 
lohnson.  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  etc.  His  parlour  is 
decorated  in  a  similar  manner ;  and  his  partialfty  for  picture* 
las  gone  so  far,  that  even  the  tap-room  contains  many  ex- 
cellent subjects!" — Boxiuna,  vol.  i.  p.  431. 

4  The  Green  Dragon,  King-street,  near  Swallow-street, 
'  where  (says  the  same  author)  any  person  may  have  an 
opportunity  of  verifying  what  has  been  asserted,  in  viewing 
Ward's  Cabinet  of 'the  Fancy  I" 

5  Among  the  portraits  is  one  of  BILL  GIBBONS,  by  t 
upil  of  the  great  Fu.uli,  which  gave  occasion  to  the  follow 
>g  impromptu: — 

Though  you  are  one  of  Fuseli's  scholars, 
Tins  (juestion  I'll  dare  to  propose, — 

How  the  ilevil  could  you  use  iciUfr-rolours, 
In  painting  BILL  GIBBONS'S  nose? 

6  To  be  down  to  any  thing  is  pretty  much  the  same  as  b« 
ng  up  to  it,  and  "down  as  a.  hammer  is,"  of  course,  tl 
ntensivum  of  the  phrase. 

7  RICHMOND.  8  Face 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


195 


Reflected  in  a  pint  of  Deadi/, 

Like  a  large  Collier  in  the  Thames) 
Though  somewhat  cut,1  just  bcgg'd  to  say 
He  hoped  that  Swell,  Lord  C — ST — R — un, 
Would  show  the  Lily-Whiles*  fair  play; 
'  And  not — as  once  he  did" — says  BILL, 

"  Among  those  Kings,  so  high  and  s</uiroA, 
Leave  us,  poor  Blacks,  to  fare  as  ill 
As  ifvfe  were  but  pigs,  or  Irish  1" 

BILL  GIBBONS,  rising,  wish'd  to  know 
Whether  'twas  meant  his  Butt  should  go — 


1  Cut,  tipsy;  another  remarkable,  instance  of  the  simi- 
larity lluit  cMr-is  li. -twcen  tin-  language  of  the  Classics  anil 
that  of  St.  Giles's. — In  Martial  we  find  "Inculuit  quoties 
faiiriu  vena  m/ ro."  Ennius,  too,  lias  "  sauciaoit  se  ttore 
Lilieri ;"  and  Justin,  "  heslerno  mtro  saucii." 

a  J.ily-  Whites  (or  Snow-balls,)  Nogroen. 


"  As,  should  their  Majesties  be  dull," 
Says  BILL,  "  there  's  nothing  like  a  Bull :' 
"  And  blow  me  tight" — (BiLL  GIBBONS  ne'er 
In  all  his  days  was  known  to  swear, 
Except  light  oaths,  to  grace  his  speeches, 
Like  "dfiS/i  my  wig,"  or  "  burn  my  breeches!") 

"  Blow  me — " 

— Just  then,  the  Chair,2  already 
Grown  rather  lively  with  the  Deady, 


1  Bill  Gibbons  has,  I  believe,  been  lately  rivalled  in  this 
peculiar  Walk  of  the  Fancy,  by  the  superior  merits  of  Turn 
Oliver's  Game  Bull. 

2  From  the  respect  which  I  bear  to  all  sorts  of  dignita- 
ries, and  my  unwillingness  to  meddle  with  the  "  ini'i'iitrd 
weaknesses  of  the  grout,"  I  have  been  induced  to  supiirom 
the  remainder  of  this  detail. 


No.  II. 


id.  Lib.  v.  426. 


VIRGIL. 


CONSTITIT  in  digitos  extemplo  arrectus  uterque, 
Brachiaque  ad  superas  interritus  extulit  auras. 
Abduxere  retro  longe  capita  ardua  ab  ictu  : 
fmmisocntque  manus  manibus,  pugnamque  lacessunt 
llle,  pedum  melior  motu,  fretusque  juventa  : 
flic,  mcmbris  et  mole  valens  ; 

sed  tarda  trementi 
Genua  labant,  vastos  quatit  seger  anhelitus  artus. 

Multa  viri  nequicquam  inter  se  vulnera  jactant, 
Multa  cavo  lateri  ingeminant,  et  pectore  vastoa 
Dant  sonitus  ;  f.rratque  aures  et  tempora  circum 
Crebra  manus  duro  crepitant  sub  vulnere  malae. 


Stat  gravis  Entellus,  nisuque  immotus  eodem, 
Corpore  tela  modo  atque  oculis  vigilantibus  exit. 


[lie,  vnlut  celsam  oppugnat  qui  molibus  urbem, 
Aut  inontana  sedet  circum  castella  sub  armis  ; 
Nunc  hos,.nunc  illos  aditus,  omnemque  pererrat 
Arte  locum,  et  variis  assultibus  irritus  urget. 


No.  II. 


Account  of  the  Milling-match  between  Enlellus  and 
Dares,  translated  from  the  Fifth  Book  of  the  jEneid, 

BY  ONE  OF  THE  FANCY. 
4 

WITH  daddies'  high  upraised,  and  nob  held  back, 
In  awful  prescience  of  the  impending  thwacfr, 
Both  Kiddies2  stood — and  with  prelusive  spar, 
And  light  manoeuvring,  kindled  up  the  war! 
The  One,  in  bloom  of  youth — a  light-weight  blade — 
The  Other,  vast,  gigantic,  as  if  made, 
Express,  by  Nature  for  the  hammering  trade ; 
But  aged,3  slow,  with  stiff  limbs,  tottering  much, 
And  lungs,  that  lack'd  the  bellows-mender's  touch. 

Yet,  sprightly  to  the  Scratch  both  Buffers  came, 
While  ribbers  rung  from  each  resounding  frame, 
And  divers  digs,  and  many  a  ponderous  pelt, 
Were  on  their  broad  bread-baskets  heard  and  felt. 
With  roving  aim,  but  aim  that  rarely  miss'd, 
Round  lugs  and  ogles*  flew  the  frequent  fist ; 
While  showers  of  facers  told  so  deadly  well, 
That  the  crush'd  jaw-bones  crackled  as  they  feil ! 
But  firmly  stood  ENTELLUS — and  still  bright, 
Though  bent  by  age,  with  all  THE  FANCY'S  light, 
Stopp'd  with  a  skill,  and  rallied  with  a  fire 
The  Immortal  FANCY  could  alone  inspire  ! 
While  DARES,  shifting  round,  with  looks  of  thought, 
An  opening  to  the  Cove's  huge  carcase  sought 
(Like  General  PRESTON,  in  that  awful  hour, 
When  on  one  leg  he  hopp'd  to — take  the  Tower  !) 
And  here,  and  there,  explored  with  active_/ws 
And  skilful/V:m<,  some  guardless  pass  to  win, 
And  prove  a  boring  guest  when  once  let  in. 


1  Hands. 

2  Fellows,  usually  young  fellows. 

3  Macrobius.  in  his  explanation  of  the  various  properties 
of  the  number  Seven,  says,  that  the  fifth  Hebdomasof  mini's 

iff  (the  age  of  35)  is  the  completion  of  his  strength;  that 
hcrefore  pugilists,  if  not  successful,  usually  give  over  their 
irofcssion  at  that  time. — ''  Inter  pugiles  deniqiie  box:  con- 
suetudo  conservator,  ut  quos  jam  coronavere  victoria;,  nihJl 
de  se  amplius  in  increments  virium  sperent;  qui  vero  ex 
ier'i-s  hujus  gloria*  usque  illo  nvansunint,  a  profusaiuiio  <lu- 
-,edant."  In  Somn.  Scip.  Lib.  1. 

4  Ears  and  Eyes.  5  Arm. 


196 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ostendi:  deitram  insurgens  Entcllus,  et  alte 
Extulit :  illc  ictum  venientem  a  vertice  velox 
Pravidit,  celerique  elapsus  corpora  cessit. 
Entellus  vires  in  ventura  effudit,  et  ultra 
Ipse  gravi*  graviterque  ad  terrain  pondere  vasto 
Concidit :  ut  quondam  cava  concidit,  aut  Erymantho 
Aut  Ida  in  magna,  radicibus  eruta  pinus. 


Consurgunt  studiis  Teucri  et  Trinacria  pubes : 
It  clamor  ccelo ;  primusque  accurrit  Acestes 
JSquerumque  ab  humo  miserans  attollit  amicum. 


At  non  tardatua  casu,  neque  tcrritus  hcros 
Acrior  ad  pugnam  redit,  ac  vim  suscitat  ira  t 
Turn  pudor  incendit  Tires,  et  conscia  virtus ; 
Pnecipitemque  Daren  ardcns  agit  acquore  toto, 
Nunc  dextra  ingeminans  ictus,  nunc  illc  sinistra. 


Nee  mora,  nee  requies :  quam  multa  grand ine  nimb 
Cnlmintbus  crepitant,  sic  densis  ictibus  heros 
Creber  utraque  manu  pulsat  versatque  Dareta. 

Turn  pater  ./Eneas  procedere  longius  iras, 
Et  szvire  animis  Entellum  baud  passus  acerbis ; 
Sed  finem  imposuit  pugnae,  fcssumque  Dareta 
Eripuit,  mulcens  dictis,  ac  talia  fatur : 

Infelix !  quz  tanta  animum  dementia  cepit  ? 
Non  vires  alias,  conversaque  numina  scutis  ? 
Cede  Deo. 


Dixitque,  et  przlia  voce  dircmit. 
Ast  ilium  fidi  aequales,  genua  acgra  trahentcm, 
JacUntemque  utroque  caput,  crassumque  cruorem 
Ore  rejectantem,  mixtosque  in  sanguine  denies, 
Ducunt  ad  naves. 


And  now  ENTELLUS,  with  an  eye  that  plann'd 
Punishing  deeds,  high  raised  his  heavy  hand  , 
But,  ere  the  sledge  came  down,  young  DARES  spied 
Its  shadow  o'er  his  brow,  and  slipp'd  aside — 
So  nimbly  slipp'd,  that  the  vain  rtobber  pass'd 
Through  empty  air ;  and  He,  so  high,  so  vast, 
Who  dealt  the  stroke,  came  thundering  to  the  ground!- 
Not  B— CK — GH — M  himself,  with  bulkier  sound,' 
Uprooted  from  the  field  of  Whiggish  glories, 
Fell  souse,  of  late,  among  the  astonish'd  Tories  !J 
Instant  the  Ring  was  broke,  and  shouts  and  yells 
From  Trojan  Flashmen  and  Sicilian  Swells 
Fill'd  the  wide  heaven — while,  touch'd  with  grief  to 

see 

His  pal,'1  well-known  through  many  a  lark  and  spree,* 
Thus  rumlyfloor'd,  the  kind  ACESTES  ran, 
And  pitying  raised  from  earth  the  frame  old  man, 
L'ncow'd,  undamaged  to  the  sport  he  came, 
His  limbs  all  muscle,  and  his  soul  all  flame. 
The  memory  of  his  milling  glories  past, 
The  shame  that  aught  but  death  should  see  him  grass'd, 
All  fired  the  veteran's  pluck — with  fury  flush'd, 
Full  on  his  light-limb'd  customer  he  rush'd, — 
And  hammering  right  and  left,  with  ponderous  swing,5 
Rujfian'd  the  reeling  youngster  round  the  Ring — 
Vor  rest,  nor  pause,  nor  breathing-time  was  given, 
3ut,  rapid  as  the  rattling  hail  from  heaven 
Beats  on  the  house-top,  showers  of  RANDALL'S  shof 
Ground  the  Trojan's  lugs  flew  peppering  hot ! 
Till  now  ./ENEAS,  fill'd  with  anxious  dread, 
iush'd  in  between  them,  and,  with  words  well-bred, 
"reserved  alike  the  peace  and  DARES'  head, 
3oth  which  the  veteran  much  inclined  to  break— 
Then  kindly  thus  the  punish? d  youth  bespake : 
'  Poor  Johnny  Raw!  what  madness  could  impel 
So  rum  a  Flat  to  face  so  prime  a  Swell  ? 
See'st  thou  not,  boy,  THE  FANCY,  heavenly  Maid, 
lerself  descends  to  this  great  Hammerer's  aid, 
And,  singling  him  from  all  her  flash  adorers, 
hines  in  his  hits,  and  thunders  in  his  floorers? 
Tien,  yield  thee,  youth — nor  such  a  spooney  be, 
!"o  think  mere  man  can  mitt  a  Deity  1" 

Tius  spoke  the  Chief— and  now,  the  scrimage  o'er, 
lis  faithful  pals  the  done-up  DARES  bore 
tack  to  his  home,  with  tottering  gams,  sunk  heart, 
And  muns  and  noddle  pink'd  in  every  part.' 


1  As  the  up/ooted  trunk  in  the  original  is   said  to  be 
cava,"  the  epithet  here  ought,  perhaps,  to  be  "follower 

ound." 

2  I  trust  my  conversion  of  the  Erymanthian  pine  into  liii 
— ds — p  will  be  thought  happy  and  ingenious.  It  was  sug 
;«ted,  indeed,  by  the  recollection   that  Erymanthus  was 
BO  famous  for  another  sort  of  natural  production,  very 
>mmon  in  society  at  all  periods,  and  which  no  one  but 
erculea  ever  seems  to  have    known    how  to    manage. 

""hough  even  he  is  described   by  Valerius  Flaccua  as— 
Erymanthxi  sudantem  pondere  monstri." 

3  Friend.  4  Party  of  pleasure  and  frolic. 

5  Th»  phrase  is  but  too  applicable  to  the  round  hitting 
'  the  ancients,  who,  it  appears  by  the  engravings  in  Mer- 

urinlii  de  Art.  Gymnast,  knew  as  little  of  our  straight  for- 
arcnode  as  the  uninitiated  Irish  of  the  present  day.  I 
avt>,  by  the  by,  discovered  sojiie  errors  in  Mercurialis,  ai 
ell  as  in  two  other  modern  authors  upon  Pugilism  (viz. 
ttrus  Faber,  in  his  Agonisticon,  and  that  indefatigable 
araic  antiquary,  M.  Burette,  in  his"Memoire  pour  scrvir  a 
[ligtoire  du  Pugilat  des  Anciens,")  which  I  (shall  have  the 
easurc  of  pointing  out  in  my  forthcoming  "  Parallel." 

6  A  favourite  blow  of  THE  NONPARIKL'S,  go  called. 

7  There  are  two  o'  three  Epigrams  in  the  Greek  Antho 


TOM  CUlb'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


la: 


While  from  his  gob  the  guggling  claret  gush'd, 
And  lots  of  grinders,  from  their  sockets  crush'd, 
Forth  with  the  crimson  tide  in  rattling  fragments 
rush'd! 


No.  III. 


Ai  illustrative  of  the  Noble  Lord's  visit  to  Congres*,  I  take 
the  liberty  of  giving  the  two  following  pieces  of  poetry, 
which  appeared  gome  time  since  in  the  Morning  Chroni- 
cle, and  which  are  from  the  pen,  I  suspect,  of  that  face- 
tious Historian  of  the  Fudges,  Mi.  Thomas  Brown,  the 
Younger. 

LINES 

ON  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  LORDS  C — ST — R — GH  AND 

ST — W — RT  FOR  THE  CONTINENT. 
Jit  Paris1  et  Fratrea,  et  qui  rapuere  sub  illis 
Vix  tenuere  manus  (scis  hoc,  MenelaS)  nefandaa. 

Ovid.  Metam.  lib.  13.  v.  202. 

Go,  Brothers  in  wisdom — go,  bright  pair  of  Peers, 
And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with  their 

pinions ! 

The  One,  the  best  lover  we  have — of  his  year.*, 
And  the  other  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  domi- 
nions. 

Go,  Hero  of  Chancery,  blest  with  the  smile 

Of  the  Misses  that  love  and  the  monarchs  that 
prize  thee ; 

Forget  Mrs.  ANG — LO  T — YL — R  awhile, 
And  all  tailors  but  him  who  so  well  dandifies  thee. 

Never  mind  how  thy  juniors  in  gallantry  scoff, 
Never  heed  how  perverse  affidavits  may  thwart 
thee, 

But  show  the  young  Misses  thou  'it  scholar  enough 
To  translate  "  Amor  Fortis,"  a  love  about  forty! 

And  sure  'tis  no  wonder,  when,  fresh  as  young  Mars, 
From  the  battle  you  came,  with  the  Orders  you'd 

earn'd  in 't, 

That  sweet  Lady  FANNY  should  cry  out  "  my  stars .'" 
And  forget  that  the  Moon,  too,  was  some  way  con- 
cern'd  in  't. 


lojjy,  ridiculing  the  state  of  mutilation  and  disfigurement  to 
wliR-h  the  pugilists  were  reduced  by  their  combats.  The 
following  four  lines  are  from  an  Epigram  by  Lucilhus,  lib.  i 


jr.o<rx 

H 


Of5», 


Literally,  as  follows  :  —  "  Thy  head,  O  Apollophanes,  is  per- 
forated like  a  sieve,  or  like  the  leaves  of  an  old  worm-eaten 
book  ;  and  the  numerous  scars,  both  straiplit  and  cross- 
ways,  which  have  been  left  upon  thy  pate  by  the  ce»tus, 
very  much  resemble  the  score  of  a  Lydian  or  Phrygian  piece 
of  mu=ic."  Periphrastically,  thus: 
Your  noddlp,  dear  Jack,  full  of  holes  like  a  sieve, 

Is  so  figured,  and  dotted,  and  scratch'd,  I  declare, 
By  vour  customers'  fists,  one  would  almost  believe 

They  had  punch?  d  a  whole  verse  of  "  The  Woodpecker" 
there  ! 

Itousht  to  bo  mentioned,  that  the  word  "punching"  U 
used  both  in  boxing  and  music-engraving. 

1  Ovid  is  mistaken  in  saying  that  it  was  "  At  Paris"  trye 
rapacious  transactions  took  place  —  we  should  read  '  At 
Vienna." 


For  not  the  great  R — a — T  himself  has  endured 
(Though  1  've  seen  him  with  badges  and  orders  al. 
shine, 

Till  he  look'd  like  a  house  that  was  over  insured,) 
A  much  heavier  burthen  of  glories  than  thine. 

And  'tis  plain,  when  a  wealthy  young  lady  so  mad  IB, 
Or  any  young  ladies  can  so  go  astray, 

As  to  marry  old  Dandies  that  might  be  their  daddies, 
The  stars'  are  in  fault,  my  Lord  ST — w — RT,  not 
they! 

Thou,  too,  t'  other  brother,  thou  Tully  of  Tories, 

Thou  Malaprop  Cicero,  over  whose  lips 
Such  a  smooth  rigmarole  about   "monarch.--,"  and 

"  glories," 

And  "nullidge,"2  and  "features,"   like  syllabub 
sups. 

Go,  haste,  at  the  Congress  pursue  thy  vocation 
Of  adding  fresh  sums  to  this  National  Debt  of  ours, 

Leaguing  with  Kings,  who  for  mere  recreation, 
Break  promises,  fast  as  your  Lordship  breaks  me- 
taphors. 

Fare  ye  well,  fare  ye  well,  bright  Pair  of  Peers  ! 

And  may  Cupid  and  Fame  fan  you  both  with  their 
pinions ! 

The  One,  the  best  lover  we  have — of  hit  yean, 
And  the  Other,  Prime  Statesman  of  Britain's  do- 
minions. 


TO  THE  SHIP  IN  WHICH  LORD  C— ST—  R- 
-GH  SAILED  FOR  THE  CONTINENT 

Imitated  from  Horace,  Lib.  1.  Ode  3 

So  may  my  Lady's  prayers  prevail,3 

And  C — NN— o's  too,  and  lucid  BR — GGE'S, 
And  ELD — N  beg  a  favouring  gale 

From  Eolus,  that  older  Bags,* 
To  speed  thee  on  thy  destined  way, 
Oh  ship,  that  bear'st  our  C — ST — R — GH,* 
Our  gracious  R — G — T'S  better  half,' 

And,  therefore,  quarter  of  a  King — 
(As  VAN,  or  any  other  calf, 

May  find  without  much  figuring.) 
Waft  him,  oh  ye  kindly  breezes, 

Waft  this  Lord  of  place  and  pelf. 
Any  where  his  Lordship  pleases, 

Though  't  were  to  the  D— 1  himself! 

Oh,  what  a  face  of  brass  was  his,' 
Who  first  at  Congress  show'd  his  phiz — 


1   "  When  weak  women  go  astray, 

The  stars  are  more  in  fault  than  they." 
2  It  is  thus  the  Noble  Lord  pronounces  ihe  word  "  kno»v 
ledge" — deriving  it,  as  far  as  his  own  share  U  concerned, 
from  the  Latin  "  nullus." 

3  Sic  te  diva  potens  Cypri, 

Sic  fratrcs  HeleniB,  lurida  lidera, 
Ventorumque  regat  pater. 

4  See  a  description  of  the  »<rxei,  or  Bags  of  Eolui  in 
the  Odyssey,  lib.  10. 

5  Niivi-i,  quoe  tibi  creditum 

Debes  Virgilium. 

6  Ammo;  dimidium  meum. 

7  Illi  robur  et  xs  triplex 

Circa  pectus  erat,  qui,  etc. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  sign  away  the  Rights  of  Man         . 

To  Russian  threats  and  Austrian  juggle ; 
And  leave  the  sinking  African1 

To  fall  without  one  saving  struggle— 
'Mong  ministers  from  North  and  South, 

To  show  his  lack  of  shame  and  sense, 
And  hoist  the  sign  of  "  Bull  and  Mouth" 

For  blunders  and  for  eloquence ! 

In  vain  we  wish  our  Sees,  at  home* 
To  mind  their  papers,  desks,  and  shelves, 

If  silly  Sect,  abroad  will  roam 
And  make  such  noodles  of  themselves. 

But  such  hath  always  been  the  case— 

For  matchless  impudence  of  face, 

There 's  nothing  like  your  Tory  race !' 

First,  PITT,*  the  chosen  of  England,  taught  her 

A  taste  for  famine,  fire,  and  slaughter. 

Then  came  the  Doctor,1  for  our  ease, 

With  E—  D— NS,  CH— TH— MS,  H— WK— B— s, 

And  other  deadly  maladies. 

When  each,  in  turn,  had  run  their  rigs, 

Necessity  brought  in  the  Whigs  :s 

And  oh,  I  blush,  I  blush  to  say, 

When  these,  in  turn,  were  put  to  flight,  too, 
Illustrious  T — MP — E  flew  away 

With  lott  of  pens  lie  had  no  right  to." 

In  short,  what  will  not  mortal  man  do  !* 
And  now,  that — strife  and  bloodshed  past — 

We've  done  on  earth  what  harm  we  can  do, 
We  gravely  take  to  Heaven  at  last ;' 

And  think  its  favouring  smile  to  purchase 

(Oh  Lord,  good  Lord !)  by — building  churches ! 


No.  IV. 

BOB  GREGSON, 

POET  LAUREATE  OF  THE  FANCY. 

"  For  hitting  and  getting  away  (says  the  elegant 
Author  of  Boxiana)  RICHMOND  is  distinguished ;  and 
the  brave  MOLINEUX  keeps  a  strong  hold  in  the  cir- 
cle of  boxers,  as  a  pugilist  of  the  first  class ;  while 


-prtecipitem  Africum 


Decertantem  Aquilonibiu. 
8  Nequicqunm  Deui  ab«ci<lit 

Prudent  oceano  dinociabili 
Terras,  ii  lamen  impiae 

Noo  tangenda  Rota  Iransiliunl  rarla. 
TWs  last  tine,  we  may  tuppoie,  alludea  to  tome  distinguish 
ed  RfU  thai  attended  the  voyager. 

3  Aurlax  omnia  perpeti 
Gen*  rait  per  vetiium  nefaj. 

4  Aodax  Japeti  genni 

I enem  fraude  mala  gentibui  intuliU 

5  Pott 

— maciea,  et  nova  febrium 

Terris  incubuit  cohort. 

• tarda  necenitai 

Letbi  eorripnit  praiium. 

7  Expertui  racvum  DxHalui  aCra 
Prnni*  nan  Aomini  datit. 

Thii  alltition  to  the  12001.  worth  of  itationiiry,  which  hi 
Lonbhip  ordered,  when  on  the  point  of  vacating  hu  ilace 
h  particularly  happy.— ED. 

8  Nil  mortalibiii  anluum  eot. 

9  Colum  iptum  petimui  itultitia. 


ie  CHAMPION  OF  ENGLAND  stands  unrivalled  for  his 
mnishment,  game,  and  milling  on  the  retreat.'— but, 
otwithstanding  the  above  variety  of  qualifications,  it 
as  been  reserved  for  BOB  GREGSON,  alone,  from  his 
nion  of  PUGILISM  and  POETRY,  to  recount  the  deeds 
f  his  Brethren  of  the  Fist  in  heroic  verse,  like  the 
»rds  of  old,  sounding  the  praises  of  their  warlike 
fiampions."  The  same  author  also  adds,  that  "al- 

ough  not  possessing  the  terseness  and  originality 
f  Dryden,  or  the  musical  cadence  and  correctness 
f  Pope,  yet  still  BOB  has  entered  into  his  peculiar 
ubject  with  a  characteristic  energy  and  apposite 
airit."  Vol.  i.  p.  357 

This  high  praise  of  Mr.  GREGSOJTS  talents  is  fully 
orne  out  by  the  specimen  which  nis  eulogist  has 
iven,  page  358 — a  very  spirited  Chr'ant,  or  Nemean 
de,  entitled  "  British  Lads  and  Blar  f.  Millers." 

The  connexion  between  poetical  and  pugnacious 
Topensities  seem  to  have  been  ingeniously  adum- 
rated  by  the  ancients,  in  the  bow  with  which  they 
rmed  Apollo : 

*o./3«  f*t  xai  TOHOX  ia-iTp:;r<T*i  xai  AOIAH. 

Callimach.  Hymn,  in  ApoQin.  v.  44. 

The  same  mythological  bard  informs  us  that,  when 

linerva  bestowed  the  gift  of  inspiration  upon  Tire- 

ias,  she  also  made  him  a  present  of  a  large  cudgel : 

4«<r»  x*i   .MEl  A  BAKTPON: 

another  Bvident  intimation  of  the  congeniality  sup- 
iosed  to  exist  between  the  exercises  of  the  Imagina- 
ion  and  those  of  THE  FANCY.  To  no  one  at  the 
>resent  day  is  the  double  wreath  more  justly  due  than 
o  Mr.  BOB  GREGSON.  In  addition  to  his  numerous 
original  productions,  he  has  condescended  to  give 
mitations  of  some  of  our  living  poets — particularly 
of  Lord  Byron  and  Mr.  Moore;  and  the  amatory 
style  of  the  latter  gentleman  has  been  caught,  with 
peculiar  felicity,  in  the  following  lines,  which  were 
addressed,  some  years  ago,  to  Miss  GRACE  MADDOX, 
a  young  Lady  of  pugilistic  celebrity,  of  whom  I  have 
already  made  honourable  mention  in  the  Preface. 


LINES 

TO  MISS  GRACE  MADDOX,  THE  FAIR  PUGILIST. 
Written  in  imitation  of  the  style  of  Moore. 

BY   BOB   GREGSON,  P.  P. 

SWEET  Maid  of  the  Fancy! — whose  ogles,*  adorning 
That  beautiful  cheek,  ever  budding  like  bowers, 

Are  bright  as  the  gems  that  the  first  Jew2  of  morning 
Hawks  round  Covent-Garden,  'mid  cart-loads  of 
flowers ! 

Oh  Grace  of  the  Graces !  whose  ki«c  to  my  lip 
Is  as  sweet  as  the  brandy  and  tea,  rather  thinnish, 

That  Knights  of  the  Rumpad3  so  rurally  sip, 
At  the  first  blush  of  dawn,  in  the  Tap  of  the  Finish!4 


1  Eyes. 

2  By  the  trifling  alteration  of  "dew"  into  "Jew,"  Mr. 
Gresson  has  contrived  to  collect  the  three  chief  ingredients 
of  Moore's  poetry,  viz.  dews,  gems,  and  flowers,  into  the 
short  compass  of  these  two  lines. 

3  Highwaymen. 

4  See  Jfoie,  pn»c  103.    Brandy  and  tea  ii  the  favourite 
beverage  at  the  Finish. 


TOM  CRIB'S  MEMORIAL  TO  CONGRESS. 


199 


Ah,  never  be  false  to  me,  fair  as  thou  art, 

Nor  belie  all  the  many  kind  things  thou  hast  said ; 

The  falsehood  of  other  nymphs  touches  the  Heart, 
But  THY  JllJiing,  my  dear,  plays  the  dev'l  with  the 
Head! 

Vet,  who  would  not  prize,  beyond  honours  and  pelf, 
A  maid  to  whom  Beauty  such  treasures  has  granted, 

That,  ah !  she  not  only  has  black  eyes  herself, 

But  can  furnish  a  friend  with  a  pair,  too,  if  wanted  ! 

Lord  ST — w — RT'S  a  hero  (as  many  suppose,) 
And  the  Lady  he  woos  is  a  ricli  and  a  rare  one; 

His  heart  is  in  Chancery,  every  one  knows, 
And  so  would  his  head  be,  if  thou  wert  his  fair  one. 

Sweet  Maid  of  the  Fancy!  when  love  first  came  o'er 
me, 

I  felt  rather  queerish,  I  freely  confess  ; 
But  now  I've  thy  beauties  each  moment  before  me, 

The  pleasure  grows  more,  and  the  queerishness  less. 

Thus  a  new  set  of  darbies,'  when  first  they  are  worn, 
Makes  the  Jail-bird2  uneasy,  though  splendid  their 
ray; 

But  the  links  will  lie  lighter  the  longer  they're  borne, 
And  the  comfort  increase,  as  the  shitie  fades  away ! 


I  had  hoped  that  it  would  have  been  in  my  power 
to  gratify  the  reader  with  several  of  Mr.  GREGSON'S 
lyrical  productions,  but  I  have  only  been  able  to  pro- 
cure copies  of  Two  Songs,  or  Chaunts,  which  were 
written  by  him  for  a  Masquerade,  or  Fancy  Ball, 
given  lately  at  one  of  the  most  Fashionable  Cock-and- 
Hen  clubs  in  St.  Giles's.  Though  most  of  the  com- 
pany were  without  characters,  there  were  a  few  very 
lively  and  interesting  maskers;  among  whom,  we 
particularly  noticed  BILL  RICHMOND,  as  the  Emperor 
of  Hayti,3  attended  by  SUTTON,  as  a  sort  of  black 
Mr.  V — NS — T — T  ;  and  IKEY  PIG  made  an  excel- 
lent L — s  D — xir — T.  The  beautiful  Mrs.  CROCKEY,* 
who  keeps  the  Great  Rag  Shopin  Bermondsey,  went 
as  the  Old  Lady  of  Threadneedle  Street.  She  was 
observed  to  flirt  a  good  deal  with  the  black  Mr. 
V — NS — T — T,  but,  to  do  her  justice,  she  guarded  her 
"Hesperidum  mala"  with  all  the  vigilance  of  a  dra- 
goness.  JACK  HOLMES,*  the  pugilistic  Coachman, 
personated  Lord  C — ST — R — GH,  and  sang  in  admira- 
ble style 

Ya-hip,  my  Hearties !  here  am  I 
That  drive  the  Constitution  Fly. 

This  Song  (which  was  written  for  him  by  Mr. 


1  Fetters. 

2  Prisoner — This  being  the  only  bird  in  the  whole  range 
cf  Ornitlu>li>sy  which  the  author  of  Lalla  Kookh  has  not 
[trt-gsud  into  his  service.     Mr.  G  region  may  consider  himself 
»ery  lucky  in  being  able  to  lay  hold  of  it. 

3  His  Slnji'sly  (in  a  Song  which  I  regret  I  cannot  give) 
professed  his  intentions — • 

To  take  to  strong  measures  like  some  of  his  kin—- 
To turn  away  Count  LKMOSADE,  and  bring  in 
A  more  spirited  ministry  under  Duke  (JIN  1 

4  A  relative  of  poor  Crockey,  who  was  lagged  some  time 
lince. 

5  The  same,  I  suppose,  that  strvcd  out  Blake  (alias  Tom 
Toitvh.)  some  years  aso,  at  Wilsden  Green.    The  Fancy 
Gazette,  on  that  occasion,  remarked,  that  poor  Holmus's 
facp  was  "  rendered  perfectly  unintelligible." 


GREGSON,  and  in  which  the  language  and  sentiment* 
of  Coachee  are  transferred  so  ingeniously  to  the  No- 
ble person  represented)  is  as  follows : — 

YA-HIP,  MY  HEARTIES! 

Sung  by  JACK  HOLMES,  the  Coachman,  at  a  Jato  Marma- 
lade in  St.  Giles's,  in  the  character  of  Lo  d  C — 8T — K— «;  11 

I  FIRST  was  hired  to  peg  a  Hack1 
They  call  "The  Erin,"  sometime  back. 
Where  soon  I  learn'd  to  patter  flash,* 
To  curb  the  tits3  and  tip  the  lash — 
Which  pleased  the  Master  of  THE  CROWN 
So  much,  he  had  me  up  to  town, 
And  gave  me  lots  of  qnida*  a  year 
To  tool''  "  The  Constitution"  here, 
So,  ya-hip,  Hearties  !  here  am  I 
That  drive  the  Constitution  Fly. 

Some  wonder  how  the  Fly  holds  out, 

So  rotten  'tis,  within,  without; 

So  loaded  too,  through  thick  and  thin, 

And  with  such  heavy  crelurs  IN. 

But  Lord,  'twill  'ast  our  time — or  if 

The  wheels  should,  now  and  then,  get  stiff, 

Oil  of  Palm  's°  the  thing  that,  flowing, 

Seta  the  naves  and  felloes7  going  ! 

So,  ya-hip,  Hearties  !  etc. 

Some  wonder,  tooy  the  tits  that  pull 
This  mm  concern  along,  so  full, 
Should  never  back  or  bolt,  or  kick 
The  load  and  driver  to  Old  Nick. 
But,  never  fear — the  breed,  though  British. 
Is  now  no  longer  game  or  skittish  ; 
Except  sometimes  about  their  corn, 
Tamer  Houyhnhnms8  ne'er  were  born. 
So,  ya-hip,  Hearties  !  etc. 

And  then  so  sociably  we  ride  ! — 
While  some  have  places,  snug,  inside, 
Some  hoping  to  be  there  anon, 
Through  many  a  dirty  road  hang  on. 
And  when  we  reach  a  filthy  spot 
(Plenty  of  which  there  are,  God  wot,) 
You'd  laugh  to  see,  with  what  an  air  ' 
We  take  the  spatter— each  his  share ! 
So,  ya-hip,  Hearties  !  etc. 


1  To  drive  a  hackney  coach.    Hack,  however,  eccrni  in 
this  place  to  mean  an  old  broken  down  stage-coach. 

2  To  talk  slang,  parliamentary  or  otherwise. 

3  Horses.  4  Money. 

5  A  process  carried  on  successfully  under  the  Roman  Em- 
perors, as  appears  from  what  Tacitus  says  of  the  "  Instrn- 
menta  Regni." — To  tool  is  a  technical  pliiisc  among  tho 
Knights  of  the  Whip;  thus,  that  illustrious  member  of  the 
Society,  Richard  Cypher,  F.sq.  sayg :  "I've  dash'd  at  every 
thin? — P'gg'd  at  Sijervy—tool'd  a  mail-coach." 

6  Money. 

7  I:i  Mr".  Grcgson's  MS.  these  words  are  spelled  "  knaret 
and  fflloies"   but  I  have  printed  them  according  to  lh« 
proper  wheelright  orthography." 

8  The  extent  of  Mr.  (In-i'son's  learning  will,  no  doubt* 
astonish  the  reader;  and  it  appears  by  the  following  lines, 
from  a  Panosyrir  written  upon  him,  by  One  of  the  Fnn«-f, 
that  he  is  also  a  considerable  adept  in  the  Latin  language • 

"As  to  sciences — BOB  knows  a  little  of  all, 
And,  in  Latin,  to  show  that  he's  no  ignoramus, 

He  wrote  once  an  Ode  on  his  friend,  Major  I'anl. 
And  the  motto  was  Paulo  majora  canamut '" 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  other  song  of  Mr.  Gregson,  which  I  have  been  |  And  pring  avay  all  de  long  speeches  at  vonce, 

rky  enough  to  lav  hold  of,  was  sung    by   Old       Dat  else  vou Id,  like  tape-vorms,  come  by  degrees! 


ferity  enough  to  lav  hold  of,  wai,  =-..6  ~,  ~ 
Prwnj,  the  Jew,  who  went  in  the  character  of  Maji 
C — KTW — GUT,  and  who  having  been,  at  one  tim 
•f  hi*  life,  apprentice  to  a  mountebank  doctor,  wa 
able  to  enumerate,  with  much  volubility,  the  virtue 
of  a  certain  infallible  nostrum,  which  he  called  h 
ANNUAL  PILL.  The  pronunciation  of  the  Je 
added  considerably  to  the  effect. 

THE  ANNUAL  PILL. 

8aaf  by  OLD  PROSY,  the  Jew,  in  the  Character  of  Major 

C — RTW — OHT. 

VILL  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  Pill, 
Dat'i  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay? 
Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat  I  vill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  say ! 
T  is  so  pretty  a  bolus !— just  down  let  it  go, 

And  at  vonce,  such  a  radical  shange  you  vill  see, 

Dat  I'd  not  be  surprish'd,  like  de  horse  in  de  show, 

If  our  heads  all  were  found,  vere  our  tailsh  ough 

to  be! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  P31,  etc. 

Twill  cure  all  Electors,  and  purge  avay  clear 

Dat  mighty  bad  itching  dey've  got  in  deir  hands — 

T  will  cure,  too,  all  Statesmen,  of  dullness,  ma  tear, 

Though  the  case  vas  as  desperate  as  poor  Mister 

VAN'S. 

Dere  is  noting  at  all  vat  dis  Pill  vill  not  reach — 
Give  de  Sinecure  Shentleman  von  little  grain, 
Pless  ma  heart,  it  vill  act  like  de  salt  on  de  leech, 
And  he'll  throw  de  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  up 

again! 
Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  PiU,  etc. 

'T  would  be  tedious,  ma  tear,  all  its  peauties  to  paint- 
But,  among  oder  tings  fundamentally  wrong, 

It  vill  cure  de  Proof  PoUom1— a  common  complaint 
Among  M.  Fs.  and  weavers— from  sitting  too 
long.* 

Should  symptoms  of  tpeechinfr  preak  out  on  a  dunce, 
(Vat  is  often  de  case)  it  rill  stop  de  disease, 


1  M-tniM,  I  preiume,  Coalition  AdminUtrations. 
8  Wither  sedentary  habits  have  any  thing  to  do  with 
h«  IMluf  .h.,*,  I  cannot  determine ;  but  that  some  have 
«1  a  sort  of  connexion  between  them,  appears  from 
lh«  t.,11  .w,ng  remark,  quoted  in  Kornmann'i  curious  book 
*    rirfmuiu  J*r»-"  Ratio  perquauj   Upida   e.t  a,,ud 
"  °  ""Ura  illlu 


Vill  nobodies  try  my  nice  Annual  PUL, 
D.it  's  to  purify  every  ting  nashty  avay  ? 

Pless  ma  heart,  pless  ma  heart,  let  ma  say  vat  I  vill, 
Not  a  Chrishtian  or  Shentleman  minds  vat  I  s^y ! 


%  No.  V. 

The  following  poem  is  also  from  the  Morning  Chronicle, 
and  has  every  appearance  of  being  by  the  same  pen  ai 
the  two  others  I  have  quoted.  The  Examiner,  indeed,  in 
extracting  it  from  the  Chronicle,  says,  "  we  think  we  can 
gue««  whose  easy  and  sparkling  hand  it  is." 

TO  SIR  HUDSON  LOWE. 


EfTare  causam  nominis, 
Utrum  ne  mores  hoc  lui 
Komen  dedere,  an  nomen  hoc 
Secuta  Riorum  regula. 

~1usonius. 

SIR  Hudson  Lowe,  Sir  Hudson  Low 
(By  name,  and  ah !  by  nature  so,) 

As  thou  art  fond  of  persecutions, 
Perhaps  thou'st  read,  or  heard  repeated, 
How  Captain  Gulliver  was  treated, 

When  thrown  among  the  Lilliputians. 

They  tied  him  down — these  little  men  did— 
And  having  valiantly  ascended 

Upon  the  Mighty  Man's  protuberance, 
They  did  so  strut! — upon  my  soul, 
It  must  have  been  extremely  droll 

To  see  their  pigmy  pride's  exuberance ! 

And  how  the  doughty  mannikins 
Amused  themselves  with  sticking  pins 

And  needles  in  the  great  man's  breeches ; 
And  how  some  very  little  things, 
That  pass'd  for  Lords,  on  scaffoldings 

Got  up  and  worried  him  with  speeches. 

Alas,  alas  !  that  it  should  happen 

To  mighty  men  to  be  caught  napping  ! 

Though  different,  too,  these  persecutions; 
For  Gulliver,  there,  took  the  nap, 
While,  here,  the  Nap,  oh  sad  mishap, 

Is  taken  by  the  Lilliputians  ' 


RHYMES   ON   THE   ROAD, 

EXTRACTED  FROM  THE  JOURNAL 

Of  A 

TRAVELLING  MEMBER  OF  THE  POCOCURANTE  SOCIETY,  1819 


THE  Gentleman,  from  whose  Journal  the  following 
extracts  are  taken,  was  obliged  to  leave  England  some 
years  ago  (in  consequence  of  an  unfortunate  attach- 
ment, which  might  have  ended  in  bringing  him  into 
Doctors'  Commons,)  and  has  but  very  recently  been 
abje  to  return  to  England.  The  greater  part  of  these 
poems  were,  as  he  himself  mentions  in  his  Introduc- 
tion, written  or  composed  in  an  old  caleche,  for  the 
purpose  of  beguiling  the  ennui  of  solitary  travelling  ; 
and  as  verses  made  by  a  gentleman  in  his  sleep  have 
lately  been  called  "  a  psychological  curiosity,"  it  is  to 
be  hoped  that  verses  made  by  a  gentleman  to  keep 
himself  awake  may  be  honoured  with  some  appella- 
tion equally  Greek. 


INTRODUCTORY  RHYMES. 

Different  Attitudes  in  which  Authors  compose. — Hayes, 
Henry  Stephens,  Herodotua,  etc. —  Writing  inBed, — 
in  the  Fields. — Plato  and  Sir  Richard  Blacknwre. — 
Fiddling  with  Gloves  and  Twigs. — Madame  de 
Stael. — Rhyming  on  the  Road,  in  an  old  Calecfie. 

WHAT  various  attitudes,  and  ways, 
And  tricks,  we  authors  have  in  writing! 

While  some  write  sitting,  some,  like  BAVES, 
Usually  stand  while  they're  inditing. 

Poets  there  are,  who  wear  the  floor  out, 

Measuring  a  line  at  every  stride ; 

While  some,  like  HENRY  STEPHENS,  pour  out 
Rhymes  by  the  dozen,  while  they  ride.1 

HERODOTUS  wrote  most  in  bed ; 

And  RICHERAND,  a  French  physician, 
Declares  the  clock-work  of  the  hr.ul 

Goes  best  in  that  reclined  position. 
If  >ou  consult  MONTAIGNE"  and  PLINY  on 
The  subject,  't  is  their  joint  opinion 
That  Thought  its  richest  harvest  yields 
Abroad,  among  the  woods  and  fields  ; 
That  bards,  who  deal  in  small  retail, 

At  home  may,  at  their  counters,  stop  ; 
But  that  the  grove,  the  hill,  the  vale, 

Are  Poesy's  true  wholesale  shop. 


1  Pleraque  sua  carmina  equilans  composuit.— Paracicin. 
Singular. 

i!  MI-S  penseeg  dorment,  si  je  les  assis. — Mnntaiziir. 

Animus  eorum,  qui  in  aperto  aiite  ambulant,  attolJitur — 
P/iny. 

2C 


And  truly  I  suspect  thejtfre  right — 

For,  many  a  time,  on  summer  eves, 
Just  at  that  closing  hour  of  light, 

When,  like  an  eastern  Prince,  who  lea  ires 
For  distant  war  his  Haram  bowers, 
The  Sun  bids  farewell  to  the  flowers, 
Whose  heads  are  sunk,  whose  tears  are  flowing 
'Mid  all  the  glory  of  his  going — 
Even  /  have  felt  beneath  those  beams, 

When  wand'ring  through  the  fields  alone, 
Thoughts,  fancies,  intellectual  gleams, 

That,  far  too  bright  to  be  my  own, 
Seem'd  lent  me  by  the  Sunny  Power, 
That  was  abroad  at  that  still  hour. 

If  thus  I've  felt,  how  must  tfiey  fees 

The  few,  whom  genuine  Genius  warms, 
And  stamps  upon  their  soul  his  seal, 

Graven  with  Beauty's  countless  forms  ;— 
The  few  upon  this  earth  who  seem 
Born  to  give  truth  to  PLATO'S  dream, 
Since  in  their  souls,  as  in  a  glass, 

Shadows  of  things  divine  appear—. 
Reflections  of  bright  forms  that  pass 

Through  fairer  worlds  beyond  our  sphere  ! 

But  this  reminds  me  I  digress ; — 

For  PLATO,  too,  produced,  't  is  said 
(As  one  indeed  might  almost  guess,) 

His  glorious  visions  all  in  bed.1 
'T  was  in  his  carriage  the  sublime 
Sir  RICHARD  BI.ACK.MORE  used  to  rhyme , 

And  (if  the  wits  don't  do  him  wrong,) 
'Twixt  death  and  epics  pass'd  his  time, 

Scribbling  and  killing  all  day  long— 
Lake  Phoebus  in  his  car,  at  ease, 

Now  warbling  forth  a  lofty  song, 
Now  murdering  the  young  Niobes. 

There  was  a  hero  'mong  the  Danes, 
Who  wrote,  we're  told,  'mid  all  the  pains 

And  horrors  of  exenteration, 
Nine  charming  odes,  which,  if  you  look, 

You'll  find  preserved,  with  a  translation, 
By  BARTHOLINUS  in  his  book.2 


1  The  only  authority  I  know  for  imputing  this  prnci.cr  t(« 
Pluto  and  Herodotus,  is  a  Latin  poern  by  M.  de  Vaio.j  uo 
his  Bed,  in  which  he  says. 

Lucifer  Hcrodotum  vidit  vespcrque  cubaetem; 
Desedit  totos  hie  Plato  sa.']«- 

2  Endem  cura  nee  minoron  inter  crnciates  animnm  inieli- 
coiu  ageuli  fuit  Asbiorno  Piuda;  JJanico  heroi,  cum  Uriuo 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  short,  't  were  endless  to  recite 

The  various  modes  in  which  men  write. 

Some  wits  are  only  in  the  mind 

When  beaux  and  belles  are  round  them  prating ; 
Some,  when  they  dress  for  dinner,  find 

Their  muse  and  valet  both  in  waiting, 
And  manage,  at  the  self-same  time, 
To  adjust  a  neckcloth  and  a  rhyme. 
Some  bards  there  are  who  cannot  scribble 
Without  a  glove,  to  tear  or  nibble, 
Or  a  small  twig  to  whisk  about — 

As  if  the  hidden  founts  of  Fancy, 
like  those  of  water,  were  found  out 

By  mystic  tricks  of  rhabdomancy. 
Such  was  the  little  feathery  wand1 
That,  held  for  ever  in  the  hand 
•Of  her  who  won  and  wore  the  crown 

Of  female  genius  in  this  age, 
Scem'd  the  conductor,  that  drew  down 

Those  words  of  lightning  on  her  page. 
As  for  myself— to  come  at  last, 

To  the  odd  way  in  which  /  write — 
Having  employed  these  few  months  past 

Chiefly  in  travelling,  day  and  night, 
I've  got  into  the  easy  mode, 
You  see,  of  rhyming  on  the  road — 
Making  a  way-bill  of  my  pages, 
Counting  my  stanzas  by  my  stages — 
Twixt  lajs  and  re-lays  no  lime  lost—- 
In short,  in  two  words,  writing  post. 
My  verses,  I  suspect,  not  ill         - 
Resembling  the  crazed  vehicle 
(An  old  cakche,  for  which  a  villain 
Charged  me  some  twenty  Naps  at  Milan) 
In  which  I  wrote  them — patch'd-up  things, 
On  weak,  but  rather  easy,  springs, 
Jingling  along,  with  little  in  'em, 

And  (where  the  road  is  not  so  rough, 
Or  deep,  or  lofty,  as  to  spin  'em, 

Down  precipices)  safe  enough. — 
Too  ready  to  take  fire,  I  own, 
And  Mm,  too,  nearest  a  break-down ; 
But,  for  my  comfort,  hung  so  low, 
I  have  n't,  in  falling,  far  to  go. — 
With  all  this,  light,  and  swift,  and  airy, 

And  carrying  (which  is  best  of  all) 
But  little  for  the  Doganieri1 

Of  the  Reviews  to  overhaul. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


EXTRACT  I. 

Geneva. 

Fine  of  the  JjUte  of  Geneva  from  the  Jura.3— Anxious 
to  reach  it  before  the  Sun  went  dawn.— Obliged  to 
proered  an  FuoL—Alpt.—Mont  Blanc.— Effect  of 
the  Scene. 

T  WAS  late — the  sun  had  almost  shone 
His  last  and  best,  when  I  ran  on, 


Ipnim,  inl"§iir,a  <-xiraheni,  imrrmnilcr  mrqucri't,  tune  enim 
lovrra  carmina  cecinit,  etc.— Uarikolin.  de  causu  con- 
tempt, mart. 

1  Mad*  of  paper,  twi.ted  up  like  a  fun  or  feather. 

«  OMMMMM  office™.        3  Between  V  allay  and  Gex. 


Anxious  to  reach  that  splendid  view 
Before  the  day-beams  quite  withdrew ; 
And  feeling  as  all  feel,  on  first 

Approaching  scenes  where,  (hey  are  told 
Such  glories  on  their  eyes  shall  burst 

As  youthful  bards  in  dreams  behold 
'T  was  distant  yet,  and,  as  I  ran, 

Full  often  was  my  wistful  gaze 
Turn'd  to  the  sun,  who  now  began 
To  call  in  all  his  out-post  rays, 
And  form  a  denser  march  of  light, 
Such  as  beseems  a  hero's  flight. 
Oh,  how  I  wish'd  for  JOSHUA'S  power, 
To  stay  the  brightness  of  that  hour ! 
But  no — the  sun  still  less  became, 

Diminish'd  to  a  speck,  as  splendid 
And  small  as  were  those  tongues  of  flame. 

That  on  th'  Apostles'  heads  descended ! 

*T  was  at  this  instant — while  there  glow'd 

This  last,  intensest  gleam  of  light — 
Suddenly,  through  the  opening  road, 

The  valley  burst  upon  my  sight ! 
That  glorious  valley,  with  its  lake, 

And  Alps  on  Alps  in  clusters  swelling, 
Mighty,  and  pure,  and  fit  to  make 

The  ramparts  of  a  Godhead's  dwelling  • 

I  stood  entranc'd  and  mute — as  they 

Of  ISRAEL  think  th'  assembled  world 
Will  stand  upon  that  awful  day, 

When  the  Ark's  Light,  aloft  unfurl'd, 
Among  the  opening  clouds  shall  shine, 
Divinity's  own  radiant  sign  ! 
Mighty  MONT  BLANC  !  thou  wert  to  me, 

That  minute,  with  thy  brow  in  heaven, 
As  sure  a  sign  of  Deity 

As  e'er  to  mortal  gaze  was  given. 
Nor  ever,  were  I  destined  yet 

To  live  my  life  twice  o'er  again, 
Can  I  the  deep-felt  awe  forget — 

The  ecstasy  that  thrill'd  me  then  ! 

'T  was  all  that  consciousness  of  power, 
And  life,  beyond  this  mortal  hour, — 
Those  mountings  of  the  soul  within 
At  thoughts  of  Heaven — as  birds  begin 
By  instinct  in  the  cage  to  rise, 
WTien  near  their  time  for  change  of  skies- 
Th.-t  proud  assurance  of  our  claim 

To  rank  among  the  Sons  of  Light, 
Mingled  with  shame — oh,  bitter  shame  ' — 

At  having  risk'd  that  splendid  right, 
For  aught  that  ea.  Ji,  through  ill  its  range 
Of  glories,  offers  in  exchange ! 
'T  was  all  this,  at  the  instant  brought, 
Like  breaking  sunshine,  o'er  my  thought— 
'Twas  all  this,  kindled  to  a  glow 

Of  sacred  zeal,  which,  could  it  shine 
Thus  purely  ever — man  might  grow, 

Even  upon  earth,  ia  thing  divine, 
And  be  once  more  the  creature  made 

To  walk  unstain'd  the  Elysian  shade ! 

No — never  shall  I  lose  the  trace 

Of  what  I've  felt  in  this  bright  place. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


208 


And  should  my  spirit's  hope  grow  weak — 

Should  I,  O  GOD  !  e'er  doubt  thy  power, 
This  mighty  scene  again  I'll  seek, 

At  the  same  calm  and  glowing  hour; 
And  here,  at  the  sublimest  shrine 

That  Nature  ever  rear'd  to  Thee, 
Rekindle  all  that  hope  divine, 

And  feel  my  immortality ! 


EXTRACT  IL 


Venice. 


The  Fall  of  Venice  not  to  be  lamented. — Former  Glory. 
— Expedition  against  Constantinople. — Giustinia- 
nis. — Republic. — Characteristics  of  the  old  Govern- 
ment.— Golden  Book. — Brazen  Mouths. — Spies. — 
Dungeons. — Present  Desoluticn. 

MOURN  not  for  VENICE — let  her  rest 
In  ruin,  'mong  those  States  unbless'd, 
Beneath  wkose  gilded  hoofs  of  pride, 
Where'er  they  trampled,  Freedom  died. 
No — let  us  keep  our  tears  for  them, 

Where'er  they  pine,  whose  fall  hath  been 
Not  from  a  blood-stain'd  diadem, 

Like  that  which  deck'd  this  ocean-queen, 
But  from  high  daring  in  the  cause 

Of  human  Rights — the  only  good 
And  b'essed  strife,  in  which  man  draws 

His  powerful  sword  on  land  or  flood. 

Mourn  not  for  VENICE — though  her  fall 

Be  awful,  as  if  Ocean's  wave 
Swept  o'er  her — she  deserves  it  all, 

And  Justice  triumphs  o'er  her  grave. 
Thus  perish  every  King  and  State 

That  run  the  guilty  race  she  ran, 
Strong  but  in  fear,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  GOD  and  man ! 

True,  her  high  spirit  is  at  rest, 

And  all  those  days  of  glory  gone, 
When  the  world's  waters,  east  and  west, 

Beneath  her  white-wing'd  commerce  shone  ; 
When,  with  her  countless  barks  she  went 

To  meet  the  Orient  Empire's  might,1 
And  the  GIUSTINIANIS  sent 

Their  hundred  heroes  to  that  fight.2 

Vanish'd  are  all  her  pomps,  'tis  true, 
But  mourn  them  not — for,  vanish'd,  too, 

(Thanks  to  that  Power,  who,  soon  or  late, 

Hurls  to  the  dust  the  guilty  Great,) 

Are  all  the  outrage,  falsehood,  fraud, 
The  chains,  the  rapine,  and  the  blood, 

That  fill'd  each  spot,  at  home,  abroad, 
Where  the  Republic's  standard  stood ! 

Desolate  VENICE  !  when  I  track 

Thy  haughty  course  through  centuries  back,— 

1  Under  llie  Doge  Michaeli,  in  1171. 

2  "  La  tamill'!  CII'H'TK  des  Justiniani,  1'une  des  pins  illus- 
tres  de  Venise,  voulut  marcher  toute  entiere  dans  cette  ex- 
pedition ;  elle  fournit  cent  combattans;  c'etnit  renouveler 
F'exemple  d'une  il!vi?tre  famille  de  Rjme;  le  memo  malheur 
tec  attendait." — Historic  de  Vtnitt  par  Daru. 


Thy  ruthless  power,  obeyed  but  curs'd,— 

The  stern  machinery  of  thy  State, 
Which  hatred  would,  like  steam,  have  burst, 

Had  stronger  fear  not  chill'd  even  hate  ; 
Thy  perfidy,  still  worse  than  aught 
Thy  own  unblushing  SARPI"  taught, — 
Thy  friendship,  which,  o'er  all  beneath 
Its  shadow,  rain'd  down  dews  of  death, — * 
Thy  Oligarchy's  Book  of  G&ld, 

Shut  against  humble  Virtue's  name,3 
But  open'd  wide  for  slaves  who  sold 

Their  native  land  to  thee  and  shame, — * 
Thy  all-pervading  host  of  spies, 

Watching  o'er  every  glance  and  breath, 
Till  men  look'd  in  each  other's  eyes, 

To  read  their  chance  of  life  or  death, — 
Thy  laws,  that  made  a  mart  of  blood, 

And  legalized  the  assassin's  knife, — * 
Thy  sunless  cells  beneath  the  flood, 

And  racks,  and  leads6  that  burn  out  life  ;— 
When  I  review  all  this,  and  see 

What  thou  art  sunk  and  crush'd  to  now ; 
Each  harpy  maxim,  hatch'd  by  thee, 

Return'd  to  roost  on  thy  own  brow, — 
Thy  nobles  towering  once  aloft, 

Now  sunk  in  chains — in  chains,  that  have 
Not  even  that  borrow'd  grace,  which  oft 

The  master's  fame  sheds  o'er  the  slave, 
But  are  as  mean  as  e'er  were  given 
To  stiff-neck'd  Pride,  by  angry  Heaven — 
I  feel  the  moral  vengeance  sweet, 
And,  smiling  o'er  the  wreck,  repeat — 
"  Thus  perish  every  King  and  State, 

That  treads  the  steps  which  VENICE  trod; 
Strong  but  in  fear,  and  only  great 

By  outrage  against  man  and  God  I" 


EXTRACT  HI 


Venice. 


Memoirs,  Written  by  himself. — R* 
Jlections,  when  about  to  read  Hum. 
LET  me,  a  moment — ere  with  fear  and  hope 
Of  gloomy,  glorious  things,  these  leaves  1  ope— 


1  The  celebrated  Fra  Paolo.    The  collection  of  maximi 
which  this  bold  monk  drew  up  at  the  request  of  the  Venetian 
Government,  for  the  guidance  of  the  Secret  Inquisition  of 
Slate,  are  BO  atrocious  as  to  seem  rather  an  over-charged 
satire  upon  despotism,  than  a  system  of  policy  seriously  in 
culcated,  and  but  too  readily  and  constantly  pursued. 

2  Conduct  of  Venice  towards  her  allies  and  dependen- 
cies, particularly  to  unfortunate  Padua. — Fate  of  Francesco 
Carrara,  for  which  see  Darn,  vol.  ii.  p.  141. 

3  "  A  I'exception  des  trente  citadins  admis  nil  grand  con- 
s''il  petulant  la  guerre  de  Chiozzi,  il  n'cst  pas  arrive  une 
suele  Ibis  que  les  lulcns  ou  les  services  aient  paru  a  cetta 
noblesse  orgueilleuse  des  litres  suffisans  pour  s'osseoir  avcc 
elle." — Dam. 

4  Among  thoso  admitted  to  the  honour  of  being  inscribed 
in  the  l^ibro  d'Oro  were  some  families  of  Brescia,  Treviso 
and  other  places,  whose  only  claim  to  that  distinction  was 
the  zeal  with  which  they  prostrated  themselves  and  Uieii 
country  at  the  feet  of  the  republic. 

5  l!y  the  infamous  Matures  of  the  State  Inquisition,  not 
only  was  assassinatiol    .«cognized  as  a  regular  mode  of 
punishment,  but  this  secret  power  over  life  was  delegated  to 
thoir  minions  at  a  distance,  with  nearly  as  much  facility  as 
a  licence  is  given  under  the  game  laws  of  England.     The 
only  restriction  seems  to  have  been  the  nernwity  of  applying 
for  a  new  certificate,  after  every  individual  exercise  of  the 
power. 

6  "  Leg  prisons  des  plombi ;  c'est-a-dire  cw  foLrnai»e» 


sol 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


A«  one,  in  fairy  tale,  to  whom  the  key  • 

Of  some  enchanter's  secret  halls  is  given, 
Doubts,  while  he  enters,  slowly,  tremblingly, 

If  he  shall  meet  with  shapes  from  hell  or  heaven- 
Let  me,  a  moment,  think  what  thousands  live 
O'er  the  wide  earth  this  instant,  who  would  give, 
Gladly,  whole  sleepless  nights  to  bend  the  brow 
Over  these  precious  leaves,  as  I  do  now. 
How  all  who  know— <nd  where  is  he  unknown  ? 
To  what  far  region  have  his  songs  not  flown, 
Like  PSAPHON'S  birds,1  speaking  their  master's  name, 
In  every  language  syllabled  by  Fame  ? — 
How  all,  who  've  felt  the  various  spells  combined 
Within  the  circle  of  that  splendid  mind, 
Like  powers,  derived  from  many  a  star,  and  met 
Together  in  some  wondrous  amulet, 
Would  burn  to  know  when  first  the  light  awoke 
In  his  young  soul, — and  if  the  gleams  that  broke 
From  that  Aurora  of  his  genius,  raised 
More  bliss  or  pain  in  those  on  whom  they  blazed — 
Would  love  to  trace  the  unfolding  of  that  power, 
Which  hath  grown  ampler,  grander,  every  hour ; 
And  fed,  in  watching  o'er  its  first  advance, 

A*  did  the  Egyptian  traveller,2  when  he  stood 
By  the  young  Nile,  and  fathom'd  with  his  lance 

The  first  small  fountains  of  that  mighty  flood. 

They,  too,  who  'mid  the  scornful  thoughts  that  dwell 

In  his  rich  fancy,  tinging  all  its  streams, 
As  if  the  Star  of  Bitterness  which  fell 

On  earth  of  old,  and  touch'd  them  with  its  beams, 
Can  track  a  spirit,  which,  though  driven  to  hate, 
From  Nature's  hands  came  kind,  affectionate ; 
And  which,  even  now,  struck  as  it  is  with  blight, 
Comes  out,  at  limes,  in  love's  own  native  light — 
How  gladly  all,  who  've  watch'd  these  struggling  rays 
Of  a  bright,  ruin'd  spirit  through  his  lays, 
Would  here  inquire,  as  from  his  own  frank  lips, 

What  desolating  grief,  what  wrongs  had  driven 
That  noble  nature  into  cold  eclipse — 

Uke  some  fair  orb,  that,  once  a  sun  in  Heaven, 
And  born,  not  only  to  surprise,  but  cheer 
With  warmth  and  lustre  all  within  its  sphere, 
Is  now  so  quench'd,  that,  of  its  grandeur,  lasts 
Nought  but  the  wide  cold  shadow  which  it  casts ! 

Eventful  volume !  whatsoe'er  the  change 

Of  scene  and  clime — the  ad  ventures,  bold  and  strange : 

The  griefs— the  frailties,  but  too  frankly  told— 

The  lores,  the  feuds  thy  pages  may  unfold ; 

If  truth  with  half  so  prompt  a  hand  unlocks 

Hi«  virtues  as  his  failings— we  shall  find 
The  record  there  of  friendships,  held  like  rocks, 

And  enmities,  like  sun-touch'd  snow,  resign'd— 
Of  fealty,  cherish'd  without  change  or  chill, 

In  those  who  served  him  young,  and  serve  him  still 

Of  generous  aid,  given  with  that  noiseless  art 
Which  wake*  not  pride,  to  many  a  wounded  heart— 

f  acts — but,  no — not  from  himself  must  aught 
Of  the  bright  features  of  his  life  be  sought. 


•J-deatM  qo'on  avail  dintribuecs  en  petites  cellules  sous  les 
"l'M«ii  qui  cpuvrenl  le  pilau." 

1  Jfopbon,  in  or.l.-r  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  world, 
'rhl,,mul  '  "'•'  lo  •Peak  his  name,  and  then  let 

•*«»•"  *,ar'ou*  dlrect'0*":  whence  the  proverb, 

2  Bruce. 


While  they  who  court  the  world,  like  MILTON  a 

cloud,1 

"Turn  forth  their  silver  lining"  on  the  crowd, 
This  gifted  Being  wraps  himself  in  night, 

And,  keeping  all  that  softens,  and  adorns, 
And  gilds  his  social  nature,  hid  from  sight, 

Turns  but  its  darkness  on  a  world  he  scorns. 


EXTRACT  IV. 

Venice. 

The  English  to  be  met  with  every  where. — Alps  and 
Threadneedk-slreet. — The  Simplon  and  the  Stocks. 
— Rage  for  travelling. — Blue  Stockings  among  the 
Wahabees. — Parasols  and  Pyramids. — Mrs.  Hop- 
kins and  the  Wall  of  China. 

AND  is  there  then  no  earthly  place 
Where  we  can  rest,  in  dream  Elysian, 

Without  some  cursed,  round  English  face, 
Popping  up  near,  to  break  the  vision ! 

'Mid  northern  lakes,  'mid  southern  vines, 

Unholy  cits  we're  doom'd  to  meet ; 
Nor  highest  Alps  nor  Apennines 

Are  sacred  from  Threadneedle-street ! 

If  up  the  Simplon's  path  we  wind, 
Fancying  we  leave  this  world  behind, 
Such  pleasant  sounds  salute  one's  ear 
As — "  Baddish  news  from  'Change,  my  dear — 

"The  Funds — (phew,  curse  this  ugly  hill !) 
Are  lowering  fast — (what !  higher  still  ?) — 
And — (zooks,  we're  mounting  up  to  Heaven  !)— 
Will  soon  be  down  to  sixty-seven." 

Go  where  we  may — rest  where  we  will, 
Eternal  London  haunts  us  still. 
The  trash  of  Almack's  or  Fleet-Ditch — 
And  scarce  a  pin's  head  difference  whitJi 
Mixes,  though  even  to  Greece  we  run, 
With  every  rill  from  Helicon  ! 
And,  if  this  rage  for  travelling  lasts, 
If  Cockneys,  of  all  sects  and  castes, 
Old  maidens,  aldermen,  and  squires, 
WiU  leave  their  puddings  and  coal  fires, 
To  gape  at  things  in  foreign  lands 
No  soul  among  them  understands — 
If  Blues  desert  their  coteries, 
To  show  off  'mong  the  Wahabees — 
If  neither  sex  nor  age  controls, 

Nor  fear  of  Mamelukes  forbids 
Young  ladies,  with  pink  parasols, 

To  glide  among  tlie  Pyramids — s 
Why,  then,  farewell  all  hope  to  find 
A  spot  that 's  free  from  London-kind  ! 
Who  knows,  if  to  the  West  we  roam, 
But  we  may  find  some  Blue  "at  home" 

Among  the  Blacks  of  Carolina — 
Or,  flying  to  the  Eastward,  see 


'  Did  a  sable  cloud 


Turn  forth  her  silver  lining  on  the  night." 

Comut. 

2  It  was  pink  spencers,  I  believe,  that  the  imagination 
of  the  French  traveller  conjured  up. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


205 


Some  Mrs.  HOPKINS,  taking  tea 
And  toast  upon  the  Wall  of  China ! 


EXTRACT  V. 


Floroncn. 


No — 't  is  not  the  region  where  love 's  to  be  found — 
They  have  bosoms  that  sigh,  they  have  glances 

that  rove, 

They  have  language  a  Sappho's  own  lip  might  re- 
sound, 

When  she  warbled  her  best — but  they've  nothing 
like  Love. 

Nor  is  it  that  sentiment  only  they  want, 

Which  Heaven  for  the  pure  and  the  tranquil  hath 

made — 
Calm,  wedded  affection,  that  home-rooted  plant, 

Which  sweetens  seclusion,  and  smiles  in  the  shade ; 

That  feeling,  which,  after  long  years  are  gone  by, 
Remains  like  a  portrait  we've  sat  for  in  youth, 

Where,  even  though  the  flush  of  the  colours  may  fly, 
The  features  still  live  in  their  first  smiling  truth ; 

That  union,  where  all  that  in  Woman  is  kind, 
v  With  all  that  in  Man  most  ennoblingly  towers, 
Grow  wreathed  into  one — like  the  column,  combined 
Of  the  strength  of  the  shaft  and  the  capital's  flowers. 

Of  this — bear  ye  witness,  ye  wives,  every  where, 
By  the  ARNO,  the  Po,  by  all  ITALY'S  streams — 

Of  this  heart-wedded  love,  so  delicious  to  share, 
Not  a  husband  hath  even  one  glimpse  in  his  dreams. 

But  it  is  not  this,  only — born,  full  of  the  light 
Of  a  sun,  from  whose  fount  the  luxuriant  festoons 

Of  'hese  beautiful  valleys  drink  lustre  so  bright, 
That,  beside  him,  our  suns  of  the  north  are  but 
moons ! 

We  mipht  fancy,  at  least,  like   their  climate  they 

burn'd, 
And  that  Love,  though  unused,  in  this  region  of 

spring, 

To  be  thus  to  a  tame  Household  Deity  tnrn'd, 
Would  yet  be  all  soul,  when  abroad  on  the  wing. 

And  there  may  be,  there  are  those  explosions  of  heart, 
Which  burst,  when  the  senses  have  first  caught  the 
flame ; 

Such  fits  of  the  blood  as  those  climates  impart, 
Where  Love  is  a  sun-stroke  that  maddens  the  frame. 

But  that  Passion,  which  springs  in  the  depth  of  the  soul, 
Whose  beginnings  are  virginly  pure  as  the  source 

Of  some  mountainous  rivulet,  destined  to  roll 
As  a  torrent,  ere  long,  losing  peace  in  its  course — 

A  course,  to  which  Modesty's  struggle  but  lends 
A  more  head-long  descent,  without  chance  of  recal; 

But  which  Modesty,  even  to  the  last  edge  attends, 
And,  at  length,  throws  a  halo  of  tears  round  its  fall ! 

This  exquisite  Passion — ay,  exquisite,  even 

In  the  ruin  its  madness  too  often  hath  made, 
As  it  keeps,  even  then,  a  bright  trace  of  the  heaven, 


Tins  entireness  of  love,  which  can  only  be  found 
Where  Woman,  like  something  that's  holy,  watch'd 
over, 

And  fenced,  from  her  childhood,  with  purity  rounii, 
Comes,  body  and  soul,  fresh  as  Spring,  to  a  lover 

Where  not  an  eye  answers,  where  not  a  hand  presses,- 
Till  spirit  with  spirit  in  sympathy  move ; 

And  the  Senses,  asleep  in  theit  sacred  recesses, 
Can  only  be  reach'd  through  the  Temple  of  Love 

This  perfection  of  Passion — how  can  it  be  found, 
Where  the  mysteries  Nature  hath  hung  round  the 
tie 

By  which  souls  are  together  attracted  and  bound, 
Are  laid  open,  for  ever,  to  heart,  ear,  and  eye — 

Where  nought  of  those  innocent  doubts  can  exist, 
That  ignorance,  even  than  knowledge  more  bright, 

Which  circles  the  young,  like  the  morn's  sunny  mist, 
And  curtains  them  round  in  their  own  native  light — 

Where  Experience  leaves  nothing  for  Love  to  reveal, 
Or  for  Fancy,  in  visions,  to  gleam  o'er  the  thought, 

But  the  truths  which,  alone,  we  would  die  to  conceal 
From  the  maiden's  young  heart,  are  the  only  ones 
taught — 

Oh  no — 'tis  not  here,  howsoever  we're  given, 
Whether  purely  to  Hymen's  one  planet  we  pray, 

Or  adore,  like  Saba;ans,  each  light  of  Love's  heaven, 
Here  is  not  the  region  to  fix  or  to  stray ; 

For,  faithless  in  wedlock,  in  gallantry  gross, 
Without  honour  to  guard,  or  reserve  to  restrain, 

What  have  they  a  husband  can  mourn  as  a  loss  ? — 
What  have  they  a  lover  can  prize  as  a  gain  ? 


EXTRACT  VI. 


Rome. 


Reflections  on  reading  De  Cerceait's  Account  of  the 
Conspiracy  of  Rienzi,  in  1347. — The  Meeting  oj 
the  Conspirators  on  the  night  of  the  VJth  of  May.  — 
Their  Procession  in  the  Morning  to  the  Cajiitij.  — 
Ricnzfs  Speech. 

'T  WAS  a  proud  moment — even  to  hear  the  words 

Of  Truth  and  Freedom  'mid  these  temples  breathrxl. 
And  see,  once  more,  the  Forum  shine  with  swords, 

In  the  Republic's  sacred  name  unsheathed — 
That  glimpse,  that  vision  of  a  brighter  day 

For  his  dear  ROME,  must  to  a  Roman  be — 
Short  as  it  was — worth  ages  pass'd  away 

In  the  dull  lapse  of  hopeless  slavery. 

'T  was  on  a  night  of  May — beneath  that  moo.i 
Which  had,  through  many  an  age,  seen  Time  untune 
The  strings  of  this  Great  Empire,  till  it  fell 
From  his  rude  hands,  a  broken,  silent  shell — 
The  sound  of  the  church  clock,1  near  ADRIAN'S  Tomb, 
Summon'd  the  warriors,  who  had  risen  for  ROME, 


1  It  is  not  easy  to  discover  what  church  is  meant  by  Do 
Cerceau  here : — "  II  fit  crier  dans  les  rues  dc  Homo,  :'i  eon  de 
trompe,  que  chacun  put  A  se  trouver,  snns  armes,  In  nnit  du 
lemlemain,  dixneuvieme,  duns  l'6glise  du  chfttrnu  (!.•  Snint 


The  heaven  of  Virtue,  from  which  it  has  stray' d — |  Ange  au  son  de  la  cloche,  afin  de  pourvoir  au  lion  Etat  '• 


306 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


To  meet  unarm'd,  with  nought  to  watch  them  there 
But  GOD'S  own  Eye,  and  pass  the  night  in  prayer 
Holy  beginning  of  a  holy  cause, 
When  heroes,  girt  for  Freedom's  combat,  pause 
Before  high  Heaven,  and,  humble  in  their  might, 
Call  down  its  blessing  on  that  awful  fight. 

At  dawn,  in  arms,  went  forth  the  patriot  band, 
And,  as  the  breeze,  fresh  from  the  TIBER,  fann'd 
Their  gilded  gonfalons,  all  eyes  could  see 

The  palm-tree  there,  the  sword,  the  keys  of  Ilea 

ven — ' 
Types  of  the  justice,  peace,  and  liberty, 

That  were  to  bless  them  when  their  chains  were 

riven. 
On  to  the  Capitol  the  pageant  moved, 

While  many  a  Shade  of  other  times,  that  still 
Around  that  grave  of  grandeur  sighing  roved, 

Hung  o'er  their  footsteps  up  the  Sacred  Hill, 
And  heard  its  mournful  echoes,  as  the  last 
High-minded  heirs  of  the  Republic  pass'd. 
'Twas  then  that  thou,  their  Tribune  (name  whicl 

brought 

Dreams  of  lost  glory  to  each  patriot's  thought,) 
Didst,  from  a  spirit  Rome  in  vain  shall  seek 
To  call  up  in  her  sons  again,  thus  speak : — 

"ROMANS!  look  round  you — on  this  sacred  place 

There  once  stood  shrines,  and  gods,  and  godlike 

men — 
What  see  you  now  ?  what  solitary  trace 

Is  left  of  all  that  made  ROME'S  glory  then? 
The  shrines  are  sunk,  the  Sacred  Mount  bereft 

Even  of  its  name — and  nothing  now  remains 
But  the  deep  memory  of  that  glory,  left 

To  whet  our  pangs  and  aggravate  our  chains ! 
But  thall  this  be  ? — our  sun  and  sky  the  same, 

Treading  the  very  soil  our  fathers  trode, 
What  withering  curse  hath  fallen  on  soul  and  frame, 

What  visitation  hath  there  come  from  Goi>, 
To  blast  our  strength  and  rot  us  into  slaves, 
Here,  on  our  great  forefathers'  glorious  graves  ? 
It  cannot  be — rise  up,  ye  Mighty  Dead, 

If  we,  the  living,  are  too  weak  to  crush 
These  tyrant  priests,  that  o'er  your  empire  tread, 

Till  all  but  ROMANS  at  ROME'S  lameness  blush !" 

"Happy  PALMYRA  !  in  thy  desert  domes, 

Where  only  date-trees  sigh  and  serpents  hiss ; 
And  thou,  whose  pillars  are  but  silent  homes 

For  the  stork's  brood,  superb  PERSEPOLIS  ! 
Thrice  hippy  both  that  your  extinguish'd  race 
Have  left  no  embers-  -no  half-living  trace — 
No  slaves,  to  crawl  around  the  once-oroud  spot, 
Till  past  renown  in  present  shame 's  forgot ; 
While  ROME,  the  Queen  of  all,  whose  very  wrecks, 

If  lone  and  lifeless  through  a  desert  hurl'd, 
Would  wear  more  true  magnificence  than  decks 

The  assembled  thrones  of  all  the  existing  world— 
ROME,  ROME  alone,  is  haunted,  stain'd,  and  cursed, 

Thr.>uirh  every  spot  her  princely  TIBER  laves, 
By  living  hum-in  things— the  deadliest,  worst, 

That  earth  engenders— tyrants  and  their  slaves ! 


1  For  •  dwcr.ption  of  time  banner*,  «-e  Notes. 


And  we1 — oh  shnme ! — we,  wno  have  ponder'd  o'ci 

The  patriot's  lesson  and  the  poet's  lay ; 
Have  mounted  up  the  streams  of  ancient  lore, 

Tracking  our  country's  glories  all  the  way — 
Even  toe  have  tamely,  basely  kiss'd  the  ground 

Before  that  Papal  Power,  that  Ghost  of  Her, 
The  World's  Imperial  Mistress — sitting,  cruwn'd 

And  ghastly,  on  her  mouldering  sepufchre  !* 
But  this  is  past — too  long  have  lordly  priests 

And  priestly  lords  led  us,  with  all  our  pride 
Withering  about  us — like  devoted  beasts, 
Dragg'd  to  the  shrine,  with  faded  garlands  tied. 
'T  is  o'er — the  dawn  of  our  deliverance  breaks ! 
Up  from  his  sleep  of  centuries  awakes 
The  Genius  of  the  Old  Republic,  free 
As  first  he  stood,  in  chainless  majesty, 
And  sends  his  voice  through  ages  yet  to  come, 
Proclaiming  ROME,  ROME,  ROME,  Eternal  ROME  .* 


EXTRACT  VII. 


Rome. 


Mary  Magdalen. — Her  Story. — Numerous  Picturt-g 
of  her. — Correpgio. — Guido. — Raphael,  etc. — Co- 
nova's  two  exquisite  Statues. — The  Somariva 
Magdalen — Chanlrey's  Admiration  of  Canova't 
Works. 

No  wonder,  MARY,  that  thy  story 

Touches  all  hearts — for  there  we  see 
The  soul's  corruption  and  its  glory, 

Its  death  and  life,  combined  in  thee. 
From  the  first  moment,  when  we  find 

Thy  spirit,  haunted  by  a  swarm 
Of  dark  desires,  which  had  inshrined 

Themselves,  like  demons,  in  thy  form, 
Till  when,  by  touch  of  Heaven  set  free, 

Thou  earnest,  with  those  bright  locks  of  gold, 
(So  oft  the  gaze  of  BETHANY,) 

And,  covering  in  their  precious  fold 
Thy  Saviour's  feet,  didst  shed  such  tears 
As  paid,  each  drop,  the  sins  of  years  ! — 
Thence  on,  through  all  thy  course  of  love 

To  him,  thy  Heavenly  Master, — Him 
Whose  bitter  death-cup  from  above, 

Had  yet  this  sweetening  round  the  bnm, 
That  woman's  faith  and  love  stood  fast 
And  fearless  by  him  to  the  last ! 
Till — bless'd  reward  for  truth  like  thine  ! — 

Thou  wert,  of  all,  the  chosen  one, 
Before  whose  eyes  that  Face  Divine, 

When  risen  from  the  dead,  first  shone, 
That  thou  mightst  see  how,  like  a  cloud. 
Had  pass'd  away  its  mortal  shroud, 


1  The  fine  Canzonn  of  Petrarcli,  beginning  "Spirto  gen- 
I,"  is  supposed,  by  Voltaire  and  others,  10  have  been  ad 
rcsseil  to  Ricnzi;  but  thi-re  is  much  more  evidence  of  in 
n-ins  been  written,  as  Gingnene  asserts,  to  the  y"im$  Ste- 
len  Colonnn,  on  his  being  created  a  S'pniitor  of  Rome, 
hat  Peirarch,  however,  was  filled  with  high  and  patriotic 

ones  by  the  first  measures  of  th;s  ex'niorcliimry  man,  ap- 
ear*  from  one  of  his  letters,  quoted  by  DC  Cerce-iu,  where 
e  says:  "Pour  tout  dire,  en  un  mot,  j'mieste,  non  comma 

etc  ur,  m-\is  cnmme  temoin  oculairc,  qu'il  nous  ;i  ramene 
justice,  la  paix,  la  bonne  foi,  la  securite,  et  toutea  let 

HIVS  vpstiges  de  IVigc  d'or." 

2  See  Note. 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD. 


207 


And  make  that  bright  revealment  known 
To  hearts  less  trusting  than  thy  own — 
All  is  atferting,  cheering,  grand  ; 

The  kindliest  record  ever  given, 
Even  under  GOD'S  own  kindly  hand, 

Of  what  Repentance  wins  from  Heaven ! 

No  wonder,  MARY,  that  thy  face, 

In  all  its  touching  light  of  tears, 
Should  meet  us  in  each  holy  place, 

Where  man  before  his  GOD  appears, 
Hopeless — were  he  not  taught  to  see 
All  hope  in  Him  who  pardon'd  thee ! 
No  wonder  that  the  painter's  skill 

Should  oft  have  triumph'd  in  the  power 
Of  keeping  thee  most  lovely  still 

Throughout  thy  sorrow's  bitterest  hour — 
That  soft  CORRF.GGIO  should  diffuse 

His  melting  shadows  round  thy  form  ; 
That  GCIDO'S  pale  unearthly  hues 

Should,  in  portraying  thee,  grow  warm: 
That  all — from  the  ideal,  grand, 
Inimitable  Roman  hand, 
Down  to  the  small,  enamelling  touch 

Of  smooth  CARLINO — should  delight 
In  picturing  her  who  "  loved  so  much," 

And  was,  in  spite  of  sin,  so  bright ! 

But,  MARY,  'mong  the  best  essays 

Of  Genius  and  of  Art  to  raise 

A  semblance  of  those  weeping  eyes — 

A  vision,  worthy  of  the  sphere 
Thy  faith  hath  given  thee  in  the  skies, 

And  in  the  hearts  of  all  men  here, 
Not  one  hath  equall'd,  hath  come  nigh 

CANOVA'S  fancy;  oh,  not  one 
Hath  made  thee  feel,  and  live,  and  die 

In  tears  away,  as  he  hath  done, 
In  those  bright  images,  more  bright 
With  true  expression's  breathing  light 
Than  ever  yet  beneath  the  stroke 
Of  chisel  into  life  awoke ! 
The  one,1  pourtraying  whnt  thou  wert 

In  thy  first  grief,  while  yet  the  flower 
Of  those  young  beauties  was  unhurt 

By  sorrow's  slow  consuming  power, 
And  mingling  earth's  luxurious  grace 

With  Heaven's  subliming  thoughts  so  well, 
We  gaze,  and  know  not  in  whifh  place 

Such  beauty  most  was  form'd  to  dwell ! — 
The  other,  as  thou  lookMst  when  years 
Of  fasting,  penitence,  and  tears 
Had  worn  thee  down — and  ne'er  did  Art 

With  half  such  mental  power  express 
The  ruin  which  a  breaking  heart 

Spreads,  by  degrees,  o'er  loveliness  ! 
Those  wasted  arms,  that  keep  the  trace, 
Even  now,  of  all  their  youthful  grace — 
Those  tresses,  of  thy  charms  the  last 
Whose  pride  forsook  thee,  wildly  cast — 


1  This  statue  is  one  of  I  lie  lust  works  of  Cnnovn,  and  was 
not  yet  in  innrblu  when  I  left  Rome.  The  other,  whicli 
norm's  to  prove,  in  rontnuli'  lion  to  very  high  Authority,  that 
expression,  of  the  iniensost  kind,  is  ftilly  wilhin  the  sphere 
of  sculpture,  WMS  exo.o.nted  many  years  ago,  and  is  in  the 
possession  of  the  Count  Somariva,  at  Paris. 


Those  features,  even  in  fading  worth 
,  The  freshest  smiles  to  others  given, 
And  those  sunk  eyes,  that  see  not  earth, 
But  whose  last  looks  are  full  of  Heaven ! 

Wonderful  artist !  praise  like  mine — 

Though  springing  from  a  soul  that  feels 
Deep  worship  of  those  works  divine, 

Where  Genius  all  his  light  reveals — 
Is  little  to  the  words  that  came 
From  him,  thy  peer  in  art  and  fame, 
Whom  I  have  known,  by  day,  by  night, 
Hang  o'er  thy  marble  with  delight, 
And,  while  his  lingering  hand  would  steal 

O'er  every  grace  the  taper's  rays,1 
Give  thee,  with  all  the  generous  zeal 
Such  master-spirits  only  feel, 

That  best  of  fame — a  rival's  praise ! 


EXTRACT  VIII. 

Lea  Charmettei. 

A  Visit  to  the  House  where  Rousseau  lived  with  Ma- 
dame de  Warms. — Their  Menage. — Its  Gross- 
ness. — Claude  Anet. — Reverence  with  which  the 
Spot  is  now  visited. — Absurdity  of  tfiis  blind  Devo- 
tion to  Fame. — Feelings  excited  by  the  Beauty  and 
Seclusion  of  the  Scene. — Disturbed  by  its  Associa- 
tions with  Rousseau's  History. — Impostures  of  Men 
of  Oenius. — Their  Power  of  mimicking  all  the  bt*l 
Feelings,  Love,  Independence,  etc. 

STRANGE  power  of  Genius,  that  can  throw 
O'er  all  that 's  vicious,  weak,  and  low, 
Such  magic  lights,  such  rainbow  dyes, 
As  dazzle  even  the  steadiest  eyes ! 

About  a  century  since,  or  near, 
A  middle-aged  Madame  lived  here, 
With  character,  even  worse  than  most 
Such  middle-aged  Madames  can  boast. 
Her  footman  was — to  gloss  it  over 
With  the  most  gentle  term — her  lover ; 
Nor  yet  so  jealous  of  the  truth 

And  charms  of  this  impartial  fair, 
As  to  deny  a  pauper  youth, 

Who  join'd  their  snug  manage,  his  share 
And  there  they  lived,  this  precious  three, 

With  just  as  little  sense  or  notion 
Of  what  the  world  calls  decency, 

As  hath  the  sea-calf  in  the  ocean. 
And,  doubtless,  'mong  the  grave,  and  good, 
And  gentle  of  their  neighbourhood, 
If  known  at  all,  they  were  but  known 

As  strange,  low  people,  low  and  bad — 
Madame,  herself,  to  footmen  prone, 

And  her  young  pauper,  all  but  mad. 
Who  could  have  thought  this  very  spot 

Would,  one  day,  be  a  sort  of  shnnc, 
Where — all  its  grosser  taints  forgot, 

Or  gilt  by  Fancy  till  they  shine — 
Pilgrims  would  meet,  from  many  a  shore, 
To  trace  each  mouldering  chamber  o'er; 


1  Canova  always  shows  his  fine  statue,  the  Vencr*  Via 
citrice,  by  the  light  of  a  small  candle. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Young  bards  to  dream  of  virtuous  fame, 
Young  maids  to  lisp  DE  WAREN'S  name, 
And  mellower  spinsters — of  an  age 
Licensed  to  read  JEAN  JACQUES'S  page— 
To  picture  all  those  blissful  hours 
He  pass'd  in  these  sequester'd  bowers, 
With  his  dear  Maman  and  his  flowers  ! 
Spinsters,  who— if,  from  glowing  heart 

Or  erring  head,  some  living  maid 
Had  wander'd  even  the  thousandth  part 
Of  what  this  worthy  Maman  stray 'd — 
Would  bridle  up  their  virtuous  chins 
In  horror  at  her  sin  of  sins, 
And — could  their  chaste  eyes  kill  with  flashes — 
Frown  the  fair  culprit  into  ashes ! 

T  is  too  absurd — *t  is  weakness,  shame, 
This  low  prostration  before  Fame — 
This  casting  down,  beneath  the  car 
Of  Idols,  whatsoe'er  they  are, 
Life's  purest,  holiest  decencies, 
To  be  career'd  o'er  as  they  please. 
Jfo — let  triumphant  Genius  have 
All  that  his  loftiest  wish  can  crave. 
If  he  be  worshipp'd,  let  it  be 

For  attributes,  his  noblest,  first — 
Not  with  that  base  idolatry, 

Which  sanctifies  his  last  and  worst. 

I  may  be  cold— may  want  that  glow 

Of  high  romance,  which  bards  should  know ; 

That  holy  homage,  which  is  felt 

In  treading  where  the  great  have  dwelt — 

This  reverence,  whatsoe'er  it  be, 

I  fear,  I  feel,  I  have  it  not, 
For  here,  at  this  etill  hour,  to  me 

T4e  charms  of  this  delightful  spot — 
Its  calm  seclusion  from  <he  throng, 

From  all  the  heart  would  fain  forget — 
This  narrow  valley,  and  the  song 

Of  its  small  murmuring  rivulet— 
The  flitting  to  and  fro  of  birds, 

Tranquil  and  tame  as  they  were  once 
la  Eden,  ere  the  startling  words 

Of  man  disturb'd  their  orisons ! — 
Those  little,  shadowy  paths,  that  wind 
Up  the  hill  side,  with  fruit-trees  lined, 
And  lighted  only  by  the  breaks 
The  gay  wind  in  the  foliage  makes, 
Or  vistas  here  and  there,  that  ope 

Through  weeping  willows,  like  the  snatches 
Of  far-off  scenes  of  light,  which  Hope, 

Even  through  the  shade  of  sadness,  catches  !— 
All  this,  which— could  I  once  but  lose 

The  memory  of  those  vulgar  ties, 
Who«e  gronncss  all  the  heavenliest  hues 

Of  Genius  can  no  more  disguise, 
Than  the  sun's  beams  can  do  away 
The  filth  of  fnns  o'er  which  they  play— 
This  scene,  which  would  have  fill'd  my  heart 

Whh  thoughts  of  all  that  happiest  is— 


Of  Love,  where  self  hath  only  part, 
As  echoing  bark  another's  bliss — 
Of  solitude,  secure  and  sweet, 
Beneath  whose  shade  the  Virtues  meet ; 
Which,  while  it  shelters,  never  chiils 
Our  sympathies  with  human  woe, 
But  keeps  them,  like  sequester'd  rills, 

Purer  and  fresher  in  their  flow — 
Of  happy  days,  that  share  their  beams 

"T  wist  quiet  mirth  and  wise  employ — 
Of  tranquil  nights,  that  give  in  dreams 

The  moonlight  of  the  morning's  joy ! — 
All  this  my  heart  could  dwell  on  here, 
But  for  those  hateful  memories  near, 
Those  sordid  truths,  that  cross  the  track 
Of  each  sweet  thought,  and  drive  them  back 
Full  into  all  the  mire,  and  strife, 
And  vanities  of  that  man's  life, 
Who,  more  than  all  that  e'er  have  glow'd 

With  Fancy's  flame  (and  it  was  Aw 
If  ever  given  to  mortal)  showed 
What  an  impostor  Genius  is — 
How  with  that  strong,  mimetic  art 

Which  is  its  life,  and  soul,  it  takes 
All  shapes  of  thought,  all  hues  of  heart, 
Nor  feels,  itself,  one  throb  it  wakes — 
How  like  a  gem  its  light  may  smile 

O'er  the  dark  path,  by  mortals  trod, 
Itself  as  mean  a  worm,  the  while, 

As  crawls  along  the  sullying  sod — 
What  sensibility  may  fall 

From  its  false  lip,  what  plans  to  bless, 
While  home,  friends,  kindred,  country,  all, 

Lie  waste  beneath  its  selfishness — 
How,  with  the  pencil  hardly  dry 

From  colouring  up  such  scenes  of  love 
And  beauty,  as  make  young  hearts  sigh, 

And  dream,  and  think  through  Heaven  they  ron^ 
They,  who  can  thus  describe  and  move, 

The  very  workers  of  these  charms, 
Nor  seek,  nor  ask  a  Heaven  above 

Some  Maman's  or  Theresa's  arms  ! 
How  all,  in  short,  that  makes  the  boast 
Of  their  false  tongues,  they  want  the  most , 
And  while,  with  Freedom  on  their  lips, 

Sounding  her  timbrels,  to  set  free 
This  bright  world,  labouring  in  the  eclipse 

Of  priestcraft  and  of  slavery, 
They  may,  themselves,  be  slaves  as  low 

As  ever  lord  or  patron  made, 
To  blossom  in  his  smile,  or  grow, 

Like  stunted  brushwood,  in  his  shade ' 
Out  on  the  craft— I'd  rather  be 

One  of  those  hinds  that  round  me  tread, 
With  just  enough  of  sense  to  see 

The  noon-day  sun  that 's  o'er  my  head, 
Than  thus,  with  high-built  genius  cursed, 

That  hath  no  heart  for  its  foundation, 
Be  all,  at  once,  that 's  brightest — worst — 
Sublimest — meanest  in  creation ' 


RHYMES  ON  THE  ROAD 


209 


NOTES. 


Page  203,  line  57. 

Thy  perfuly,  still  wursi-  ;hnii  tiu^lit 
Tliy  own  uiiliUi-liiiu  S.\lt!'i  tani-li'. 
THK  spirit  in  which  these  maxims  of  Father  Paul 
are  written,  may  be  sufficiently  judged  from  the  in- 
structions which  lie  gives  for  the  mairiL'<'in<;nl  of  the 


de  conduite  traced  par  des  hommes  graves,  a  leurs 
successeurs,  et  consignee  dans  des  statuts." 

The  cases  in  which  assassination  is  ordered  by 
these  statutes  are  as  follow  : — 

"  Un  ouvrier  de  1'arsenal,  un  chet  ac  ce  qu'on  ap- 
pelle  parmi  les  marins  le  menstrance,  passait-il  au 


Venetian  colonies  ind  provinces.     Of  the  Connor  he -service  d'une  puissance  etrangere,  il  fallait  le  faire 
says: — "  II  faut  les  trailer  comme  des  animatix  fero-!assassiner,  surtoul  si  c'etait  un  homme  repute^  brave 


ces,  les  rogner  les  dents,  et  les  grifles,  les  humilier 
souvciit,  surtout  leur  oter  les  occasions  de  s'agucrrir. 
Du  pain  et  le  baton,  voila  ce  qu'il  leur  faut ;  gardens 
I'humanile  pour  une  meilleure  occasion." 

For  the  treatment  of  the  provinces  he  advises  thus : 


et  habile  dans  sa  profession." — (Art.  3,  des  Statuts.) 
"  Avait-il  commis  quelque  action  qu'on  ne  jugait 

pas  a  propos  de  punir  juridiquement,  OK  devait  le 

faire  empoisonner." — (Art.  11.) 

1  Un  artisan  passait-il  a  1'etranger  en  v  exportar.l 


"Tendre  a  depouiller  les  villcs  de  Icurs  privileges,; quelque  precede  de  1'industrie  nationale :  c'etait  cn- 

faire  que  les  habitans  s'appauvrissent,  et  quo  leurs  core  un  crime  capital,  que  la  loi  inconnue  ordonnait 

biens  soient  achetes  par  les  Venitiens.     Ceux  qui,  de  punir  par  un  assassinat." — (Art.  2f>.) 

dans  Ics  conseils  municipaux,  se  montrcront  ou  plus      The  facility  with  which  they  ejot  rid  of  their  Duke 

audacieux  ou  plus  devoues  aux  interets  de  la  popula-iof  Bedfords,  Lord  Fitz Williams,  etc.  was  admirable  , 

tion,  il  faut  les  perdre  ou  les  gagner  a  quelque  prix'it  was  thus: — 

que  ce  soil :  enfin,  s'il  se  trouve  dans  les  provinces      "  Le  patricien  qui  se  permettait  la  moindrc  propos 

quelques  chefs  de  parti,  il  faut  lex  exterminer  sous  un  contre  le  gouvernement,  etait  aiimonete  deux  Ibis,  et 

prelfxte  (/wlconifue,  mais  en  evilanl  de  rccourir  a  la  [  a  la  iroisicme  iwye  comme  incorrigible. — (Art.  39.) 

justice  ordinaire.     Que  le  poison  fasse  V office  du  tour- 
Page  205,  line  77. 

Reflex. ONS  on  rciiclin",  etc. 
'Conjuration  de  Nicolas  Gabrini,  dit  de  Ri- 


reau,  cela  est  mains  odieux  et  Lcaucoupplus  profitable." 


Page  203,  note. 

By  the  infamous  stiitutes  of  the  Stato  Inquisition,  ctr. 

M.  Dam  has  given  an  abstract  of  these  Statutes, 
from  a  manuscript  in  the  Bibliolhcque  du  Roi,  and  it 
is  hardly  credible  that  such  a  system  of  treachery 
and  cruelty  should  ever  have  been  established  by  any 
government,  or  submitted  to,  for  an  instant,  by  any 
people.  Among  various  precautions  against  the  in- 
trigues of  their  own  nobles,  we  find  the  following :- 
"  Pour  persuader  aux  etrangers  qu'il  6tait  difficile  et 
dangereux  d'entretenir  quelque  intrigue  secrete  avet: 
les  nobles  Venitiens,  on  imagina  de  faire  avertir  mys- 
terieusement  le  Nonce  du  Pape  (afin  que  les  autres 
ministry  en  fussent  informes)  que  I'lnquisition  avail 
auiorise  les  patriciens  a  poignarder  quiconque  essaie- 
rail  de  tenter  leur  fidelite.  Mais  craignanl  que  les 
ambassadcurs  ne  prelassenl  foi  difficilerncnt  a  une 
deliberation,  qui  en  cffet  n'existait  pas,  I'lnquisition 
voulait  prouvcr  qu'elle  en  etait  capable.  Kile  or- 
douna  des  rccherches  pour  decouvrir  s'il  n'y  avail 
p  is  <l,ms  Venise  quelque  exile  audessus  du  comniun, 
qui  cfit  rompu  son  ban;  ci.siiileun  des  p:itriciens  qui 
ctaicni  aux  pn<jes  du  tribunal,  rccut  la  mission  d'cis- 
sassiner  ce  malheurcux,  ct  I'ordre  de  s'cn  vanter,  en 
disant  qu'il  s't'-t:iil  portc  a  cct  actc,  parce  que  ce  banni 
^tait  1'ager.t  d'un  ministre  etranger,  et  avail  chcrche 
a  le  corrompre." — "  Remarquons,"  adds  M.  Dam, 
"  que  ceci  n'est  pas  une  simple  anecdote  ;  c'cst  une 
mission  projctee,  dt-liberee,  ecrite  d'avance ;  une  regie 
2  D 


The 

enzi,"  by  ihe  Jesuil  de  Cerceau,  is  chiefly  taken  from 
ihe  much  more  authentic  work  of  Fortiliocca  on  the 
same  subject.  Ricnzi  was  the  son  of  a  laundress. 

Page  206,  line  9. 
Their  ;:ilil  •<!  sniitVom. 

"  Les  genlilshommes  conjures  portaicnl  devant  lui 
Irois  e'lendarts.  Nicolas  Guallalo,  surnomme  le  bon 
discur,  portait  le  premier,  qui  eiail  de  couleur  rougo, 
et  plus  grajid  que  les  auires.  On  y  voyait  des  carac- 
lercs  d'or  avec  une  femme  assize  sur  deux  lions, 
lenant  d'une  main  le  globe  du  monde,  et  de  1'autre 
une  Palme,  pour  representer  la  ville  de  Rome. 
C'etait  le  Gonfalon  de  la  Lilierte.  Le  Second,  a 
fonds  blanc,  avec  un  St.  Paul  tenant  de  la  dro.'c  une 
Epre  nue  et  de  la  gauche  la  couronne  de  Justice,  etait 
porte  par  Etienne  Magnacuccia,  notaire  apostol;quo. 
Dans  le  iroisii-me,  St.  Pierre  avail  en  main  tea  ilifs 
dc  la  Concorde  et  de  la  Paix.  Tout  cell  insinuait  le 
dessein  de  Kicnzi,  qui  i-tait  de  retablir  la  liberte,  la 
usticc,  et  la  paix." — Du  Ctrreau,  liv.  2. 

Page  20fi,  line  63. 

Thui  (:!>".•"  of  Her, 
The  world's  In  |w:ial  Miulresi. 

This  image  is  borrowed  fom  llobbes,  whose  words 
are,  as  near  as  I  ran  recollect : — "  For  what  is  the 
Papacy,  but  the  (ihost  ol  the  old  Roman  Emrire 
sitting  crowned  on  the  grave  thereof?" 


FABLES  FOR  THE 


,1    *»**    ******** 


Etipe. 


tu  Rcgibus  alas 

Virgil.  Georg.  lib.  iv. 

— —  clip  the  wings 

Of  these  high-flying,  arbitrary  Kingg. 

Dryden's  Translation. 


FABLE  I. 

THE  DISSOLUTION  OF  THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE. 

A  Dream. 

PVK  had  a  dream  that  bodes  no  good 
Unto  the  Holy  Brotherhood. 
1  may  be  wrong,  but  I  confess — 

As  far  as  it  is  right  or  lawful 
For  one,  no  conjuror,  to  guess — 

It  seems  to  me  extremely  awful.  » 

Methought,  upon  the  Neva's  flood 

A  beautiful  Ice  Palace  stood ; 

A  dome  of  frost-work,  on  the  plan 

Of  that  once  built  by  Empress  Anne,1 

Which  shone  by  moonlight — as  the  tale  is — 

Like  an  aurora  borealis. 

In  this  said  palace — furnish'd  all 

And  lighted  as  the  best  on  land  are— 
I  dream'd  there  was  a  splendid  ball, 

Given  by  the  Emperor  Alexander, 
To  entertain,  with  all  due  zeal, 

Those  holy  gentlemen  who  've  shown  a 
Regard  so  kind  for  Europe's  weal, 

At  Troppau,  Laybach,  and  Verona. 

The  thought  was  happy,  and  designed 
To  hint  how  thus  the  human  mind 
May — like  the  stream  imprison'd  there — 
Be  check'd  and  chill'd  till  it  can  bear 
The  heaviest  Kings,  that  ode  or  sonnet 
E'er  yet  be-praised,  to  dance  upon  it. 

And  all  were  pleased,  and  cold,  and  stately, 

Shivering  in  grand  illuminaiion — 
Admired  the  superstructure  greatly, 

Nor  gave  one  thought  to  the  foundation. 
Much  too  the  Czar  himself  exulted, 

To  all  plebeian  fears  a  stranger, 
As  Madame  Krudener,  when  consulted, 

Had  pledged  her  word  there  was  no  danger. 
So,  on  he  caper'd,  fearless  quite, 

Thinking  himself  extremely  clever, 
And  waltz'd  away  with  all  his  might, 

As  if  the  frost  would  last  for  ever. 


1  "  It  ii  well  known  trmt  Ihe  Empress  Annp  built  a  pnlnce 
of  ice,  on  Inn  Neva,  in  1740,  which  was  fifty-two  I.,  t  in 

length,  and  when  illuminated  had  a  iurprisinz  effuct  " 

Pinkcrtan. 


Just  fancy  how  a  bard  like  me, 

Who  reverence  monarchs,  must  have  trem'ileu 
To  see  that  goodly  company 

At  such  a  ticklish  sport  assembled. 

Nor  were  the  fears,  that  thus  astounded 

My  loyal  soul,  at  all  unfounded  ; 

For,  lo  !  ere  long,  those  walls  so  massy 

Were  seized  with  an  ill-omen'd  dripping, 
And  o'er  the  floors,  now  growing  glassy, 

Their  Holinesses  took  to  slipping. 
The  Czar,  half  through  a  Polonaise, 

Could  scarce  get  on  for  downright  stumbling, 
And  Prussia,  though  to  slippery  ways 

So  used,  was  cursedly  near  tumbling. 

Yet  still 't  was  who  could  stamp  the  floor  most, 
Russia  and  Austria  'mong  the  foremost. 
And  now,  to  an  Italian  air, 

This  precious  brace  would  hand  in  hand  go ; 
Now — while  old  ******  from  his  chair, 
Intreated  them  his  toes  to  spare — 

Call'd  loudly  out  for  a  fandango. 

And  a  fandango,  'faith,  they  had, 

At  which  they  all  set  to  like  mad — 

Never  were  Kings  (though  small  the  expense  ie 

Of  wit  among  their  Excellencies,) 

So  out  of  all  their  princely  senses. 

But,  ah !  that  dance — that  Spanish  dance- 
Scarce  was  the  luckless  strain  begun, 

When,  glaring  red — as  't  were  a  glance 
Shot  from  an  angry  southern  sun — 

A  light  through  all  the  chambers  flamed, 
Astonishing  old  Father  Frost, 

Who,  bursting  into  tears,  exclaim'd, 

"  A  thaw,  by  Jove  ! — we're  lost,  we're  lost '     - 

Run,  F !  a  second  Waterloo 

Is  come  to  drown  you — sauve  qui  pcuf  " 

Why,  why  will  monarchs  caper  so 

In  palaces  without  foundations  ? 
Instantly  all  was  in  a  flow  : 

Crowns,  fiddles,  sceptres,  decorations  , 
Those  royal  arms,  that  look'd  so  nice, 
Cut  out  in  the  resplendent  ice ; 
Those  eagles,  handsomely  provided 

With  double  heads  for  double  dealings — 
How  fast  the  globes  and  sceptres  glided 

Out  of  their  claws  on  all  the  ceilinss ! 


/ 

FABLES,  ETC.                                                            xll 

Proud  Prussia's  double  bird  of  prey, 

The  Easterns,  in  a  Prince,  't  is  said, 

Tiime  as  a  spatch-cock,  slunk  away; 

Prefer  what  's  call'd  a  joker-head  ;' 

While  —  just  like  France  herself,  when  she 

The  Egyptians  were  n't  at  all  partic'lar, 

Proclaims  how  great  her  naval  skill  is  — 

So  that  their  Kings  had  not  red  hair  — 

Poor  *******  drowning  fteurs-de-lys 

This  fault  not  even  the  greatest  stickler 

Imagined  themselves  waiter-lilies. 

For  the  blood-royal  well  could  bear 

And  not  alone  rooms,  ceilings,  shelves, 

A  thousand  more  such  illustrations 

But  —  still  more  fatal  execution  — 

Might  be  adduced  from  various  nations; 

The  Great  Legitimates  themselves 

But,  'mong  the  many  tales  they  tell  us, 

Seein'd  in  a  state  of  dissolution. 

Touching  the  acquired  or  natural  right 

The  indignant  Czar  —  when  just  about 

Which  some  men  have  to  rule  their  fellows, 

To  issue  a  sublime  Ukase  — 

There  's  one  which  I  shall  here  recite  :- 

"Whereas,  all  light  must  be  kept  out" 

Fable. 

Dissolved  to  nothing  in  its  blaze. 
Next  Prussia  took  his  turn  to  melt, 
And,  while  his  lips  illustrious  felt 
The  influence  of  this  southern  air, 
Some  word  like  "Constitution,"  long 

THERE  was  a  land  —  to  name  the  place 
Is  neither  now  my  wish  nor  duty  — 
Where  reign'd  a  certain  royal  race, 
By  right  of  their  superior  beauty. 

Conceal'd  in  frosty  silence  there, 

What  was  the  cut  legitimate 

Came  slowly  thawing  from  his  tongue. 

Of  these  great  persons'  chins  and  noses, 

While  ******,  lapsing  by  degrees, 

By  right  of  which  they  ruled  the  state, 

And  sighing  cut  a  faint  adieu 

No  history  I  have  seen  discloses. 

To  truffles,  salmis,  toasted  cheese, 

And  smoking  fondus,  quickly  grew 

But  so  it  was  —  a  settled  case  — 

Himself  into  a  fondu  too  ;  — 

Some  act  of  Parliament,  pass'd  snugly, 

Or,  like  that  goodly  King  they  make 

Had  voted  them  a  beauteous  race, 

Of  sugar,  for  a  twelfth-night  cake, 

And  all  their  faithful  subjects  ugly 

When,  in  some  urchin's  mouth,  alas, 

It  melts  into  a  shapeless  mass  ! 

As  rank,  indeed,  stood  high  or  low, 
Some  change  it  made  in  visual  organs  ; 

In  short,  I  scarce  could  count  a  minute 

Your  Peers  were  decent  —  Knights,  so  so—- 

Ere the  bright  dome,  and  all  within  it  — 

But  all  your  common  people  gorgons  ! 

Kings,  Fiddlers,  Emperors  —  all  were  gone! 

And  nothing  now  was  seen  or  heard 

Of  course,  if  any  knave  but  hinted 

But  the  bright  river,  rushing  on, 

That  the  King's  nose  was  turu'd  awry, 

Happy  as  an  enfranchised  bird, 

Or  that  the  Queen  (God  save  us  !)  squinted  — 

And  prouder  of  that  natural  ray, 

The  judges  doom'd  that  knave  to  die. 

Shining  along  its  chainless  way  — 
More  proudly  happy  thus  to  glide 
In  simple  grandeur  to  the  sea, 
Than  when  in  sparkling  fetters  tied, 
And  deck'd  with  all  that  kingly  pride 

But  rarely  things  like  this  occurr'd  : 
The  people  to  their  King  were  duteous, 
And  took  it,  on  his  royal  word, 
That  they  were  frights  and  he  was  beauteous 

.  Could  bring  to  light  its  slavery  ! 

The  cause  whereof,  among  all  classes, 

Such  is  my  dream  —  and,  I  confess, 
I  tremble  at  its  awfulness. 

Was  simply  this  :  —  these  island  elves 
Had  never  yet  seen  looking-glasses, 

That  Spanish  dance  —  that  southern  beam  — 

And,  therefore,  did  not  know  themselves. 

But  I  say  nothing  —  there  's  my  dream  — 
And  Madame  Krudener,  the  she-prophet, 
May  make  just  what  she  pleases  of  it. 

Sometimes,  indeed,  their  neighbours'  faces 
Might  strike  them  as  more  full  of  reason, 
More  fresh  than  those  in  certain  places  — 

______ 

But,  Lord  !  the  very  thought  was  treason  ! 

FABLE  II. 

Besides,  howe'er  we  love  our  neighbour, 

And  take  his  face's  part,  't  is  known 

THE    LOOKING-GLASSES. 

We  never  half  so  earnest  labour, 

Proem. 

As  when  the  face  attack'd  's  our  own. 

WITERE  Kinas  have  been  by  mob-election3 

Raised  to  the  throne,  'tis  stransre  to  see 

So,  on  they  went  —  the  crowd  believing 

What  different  and  what  odd  perfections 

(As  crowds  well  govern'd  always  do,) 

Men  have  required  in  royalty. 

Their  rulers,  too,  themselves  deceiving  — 

Some,  likeing  monarchs  large  and  plumpy, 

So  old  the  joke  they  thought  it  true. 

Have  chosen  their  Sovereigns  by  the  weight; 
Some  wish'  d  them  tall  ;  some  thought  your  dumpy, 
Dutch-built  the  true  Legitimate.1 

But  jokes,  we  know,  if  they  too  far  go, 
Must  have  an  end  ;  and  so,  one  day, 

1   The  (Ju'li-  liail  a  law  to  choose  always  a  short  thick 

1  "  In  a  Prince,  a  jolter-head  in  invaluable.  '  —  Oriental 

man  fur  their  king.  —  JItins/.er,  Cusmug.  lib.  iii.  p.  1G4. 

Field  Sports. 

MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Upon  that  coast  there  was  a  cargo 
Of  looking-glasses  cast  away. 

T  was  said,  some  Radicals,  somewhere, 
Had  laid  their  wicked  heads  together, 

And  forced  that  ship  to  founder  there— 
Wliile  some  believe  it  was  the  weather. 

However  this  might  be,  the  freight 
Was  landed  without  fees  or  duties ; 

And,  from  that  hour,  historians  date 
The  downfall  of  the  race  of  beauties. 

The  looking-glasses  got  about, 
And  grew  so  common  through  the  land, 

That  scarce  a  tinker  could  walk  out 
Without  a  mirror  in  his  hand. 

Comparing  faces,  morning,  noon, 

And  night,  their  constant  occupation — 

By  dint  of  looking-glasses,  soon 
They  grew  a  most  reflecting  nation. 

In  Tain  the  Court,  aware  of  errors 
In  all  the  old,  established  mazards, 

Prohibited  the  use  of  mirrors, 
And  tried  to  break  them  at  all  hazards : 

In  vain — their  laws  might  just  as  well 
Have  been  waste  paper  on  the  shelve* ; 

That  fatal  freight  had  broke  the  spell ; 
People  had  look'd — and  knew  themselves 

If  chance  a  Duke,  of  birth  sublime, 

Presumed  upon  his  ancient  face 
'Some  calf-head,  ugly  from  all  time,) 

They  popp'd  a  mirror  to  his  Grace- 
Just  hinting,  by  that  gentle  sign, 

How  little  Nature  holds  it  true, 
That  what  is  call'd  an  ancient  line 

Must  be  the  line  of  Beauty  too. 

From  Dukes'  they  piss'd  to  regnl  phizies, 
Compared  them  proudly  with  their  own, 

And  cried,  "  How  could  such  monstrous  quizzes, 
In  Beauty's  name,  usurp  the  throne?" 

They  then  wrote  r>ssays,  pamphlets,  books, 

I'poti  cosmetical  economy, 
Which  imde  the  King  try  various  looks, 

Bi't  none  improved  his  physiognomy. 

And  satires  at  the  Court  they  levell'd, 
And  sin-ill  lampoons,  so  fall  of  slynesses, 

That  soon,  in  short,  they  quite  bn-devil'd 
Their  M.ijcst:es  and  Uoya!  II  ghnesses. 

At  ler-eth — but  here  I  drop  the  veil, 
To  spare  •om"  loyal  folks'  sensations: 

Besides,  what  follow*  is  the  tale 
Of  all  such  late-enlighten'd  nations ; 

Of  all  to  w  horn  old  Time  discloses 

A  tPitti  th"y  should  hive  sooner  known— 

That  King*  have  neither  rights  nor  noses 
A  wort  diviner  than  their  own. 


FABLE  III. 

THE   FLY   AND    THE   BULLOCK. 

Proem. 

OF  all  that,  to  the  sage's-survey 
This  world  presents  of  topsy-turvey, 
There 's  nought  so  much  disturbs  his  patience 
As  little  minds  in  lofty  stations. 
'T  is  like  that  sort  of  painful  wonder 
Which  slight  and  pigmy  columns  under 

Enormous  arches  give  beholders  ; 
Or  those  poor  Caryatides, 
Condemn'd  to  smile  and  stand  at  ease, 

With  a  whole  house  upon  their  shoulders 

If,  as  in  some  few  royal  cases, 

Small  minds  are  burn  into  such  places — 

If  they  are  there,  by  Right  Divine, 

Or  any  such  sufficient  reason, 
Why — Heaven  forbid  we  should  repine  ! — 

To  wish  it  otherwise  were  treason ; 
Nay,  even  to  see  it  in  a  vision, 
Would  be  what  lawyers  call  mLfprifion. 

Sir  ROBERT  FILMER  says — and  he, 

Of  course,  knew  all  about  the  matter — 
"  Both  men  and  beasts  love  monarchy :" 

Which  proves  how  rational — the  latter 
SIDNEY,  indeed,  we  know,  had  quite 
A  different  notion  from  the  knight ; 
Nay,  hints  a  King  may  lose  his  head 

By  slipping  awkwardly  his  bridle : 
But  this  is  Jacobin,  ill-bred, 
And  (now-a-days,  when  Kings  are  led 

In  patent  snaffles)  downright  idle. 

No,  no — it  is  n't  foolish  Kings 
(Those  fix'd,  inevitable  things — 
Bores  paramount,  by  right  of  birth) 

That  move  my  wrath,  but  your  pretenders 
Your  mushroom  rulers,  sons  of  earth, 

Who,  not  like  t'  others,  crown' d  offenders 
(Regular  gratia  Dei  blockheads, 
Born  with  three  kingdoms  in  their  pockets,) 
Nor  leaving,  on  the  scale  of  mind, 
These  royal  Zeros  far  behind, 
Yet,  with  a  brass  that  nothing  stops, 

Push  up  into  the  loftiest  stations, 
And,  though  too  dull  to  manage  shops 

Presume,  the  dolts,  to  manage  nations 

This  class  it  is  that  moves  my  gn!l, 
And  stirs  up  spleen,  and  bile,  and  all 
While  other  senseless  things  appear . 
To  know  the  limits  of  their  sphere — 
Wliile  not  a  cow  on  earth  romances 
So  much  as  to  conceit  she  dances — 
While  the  most  jumping  Frog  we  know  of, 
Would  scarce  at  Astley's  hope  to  show  off— 
Your  ****s  and  ****s  dare, 

Pigmy  as  are  their  minds,  to  set  them 
To  any  business,  any  where, 

At  any  time  that  fools  will  let  them. 
But  leave  we  here  these  upstart  things — 
My  business  is, just  now,  with  Kings; 
To  whom,  and  to  their  right-line  glory, 
I  dedicate  the  following  story  • 


FABLES,  ETC. 


2)3 


Fable. 
THE  wise  men  of  Egypt  were  secret  as  dummies ; 

And,  even  when  they  most  condescended  to  teach, 
They  pack'd    up    their  meaning,  as  they  did  their 

mummies, 
In  fc  many  wrappers,  't  was  out  of  one's  reach. 

They  were  also,  good  people,  much  given  to  Kings — 
Fond  of  monarchs  and  crocodiles,  monkeys  and 
mystery, 

Hats,  hieraphants,  blue-bottle  flies,  and  such  things — 
As  will  partly  appear  in  this  very  short  history. 

A  Scythian  philosopher  (nephew,  they  say, 
To  that  other  great  traveller,  young  Anacharsis) 

Stepp'd  into  a  temple  at  Memphis  one  day, 
To  have  a  short  peep  at  their  mystical  farces. 

He  saw  a  brisk  blue-bottle  Fly  on  an  altar,1 
Made    much    of,  and  worshipp'd    as  something 
divine ; 

While  a  large  handsome  Bullock,  led  there  in  a  halter, 
Before  it  lay  stabb'd  at  the  foot  of  the  shrinw 

Surprised  at  such  doings,  he  whisper'd  his  teacher — 
"  If 't  is  n't  impertinent,  may  I  ask  why 

Should  a  Bullock,  that  useful  and  powerful  crcsiture, 
Be  thus  offered  up  to  a  blue-bottle  Fly  ?" 

"  No  wonder,"  said  t'  other,  "you  stare  at  the  sight, 
But  we  as  a  symbol  of  monarchy  view  it : 

That  Fly  on  the  shrine  is  Legitimate  Right, 
And  that  Bullock  the  people  that's  sacrificed  to  it." 


FABLE  IV. 

CHURCH   AND   STATE. 

Proem, 

"The  moment  any  religion  becomes  national,  or  establish- 
ed, its  purity  must  certainly  be  lost,  because  it  is  then  im- 
,K>»silile  to  keep  it  unconnected  with  men's  interests;  and, 
if  connected,  it  must  evidently  be  perverted  by  them." — 
Soame  Jenyns. 

THUS  did  SOAME  JENYNS — though  a  Tory, 
A  Lord  of  Trade  and  the  Plantations — 

Feel  how  Religion's  simple  glory 
Is  stained  by  State  associations. 

When  CATHERINE,  after  murdering  Poles 

Appeal'd  to  the  benign  Divinity, 
Then  cut  them  up  in  protocols, 
Made  fractipns  of  their  very  souls — * 

All  in  the  name  of  the  bless'd  Trinity; 
Or  when  her  grandson,  ALEXANDER, 
That  mighty  northern  salamander, 
Whose  icy  touch,  felt  all  about, 
Puts  every  fire  of  Freedom  out — 
When  he,  too,  winds  up  his  Ukases 
With  GOD  and  the  Panagia's  praises — 
When  he,  of  royal  saints  the  type, 

In  holy  water  dips  the  sponge, 


•ilins  to  ^lian,  it  was  in  tlie  island  of  Ijpucadia 
:  sed  this  ceremony — r-jtiv  .O:-JK  rai,-  /i-jizij. — J)e 
tui'ita!.  lib.  ii.  cap.  e. 
•.'  AMI-IS,  deini  ames,  etc. 


With  which,  at  one  imperial  wipe, 

He  would  all  human  rights  expunge  ! 
When  ******  (whom,  as  King  and  eater, 
Some  name  ***-****f  and  some  ***  ****** 
Calls  down  "Saint  Louis'  GOD"  to  witness 
The  right,  humanity,  and  fitness 
Of  sending  eighty  thousand  Solona- 

Sages  with  muskets  and  laced  coats — 
To  cram  instruction,  nolens  volens, 

Down  the  poor  struggling  Spaniard's  throats- 
I  can't  help  thinking  (though  to  Kings 

I  must,  of  course,  like  other  men,  bow) 
That  when  a  Christian  monarch  brings 
Religion's  name  to  gloss  these  things — 

Such  blasphemy  out-Beubows  Benbow ! 

Or — not  so  far  for  facts  to  roam, 
Having  a  few  much  nearer  home — 
When  we  see  churchmen,  who,  if  ask'd, 
"  Must  Ireland's  slaves  be  tithed  and  task'd, 
And  driven,  like  negroes  or  Croats, 

That  you  may  roll  in  wealth  and  bliss  ?" 
Look  from  beneath  their  shovel  hats 

With  all  due  pomp,  and  answer  "  Yes !" 
But  then,  if  question'd,  "  Shall  the  brand 
Intolerance  flings  throughout  that  land, 
Betwixt  her  palaces  and  hovels, 

Suffering  nor  peace  nor  love  to  grow, 
Be  ever  quench'd  ?" — from  the  same  shovels 

Look  grandly  forth,  and  answer  "  No !" — 
Alas,  alas  !  have  these  a  claim 
To  merciful  Religion's  name  ? 

If  more  yon  want,  go,  see  a  bevy 
Of  bowing  parsons  at  a  levee 
(Chusing  your  time,  when  straw  'a  before 
Some  apoplectic  bishop's  door :) 
There,  if  thou  canst  with  life  escape 
That  sweep  of  lawn,  that  press  of  crape, 
Just  watch  their  rev'rences  and  graces, 

Should'ring  their  way  on,  at  all  risks, 
And  say,  if  those  round  ample  faces 

To  heaven  or  earth  most  turn  their  disks  T 

This,  this  it  is — Religion,  made, 
'Twist  Church  and  State,  a  truck,  a  trade- 
This  most  ill-mateh'd,  unholy  Co. 
From  whence  the  ills  we  witness  flow- 
The  war  of  many  creeds  with  one, 
The  extremes  of  too  much  faith,  and  none 
The  qualms,  the  fumes  of  sect  and  sceptic, 
And  all  that  Reason,  grown  dyspeptic 
By  swallowing  forced  or  noxious  creeda, 
From  downright  indigestion  breeds ; 
Till,  'twist  old  bigotry  and  new, 
'Twist  Blasphemy  and  Cant — the  two 
Rank  ills  with  which  this  age  is  cursed- 
We  can  no  more  tell  which  is  worst, 
Than  erst  could  Egypt,  when  so  rich 
In  various  plagues,  determine  which 
She  thought  most  pestilent  and  vile — 
Her  frogs,  like  Benbow  and  Carlile, 
Croaking  their  native  mud-notes  loud, 
Or  her  fat  locusts,  like  a  cloud 
Of  pluralists,  obesely  lowering, 
At  once  benighting  and  devouring  '. 


t!4 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


Phis— Uiis  it  tB  -and  here  I  pray 

Those  sapient  wits  of  the  Reviews, 
Who  make  us  poor,  dull  authors  say, 

Not  what  we  mean,  but  what  they  choose ; 
Who  to  our  most  abundant  shares 
Of  nonsense  add  still  more  of  theirs, 
And  are  to  poets  just  such  evils 

A*  caterpillars  find  those  flies' 
That,  not  content  to  sting  like  devils, 

Lay  eggs  upon  their  backs  likewise — 
To  guard  against  such  foul  deposits, 

Of  others'  meanings  in  my  rhymes 
(A  thing  more  needful  here  because  it 's 

A  subject  ticklish  in  these  times,) 
I  here  to  all  such  wits  make  known, 

Monthly  and  weekly,  Whig  and  Tory, 
T  is  thi*  Religion — this  alone — 

I  aim  at  in  the  following  story : 

Fable. 

WHEN  Royalty  was  young  and  bold, 
Fre,  touch'd  by  Time,  he  had  become— 

If 't  is  not  civil  to  say  old — 
At  least,  a  ci-devant  jeune  homme. 

One  evening,  on  some  wild  pursuit, 

Driving  along,  he  chanced  to  see 
Religion,  passing  by  on  foot, 

And  took  him  in  his  vis-tt-vis. 

This  said  Religion  was  a  frinr, 

The  humblest  and  the  best  of  men, 
Who  ne'er  had  notion  or  desire 

Of  riding  in  a  coach  till  then. 

"  I  say" — quoth  Royalty,  who  rather 

Enjoy'd  a  masquerading  joke — 
"  I  say,  suppose,  my  good  old  father, 

You  lend  me,  for  a  while,  your  cloak." 

The  friar  consented — liule  knew 
What  tricks  the  youth  had  in  his  head ; 

Brides,  was  rather  tempted,  too, 
By  a  laced  coat  he  got  in  stead. 

Away  ran  Royalty,  slap-dash, 
Scampering  like  mad  about  the  town  ; 

Broke  windows — shiver'd  lamps  to  smash, 
And  knock'd  whole  scores  of  watchmen  down. 

While  nought  could  tkey  whose  heads  were  broke, 
I<earn  of  the  "  why"  or  the  "  wherefore," 

Except  that  't  was  Religion's  cloak 
The  gentleman,  who  crack'd  them,  wore. 

Meanwhile,  the  Friar,  whose  head  was  turn'd 
Hy  the  lared  coat,  grew  frisky  too — 

Look'd  big — his  former  habits  spurn'd — 
And  storm'd  about  as  great  men  do— 

I>ilt  m-ich  in  pompous  oaths  and  nurses — 

Mamn  von,"  often,  or  as  bad — 
Laid  claim  to  other  people's  purses— 
In  short,  grew  either  knave  or  mad. 


">«t  number  of  the  ichneumon  tribe  are  s«en 
k  of  the  caterpillar,  and  dartin"  nt  dif- 

>r-nt  interval*  then  stm-s  into  it*  body— at  every  dart  thev 
Vrpowt  an  efg."— Gttdsnitk 


As  work  like  this  was  unbefitting, 
And  flesh  and  blood  i  o  longer  bore  it, 

The  Court  of  Common  btnse  then  sitting, 
Summon'd  the  culprits  both  before  it 

Where,  after  hours  in  wrangling  spent 
(As  courts  must  wrangle  to  decide  well,) 

Religion  to  Saint  Luke's  was  sent, 
And  Royalty  pack'd  off  to  Bridew  ill: 

With  this  proviso — Should  they  be 
Restored  in  due  time  to  their  senses, 

They  both  must  give  security 
In  future,  against  such  offences — 

Religion  ne'er  to  lend  J>is  cloak, 
Seeing  what  dreadful  work  it  leads  to  ; 

And  Royalty  to  crack  his  joke — 

But  not  to  crack  poor  people's  heads,  too 


FABLE  V. 

THE    LITTLE   GRAND   LAMA. 

Proem. 
NOVELLA,  a  young  Bolognese, 

The  daughter  of  a  learn'd  law  doctor,1 
Who  had  with  all  the  subtleties 

Of  old  and  modern  jurists  stock'd  her, 
Was  so  exceeding  fair,  't  is  said, 

And  over  hearts  held  such  dominion, 
That  when  her  father,  sick  in  bed, 
Or  busy,  sent  her,  in  his  stead, 

To  lecture  on  the  Code  Justinian, 
She  had  a  curtain  drawn  before  her, 

Lest,  if  her  charms  were  seen,  the  students 
Should  let  their  younsr  eves  wander  o'er  her, 

And  quite  forget  their  jurisprudence.2 
Just  so  it  is  with  Truth — when  seen, 

Too  fair  and  bright — 't  is  from  behind 
A  lijht,  thin  allegoric  screen, 

She  thus  can  safest  teach  mankind. 

Fable. 

Ix  Thibet  once  there  reign'd,  we  're  told, 
A  little  Lama,  one  year  old — 
Raised  to  the  throne,  that  realm  to  bless, 
Just  when  his  little  Holiness 
Had  cut — as  near  as  can  be  reckon'd — 
Some  say  his  first  tooth,  some  his  second. 
Chronologers  and  verses  vary, 
Which  proves  historians  should  be  wary. 
We  only  know  the  important  truth — 
His  Majesty  had  cut  a  tooth.3 

And  much  his  subjects  were  enchanted, 
As  well  all  Lamas'  subjects  may  be, 


1  Andreas. 

2  (inand   >1  eto't  occnpe  d'auenne   es«oine,  il  envoyai* 
\ovelle,  sa  fille,  on  son  lion  lire  anx  ewhnles  en  charee,  et 
rit'n  rjne  In  blaSte  d'  eHe  n'  empechrit  la  pensee  rles  oyantt 
rlli- avoit  line  petite  courtine  devant  elle. — Christ,  de  Pise 
Cile  ties  rtamrf,  p.  II.  chap.  36. 

"Thibet  for  an  account  of  hi* 

•    with  the  Lauin.  "Toshno  Lama  (he  says')  was  al 
this  t  'Mir  eighteen  months  old.     Thonsh  he  was  unable  U 
<"I>eak  a  word,  he  made  the  most  expressive  sijns,  and  coo 
I  ducted  himself  with  astonishing  dignity  and  decorum  ' 


FABLES,  ETC. 


215 


And  would  have  given  their  heads,  if  wanted, 

To  make  tee-totums  for  the  baby 
As  he  was  there  by  Right  Divine 

(What  lawyers  call  Jure  Divino, 
Meaning  a  right  to  yours,  and  mine, 

And  every  body's  goods  and  rhino) — 
Of  course  his  faithful  subjects'  purses 

Wore  ready  with  their  aids  and  succours — 
Nothing  was  seen  but  pension'd  nurses, 

And  the  land  groan'd  with  bibs  and  tuckers. 

Oh  !  had  there  been  a  Hume  or  Bennet 

Then  sitting  in  the  Thibet  Senate, 

Ye  gods,  what  room  for  long  debates 

Upon  the  Nursery  Estimates  ! 

What  cutting  down  of  swaddling-clothes 

And  pin-a-fores,  in  nightly  battles  ! 
What  calls  for  papers  to  expose 

The  waste  of  sugar-plums  and  rattles  ! 
But  no— if  Thibet  had  M.  Ps., 
They  were  far  better  bred  than  these ; 
Nor  gave  the  slightest  opposition, 
Dur'ag  the  Monarch's  whole  dentition, 

But  short  this  calm ;  for,  just  when  he 
Had  reach'd  the  alarming  age  of  three, 
When  royal  natures — and,  no  doubt 
Those  of  all  noble  beasts — break  out, 
The  Lama,  who  till  then  was  quiet, 
Show'd  symptoms  of  a  taste  for  riot ; 
And,  ripe  for  mischief,  early,  late, 
Without  regard  for  Church  or  State, 
Made  free  with  whosoe'er  came  nigh — 

Tweak'd  the  Lord  Chancellor  by  the  nose, 
Turn'd  all  the  Judges'  wigs  awry, 

And  trod  on  the  old  General's  toes — 
Pelted  the  Bishops  with  hot  buns, 

Rode  cock-horse  on  the  City  maces, 
And  shot,  from  little  devilish  guns, 

Hard  peas  into  his  subjects'  faces. 
In  short,  such  wicked  pranks  he  play'd, 

And  grew  so  mischievous  (God  bless  him  !) 
That  his  chief  Nurse — though  with  the  aid 
Of  an  Archbishop — was  afraid, 

When  in  these  moods,  to  comb  or  dress  him ; 
And  even  the  persons  most  inclined 

For  Kings,  through  thick  and  thin,  to  stickle, 
Thought  him  (if  they  'd  but  speak  their  mind, 

Which  they  did  not)  an  odious  pickle. 

At  length,  some  patriot  lords — a  breed 

Of  animals  they  have  in  Thibet, 
Extremely  rare,  and  fit,  indeed, 

For  folks  like  Pidcock  to  exhibit — 
Some  patriot  lords,  seeing  the  length 
To  which  things  went,  combined  their  strength, 
And  penn'd  a  manly,  plain  and  free 
Remonstrance  to  the  Nursery ; 
In  which,  protesting  that  they  yielded 

To  none,  that  ever  went  before  'em — 
In  loyalty  to  him  who  wielded 

The  hereditary  pap-spoon  o'er  'em— 
That,  as  for  treason,  't  was  a  thing 

That  made  them  almost  sick  to  think  of—- 


That they  and  theirs  stood  by  the  King, 

Throughout  his  measles  and  his  chin-cough, 
When  others,  thinking  him  consumptive, 
Had  ratted  to  the  heir  Presumptive  I — 
But,  still — though  much  admiring  Kings 
(And  chiefly  those  in  leading-strings)  — 
They  saw,  with  shame  and  grief  of  so'jl. 

There  was  no  longer  now  the  wise 
And  constitutional  control 

Of  birch  before  their  ruler's  eyes ; 
But  that,  of  late,  such  pranks,  and  tricks, 

And  freaks  occurr'd  the  whole  day  long, 
As  all,  but  men  with  bishopricks, 

Allow'd,  even  in  a  King,  were  wrong— 
Wherefore  it  was  they  humbly  pray'd 

That  Honourable  Nursery, 
That  such  reforms  be  henceforth  made, 

As  all  good  men  desired  to  see ; — 
In  other  words  (lest  they  might  seem 
Too  tedious,)  as  the  gentlest  scheme 
For  putting  all  such  pranks  to  rest, 

And  in  its  bud  the  mischief  nipping — 
They  ventured  humbly  to  suggest 

His  Majesty  should  have  a  whipping ! 

WTien  this  was  read — no  Congreve  rocket^ 

Discharged  into  the  Gallic  trenches, 
E'er  equall'd  the  tremendous  shock  it 

Produced  upon  the  Nursery  Benches. 
The  Bishops,  who  of  course  had  votes, 
By  right  of  age  and  petticoats, 
Were  first  and  foremost  in  the  fuss — 

"  What,  whip  a  Lama ! — suffer  birch 

To  touch  his  sacred infamous ! 

Deistical ! — assailing  thus 

The  fundamentals  of  the  Church ! 
No — no — such  patriot  plans  as  these 
(So  help  tht^i  Heaven — and  their  sees  !) 
They  held  to  be  rank  blasphemies.'' 

The  alarm  thus  given,  by  these  and  other 

Grave  ladies  of  the  Nursery  side, 
Spread  through  the  land,  till,  such  a  pothet 

Such  palfty  squabbles,  far  and  wiae, 
Never  in  history's  page  had  been 
Recorded,  as  were  then  between 
The  Whippers  and  Non-whippcrs  seen. 
Till,  things  arriving  at  a  state 

Which  gave  some  fears  of  revolution, 
The  patriot  lords'  advice,  though  late, 

Was  put  at  last  in  execution. 
The  Parliament  of  Thibet  met— 

The  little  I^ama,  call'd  before  it, 
Did,  then  and  there,  his  whipping  get, 
And  (as  the  Nursery  Gazette 

Assures  us)  like  a  hero  bore  it. 

And  though  'mong  Thibet  Tories,  some 
Lament  that  Royal  Martyrrfom 
(Please  to  observe,  the  letter  D 
In  this  last  word  's  pronounced  like  B,) 
Yet  to  the  example  of  that  Prince 

So  much  is  Thibet's  land  a  debtor, 
'Tis  said,  her  little  Lamas  since 

Have  all  behaved  themselves  much  betto» 


(16 


.MOORE'S  WORKS. 


FABLE  VI. 

TUB   EXTINGUISHERS. 

Vroem.  / 

THOUGH  soldiers  a»  the  true  supports, 
The  natural  allies  of  Courts, 
Woe  to  the  Monarch  who  depends 
Too  much  on  his  red-coated  friends ; 
For  even  soldiers  sometimes  think — 

Nay,  Colonels  have  been  known  to  reason,—- 
And  rcasoners,  whether  clad  in  pink, 
Or  red,  or  blue,  are  on  the  brink 

(Nine  cases  out  of  ten)  of  treason. 

Not  many  soldiers,  I  believe,  are 

As  fond  of  liberty  as  Mina ; 
Else — woe  to  Kings,  when  Freedom's  fever 

Once  turns  into  a  Scarklina  ! 
For  then — but  hold — 'tis  best  to  veil 
My  meaning  in  the  following  tale  : — 

Fable. 

A  LORD  of  Persia,  rich  and  great, 
Just  come  into  a  large  estate, 
Was  shock'd  to  find  he  had,  for  neighbours, 
Close  to  his  gate,  some  rascal  Ghebers, 
Whose  fires,  beneath  his  very  nose 
In  heretic  combustion  rose. 
But  lords  of,  Persia  can,  no  doubt, 

Do  what  they  will — so,  one  fine  morning, 
He  turn  d  the  rascal  Ghebers  out, 

First  giving  a  few  kicks  for  warning. 
Then,  thanking  Heaven  most  piously, 

He  knock'd  their  temple  to  the  ground, 
Blessing  himself  for  joy  to  see 

Such  Pagan  ruins  strew'd  around. 
But  much  it  vex'd  my  lord  to  find, 

That,  while  all  else  obey'd  his  wtfl, 
The  fire  these  Ghebers  left  behind — 

Do  what  he  would — kept  burning  still. 
Fiercely  he  storm'd,  as  if  his  frown 
Could  scare  the  bright  insurgent  down  ; 
But  no — such  fires  are  headstrong  things, 
And  care  not  much  for  lords  or  kings. 
Scarce  could  his  lordship  well  contrive 

The  flashes  in  one  place  to  smother, 
Before — hey,  presto — all  alive, 

They  sprung  up  freshly  in  another. 

At  length,  when,  spite  of  prayers  and  damns, 

'T  was  found  the  sturdy  flame  defied  him, 
Ills  stewards  came,  with  low  salamx, 

.ng,  by  contrail,  to  provide  him 
Some  large  extinguishers  (a  plan 
Much  used,  thry  said,  at  Ispahan, 

i,  Petersburgh — in  short, 
U'h   ;.  vrr  li'jlil  's  forbid  at  court) — 
Machines  no  lord  should  be  without, 
Which  would,  at  once,  put  promptly  out 
Fires  of  all  kinds — from  staring  stark 
Volcinos  to  the  tiniest  spark — 
Till  all  things  slept  as  dull  and  dark 


As,  in  a  great  lord's  neighbourhood, 

*T  was  right  and  fitting  all  things  should. 

Accordingly,  some  large  supplies 

Of  these  Extinguishers  were  furnish'd 
(All  of  the  true,  imperial  size,) 

And  there,  in  rows,  stood  black  and  burnish'di 
Ready,  where'er  a  gleam  but  shone 
Of  light  or  fire,  to  b<j  clapp'd  on. 

But,  ah  !  how  lordly  wisdom  errs, 
In  trusting  to  extinguishers  ! 
One  day,  when  he  had  left  all  sure 
(At  least  believed  so,)  dark,  secure — 
The  flame,  at  all  its  exits,  entries, 

Obstructed  to  his  heart's  content, 
And  black  extinguishers,  like  sentries, 

Placed  upon  every  dangerous  vent — 
Ye  gods  !  imagine  his  amaze, 

His  wrath,  his  rage,  when,  on  returning, 
He  found  not  only  the  old  blaze, 

Brisk  as  before,  crackling  and  burning — 
Not  only  new,  young  conflagrations, 
Popping  up  round  in  various  stations — 
But,  still  more  awful,  strange,  and  dire, 
The  Extinguishers  themselves  on  fire  ! !  ' 
They,  they — those  trusty,  blind  machines 

His  lordship  had  so  long  been  praising, 
As,  under  Providence,  the  means 

Of  keeping  down  all  lawless  blazing, 
Were  now  themselves — alas,  too  true 
The  shameful  fact — turn'd  blazers  too, 
And,  by  a  change  as  odd  as  cruel, 
Instead  of  dampers,  served  for  fuel ! 

Thus,  of  his  only  hope  bereft, 

"What,"  said  the  great  man,  "must  be  done  7* 
All  that,  in  scrapes  like  this,  is  left 

To  great  men  is — to  cut  and  run. 
So  run  he  did  ;  while  to  their  grounds 

The  banish'd  Ghebers  bless'd  return'd  : 
And,  though  their  fire  had  broke  its  bounds, 

And  all  abroad  now  wildly  burn'd, 
Yet  well  could  they,  who  loved  the  flame, 
Its  wand'ring,  its  excess  reclaim ; 
And  soon  another,  fairer  dome 
Arose  to  be  its  sacred  home, 
Where,  cherish'd,  guarded,  not  confin'd, 
The  living  glpry  dwelt  inshrined, 
And,  shedding  lustre,  strong  but  even, 
Though  born  of  earth,  grew  worthy  Heaven 

Moral. 

The  moral  hence  my  Muse  infers 
Is — that  such  lords  are  simple  elves. 

In  trusting  to  extinguishers 
That  are  combustible  themselves. 


1  The  idea  of  this  fable  was  cnught  from  one  of  those 
<ri!  i:int  niiit.i  which  a'.jound  in  the  conversation  of  ii'V 
ri'-iM,  \}»-  author  of  lin>  Lrdra  t.n  Juliu — ;i  prodiiclinn 
vhich  contains  fonie  of  til's  happiest  IpMKDMM  of  fJajftll 
-lutiy  Iliat  have  appeared  in  thU  or  any  asc. 


CORRUPTION  AND  INTOLERANCE; 

TWO  POEMS. 


PREFACE. 


THE  practice  which  has  lately  been  introduced  into 
literature,  of  writing  very  long  notes  upon  very  indif- 
ferent  verses,  appears  to  me  rather  a  happy  invention; 
for  it  supplies  us  with  a  mode  of  turning  stupid  poetry 
to  account ;  and  as  horses  too  dull  for  the  saddle  may 
well  enough  to  draw  lumber,  so  poems  of  this 
kind  make  excellent  beasts  of  burden,  and  will  bear 
notes,  though  they  may  not  bear  reading.  Besides, 
the  comments  in  such  cases  are  so  little  under  the  ne- 
cessity of  paying  any  servile  deference  to  the  text, 
that  they  may  even  adopt  that  Socratic  dogma, 
"Quod  supra  nos  nihil  ad  nos." 

In  the  first  of  the  following  poems,  I  have  ventured 
to  speak  of  the  Revolution  in  language  which  has 
sometimes  been  employed  by  Tory  writers,  and 
which  is  therefore  neither  very  new  nor  popular. 
But,  however  an  Englishman  may  be  reproached 
with  ingratitude,  for  appreciating  the  merits  and  re- 
sults of  a  measure  which  he  is  taught  to  regard  as  the 
source  of  his  liberties — however  ungrateful  it  might  be 
in  Alderman  Birch  to  question  for  a  moment  the  pu- 
rity of  that  glorious  era  to  which  he  is  indebted  for 
the  seasoning  of  so  many  orations — yet  an  Irishman, 
who  has  none  of  these  obligations  to  acknowledge,  to 
whose  country  the  Revolution  brought  nothing  but 
injury  and  insult,  and  who  recollects  that  the  book 
of  Molyneux  was  burned,  by  order  of  William's 
Whig  Parliament,  for  daring  to  extend  to  unfortunate 
Ireland  those  principles  on  which  the  Revolution  was 
professedly  founded — an  Irishman  may  venture  to 
criticise  the  measures  of  that  period,  without  expos- 
ing himself  either  to  the  imputation  of  ingratitude,  or 
the  suspicion  of  being  influenced  by  any  popish  re- 
mains of  jacobitism.  No  nation,  it  is  true,  was  ever 
blessed  with  a  more  golden  opportunity  of  establish- 
ing and  securing  its  liberties  for  ever  than  the  con- 
juncture of  Eighty-eight  presented  to  the  people  of 
Great  Britain.  But  the  disgraceful  reigns  of  Charles 
and  James  had  weakened  and  degraded  the  national 


rendering  unnecessary  the  frequent  exercise  of  pre- 
rogative, that  unwieldy  power  which  cannot  move  a 
step  without  alarm,  it  limited  the  only  interference 
of  the  Crovu  which  is  singly  and  independently  ex- 
posed before  the  people,  and  whose  abuses  are  there- 
fore obvious  to  their  senses  and  capacities :  like  the 
myrtle  over  a  certain  statue  in  Minerva's  temple  at 
Athens,  it  skilfully  veiled  from  their  sight  the  only 
obtrusive  feature  of  royalty.  At  the  same  time,  how- 
ever,  that  the  Revolution  abridged  this  unpopular 
attribute,  it  amply  compensated  by  the  substiiltion  of 
a  new  power,  as  much  more  potent  in  its  effect  as  it 
is  more  secret  in  its  operations.  In  the  disposal  of 
an  immense  revenue,  and  the  extensive  patronage  an- 
nexed to  it,  the  first  foundations  of  this  power  of  the 
Crown  were  laid  ;  the  innovation  of  a  standing  army 
at  once  increased  and  strengthened  it,  and  the  few 
slight  barriers  which  the  Act  of  Settlement  opposed 
to  its  progress  have  all  been  -gradually  removed  dur- 
ing the  whiggish  reigns  that  succeeded,  till  at  length 
this  spirit  of  influence  is  become  the  vital  principle  of 
the  state,  whose  agency,  subtle  and  unseen,  pervades 
every  part  of  the  constitution,  lurks  under  all  its 
forms,  and  regulates  all  its  movements ;  and,  like  the 
invisible  sylph  or  grace  which  presides  over  the  mo- 
tions of  beauty, 

"Illam,  quicquid  ngit,  quoquo  vestigia  flcctit, 
Componit  furiiin  subsequiturque." 

The  cause  of  liberty  and  the  Revolution  are  so  ha- 
bitually  associated  by  Englishmen,  that,  probably,  in 
objecting  to  the  latter  I  m.  y  be  thought  hostile  or  in- 
dilferent  to  the  former;  but  nothing  can  be  more 
unjust  than  such  a  suspicion; — the  very  object  which 
my  humble  animadversions  would  attain  is,  that  in  the 
crisis  to  which  I  think  England  is  hastening,  and  be- 
tween which  and  foreign  subjugation  she  may  soon 
be  compelled  to  choose,  the  errors  and  omissions  of 
1688  may  be  remedied,  and  that,  as  she  then  had  a 
Revolution  without  a  Reform,  she  may  now  seek  a 
Ilffiirrn  without  a  Revolution. 

In  speaking  of  the  parties  which  have  so  long  agi- 
tated England,  it  will  be  observed  that  I  lean  as  little 


character.  The  bold  notions  of  popular  ri<:ht,  which  to  tho  Wlu'gs  as  to  their  adversaries.  Both  factions 
had  arisen  out  of  the  struggles  between  Charle-:  th"  have  been  equally  cruel  to  Ireland,  and  perhaps 
First  and  his  Parliament,  were  gradually  supplanted  equally  insincere  in  their  efforts  for  the  libert.i  >  <>:' 
by  those  slavish  doctrines  for  which  Lord  II — kesb-ry  \  England.  There  is  one  name,  indeed,  co:. 


eulogizes  the  churchmen  of  that  period;  and  as  tho 
Reformation  had  happened  too  soon  for  the  purity  of 
religion,  so  the  Revolution  came  too  late  for  the 
spirit  of  liberty.  Its  advantages  accordingly  were  for 
the  most  part  specious  and  transitory,  while  the  evils 


with  whipgism,  of  which  I  can  never  think  but  with 
veneration  and  tenderness.  As  justly,  however, 
might  the  light  of  the  sun  be  claimed  by  any  particu- 
lar nation,  as  the  sanction  of  that  name  IK-  assumed 
by  any  party  whatever:  ..Mr.  Fox  belonged  to  man- 


which  it  entailed  are  still  felt  and  still  increasing.   By  .kind,  and  they  have  lost  in  him  their  ablest  friend 
2  E 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  respect  to  the  few  lines  upon  Intolerance, 
which  I  have  subjoined,  they  are  but  the  imperfect 
banning  of  a  long  series  of  Essays,  with  which  I 
here  menace  my  readers,  upon  the  same  important 
subject.  I  shall  look  to  no  higher  merit  in  the  task, 
th-in  that  of  giving  a  new  form  to  claims  and  remon- 
strances, which  have  been  often  much  more  elegantly 
urged,  and  which  would  long  ere  now  have  produced 
ii-ct,  but  that  the  minds  of  some  men,  like  the 
pupil  of  the  eye,  contract  themselves  the  more,  the 
stronger  light  there  is  shed  upon  them. 


•«,-  »r  c.<«sXoj-ir 


Demosth.  Philipp.  tii. 


BOAST  on,  my  friend — though,  stript  of  all  beside, 
Thy  struggling  nation  still  retains  her  pride  :' 
That  pride  which  once  in  genuine  glory  woke, 
When  Marlborough  fought,  and  brilliant  St.  John 

spoke ; 

That  pride  which  still,  by  time  and  shame  unstung, 
Outlives  e'en  Wh*tel*cke's  sword  and  H*wksb'ry's 

tongue ! 

Boast  on,  my  friend,  while  in  this  humbled  isle,2 
Where  honour  mourns  and  freedom  fears  to  smile, 
Where  the  bright  light  of  England's  fame  is  known 
But  by  the  baleful  shadow  she  has  thrown 
On  all  our  fate' — where,  doom'd  to  wrongs  and 

slights, 
We  hear  you  talk  of  Britain's  glorious  rights, 


As  weeping  slaves,  that  under  hatches  lie, 

Hear  those  on  deck  extol  the  sun  and  sky  ! 

Boast  on,  while  wandering  through  my  native  haunts, 

[  coldly  listen  to  thy  patriot  vaunts, 

And  feel,  though  close  our  wedded  countries  twino 

More  sorrow  for  my  own  than  pride  from  thino 

Yet  pause  a  moment — and  if  truths  severe 

Can  find  an  inlet  to  that  courtly  ear 

Which  loves  no  politics  in  rhyme  but  P — e's, 

And  hears  no  news  but  W — rd's  gazetted  lies ; 

[f  aught  can  please  thee  but  the  good  old  saws 

Of  "  Church  and  State,"  and  "  William's  matchlesa 

laws," 

And  "Acts  and  Rights  of  glorious  Eighty-eight,"— 
Things,  which  though  now  a  century  out  of  date, 
Still  serve  to  ballast,  with  convenient  words, 
A  few  crank  arguments  for  speeching  Lords — ' 
Turn,  while  I  tell  how  England's  freedom  found, 
Where  most  she  looked  for  life,  her  deadliest  wound 
How  brave  she  struggled,  while  her  foe  was  seen, 
Eiow  faint  since  Influence  lent  that  foe  a  screen ; 
How  strong  o'er  James  and  Popery  she  prevail'd, 
How  weakly  fell,  when  Whigs  and  gold  assail'd.2 


1  Angli  too*  ae  sua  omnia  impense  mirantur;  cxteras 
natioues  despectui  babeoL — Barclay  (as  quoted  in  one  of 
Dryden's  preface*.) 

2  England  began  very  early  to  feel  the  effec's  of  cruelty 
toward*  her  dependencies.    "  The  severity  of  her  Govern- 
ment (says  Macpberson)  contributed  more  to  deprive  her  of 
the  continental  dominions  of  the  family  of  Plantagenet  than 
the  arms  of  France." — See  his  History,  vol.  i.  |m::>:  111. 

3  "  By  the  total  reduction  of  the  kingdom  of  Ireland,  in 
1091  (says  Burke,)  the  ruin  of  the  native  Irish,  and  in  a 
greit  measure  too  of  the  first  races  of  the  Knsli-h,  was  com- 
pletely accomplished.   The  new  Enjlish  int.  test  \vns  settled 
with  ai  solid  a  (lability  as  any  thing;  in  human  affairs  can 
look  for.     AH  the  penal  laws  of  that  unparalleled  code  of 
offiressinn,  which  were  made  after  the  last  event,  were  ma- 

t  he  effects  of  national  hatred  and  scorn  towards  a 

conquered  people,  whom  the  victors  d.-lisrhted  to  trample 

i  I  «.-r  •  nut  at  all  afraid  to  provoke."     Yet  this  is 

th«  era  to  which  the  wise  Common  Council  of  Dublin  refer 

-  invnhiable  blessings,"  etc.    And  this  is  the  era 

•votnors  as  bis  Grace  the  Duke  of  R-clim-nd 

think  it  |K>liiic  to  commemorate,  in  the  eyes  of  my  insulted 

•v  an  annual  procession  round  the  statue  of 

'•  illiam! 

An  unvarying  trait  of  the  policy  of  Great  Britain  towards 
•iis  boon  her  selection  of  such  men  to  covorn  us  as 
|v  to  deviate  into  justice  and  liberal  IT,  nml 
Mrh   »be   hns   taken  when  any  oot,- 
ha«  shown  symptoms  of  departure  fro::. 
t    prejudice   and   oppression.      Our   most   fmouri1. 
Governors  have  accordingly  been  our  shortest  visitor*,  and 


he  first  moments  of  their  popularity  have  in  g.  neral  been 


1  (1C  samu  hlliu  UI    tiumi^ui  lie  >    leu    lu  uic    ic*~aii    ui    oil    .mull 

Perrot,  in  Elizabeth's  lime,  and  to  that  of  the  Earl  of  Rad- 
nor, in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  of  whom  Lord  Or- 
ford  says,  "  We  are  not  told  how  he  disappointed  th-  King's 
expectations,  probably  not  by  too  great  complaisance,  nor 
why  his  administration,  which  Burnet  calls  jiift, 
iked.  If  it  is  true  that  he  was  a  good  governor,  the  pre- 
sumption will  be  that  his  rule  was  not  disliked  by  those  to 
whom  but  from  whom  be  was  sent." — Royal  and  JCoblt 
Authors. 

We  are  not  without  instances  of  the  same  illiberal  policy 
in  our  own  limes. 

1  It  never  seems  to  occur  to  those  orators  and  addressers 
who  round  off  so  many  sentences  and  paragraphs  with  the 
Bill  of  Rights,  the  Act  of  Settlement,  etc.  that  all  the  pro- 
vi-ions  which  these  Acts  contained  for  the  preservation  of 
parliamentary  independence  have  been  long  laid  aside  as 
romantic  and  troublesome.    The  Revolution,  as  its  greatest 
admirers  acknowledge,  was  little  more  than  a  reci  gmtion 
of  ancient  privilejes,  a  restoration  of  that  old  Go'hic  struc- 
ture which  was  brought  from  the  woods  of  Germany  into 
England.     Edward  the  First  had  long  before  made  a  similar 
recognition,  and  had  even  more  expressly  reverted  to  the 
first  principles  of  t!ie  constitution,  by  declaring  that  "the 
people  should   have  their  laws,  liberties,  and  tree  customs, 
as  largely  and  wholly  as  they  have  used  to  have  the  samo 
at  any  time  they  had  them."     But,  luckily  for  th"  Crown 
and  its  interests,  the  concessions  both  of  Edward  nnd  of  Wil- 
liam have  been  equally  vague  and  verbal,  equally  theoreti- 
cal and  insincere.     The  feudal  svs'em  was  continued,  not- 
withstanding the  former,  and  Lord  M 's  honest  head  is 

upon  his  shoulders,  in  spite  of  the  latter.    So  thnt  I  confess 
I  never  meet  with  a  politician  who  seriously  quotes  the  De- 
claration of  Rights,  etc.  to  prove  the  actual  exii-teneo  of 
English  liberty,  that  I  do  not  think  of  the  Mar<:iii-.  wl.om 
Montesquieu  mentions,  (a)  who  s.  t  about  looking  Tor  mines 
in  the  Pyrenees,  upon  the  strength  of  authorities  which  h« 
had  read   in  some  ancient  authors.     The   poor   Man;uis 
toiled  and  searched  in  vain.     He  quo'ed  his  authorities  to 
the  la«t,  but  he  found  no  mines  after  all. 

2  The  chief,  perhaps  the  only,  advance  which  hns  re- 
sulted from  the  system  of  influence,  is  the  tranquil,  uninter- 
rupted flow  which  it  has  given   to   the  administration  of 
Government,     if  Kins*  must,  be    paramount  in  ll 

(and  their  Ministers  at  l>'nst  seem  to  think  so.)  the  country 
is  indebted  to  the  Revolution  fur  onnblin"  them  to  become 
.  nnd  for  removing  so  skilfully  the  danffor  of  those 
shocks  and  collisions  which  the  alarming  efforts  of  preroga 
live  never  failed  to  produce. 

'a)  Liv.  xxi.  chap.  11. 


CORRUPTION. 


21V 


While  Kings  were  poor,  and  all  those  schemes  un- 
known 

Which  drain  the  People,  but  enrich  the  Throne ; 
Ere  yet  a  yielding  Commons  had  supplied 
Those  chains  of  gold  by  which  themselves  are  tied; 
Then  proud  Prerogative,  untaught  to  creep 
With  Bribery1!  silent  foot  on  Freedom's  sleep,1 

It  is  the  nature  of  a  people  in  general  to  attend  but  to  the 
extern  .Is  of  Government.  Having  neither  leisure  nor  abili- 
.v  to  (l.s I'Uss  its  measures,  they  looK  no  dee|>er  than  the  sur- 
face for  ilieir  utility,  and  no  farther  than  the  present  for  their 
consequences.  Mrs.  Macaulay  has  said  of  a  certain  period, 
ople  at  ibis  time  were,  as  the  people  of  Great 
Britain  always  are,  half-stupid,  half-drunk,  and  half-asleep;" 
am!  however  we  may  dissent  from  this  petulant  effusion  of 
a  S. :ou -h-woman,  it  must  be  owned  that  the  reasoning  pow- 
ers of  John  Bull  are  not  very  easily  called  into  action,  and 

D  where  he  does  condescend  to  exert  them,  it  is  like 
Dogberry's  display  of  his  reading  and  writing,  "where  there 
!  of  such  vanity  ;"  as  upon  that  deep  question  about 
the  dangers  of  the  church,  which  was  submitted  for  his  dis- 
sussion  by  Mr.  I'-rc-v-l  at  the  late  elections.  It  follows, 
however,  from  this  apathy  of  the  people,  that  as  long  as  no 
glaring  exertion  of  power,  no  open  violation  of  forms  is  ob- 
truded upon  them,  it  is  of  very  little  consequence  how  mat- 
ters are  managed  behind  the  curtain ;  and  a  few  quiet  men, 
getting  close  to  the  ear  of  the  Throne,  may  whisper  away 
the  salvation  of  the  country  so  inaudibly.  tint  ruin  will  be 
divested  of  half  its  alarming  preparatives.  If,  in  addition  to 
this  lumber  of  the  people,  a  great  majority  of  those  whom 
they  have  deputed  to  watch  for  them,  can  be  induced,  by 
any  irresistible  argument,  to  prefer  the  safety  of  the  govern- 
ment to  the  integrity  of  the  constitution,  and  to  think  a  con- 
nivance at  the  encroachments  of  power  less  troublesome 
than  the  difficulties  which  would  follow  reform,  I  cannot 
imagine  a  more  tramjuil  state  of  affairs  than  must  necessa- 

,lt  from  such  general  and  well-regulated  acquies- 
1  of  vain  and  agitating  efforts  to  establish 

illative  balance  of  the  constitution,  which  perhaps 
nas  n-v-r  existed  but  in  the  pages  of  Montesquieu(a)  and 
de  L'.lni",  a  preponderance  would  be  silently  yielded  to  one 
of  the  tli  nich  would  carry  the  other  two  almost 

.  bii1  (•!!'•  in  illy,  along  with  it;  and  even  though 
the  path  might  lead  eventually  to  destruction,  yet  its  spe- 
cious and  gilded  smoothness  would  almost  atone  for  the 
dungei — like  Milton's  bridge  over  Chaos,  it  would  lead 

"  Smooth,  easy,  inoffensive,  down  to  ****. 
1  Though   the  Kings  of  England  were  most  unroyally 

!  and  fettered  in  all  their  pursuits  by  |>ecuniary  dif- 
ficulties, before  the  provident  enactments  of  William's  reign 

;ied  to  the  Crown  its  present  sources  of  wealth,  yet 

-•  liol  attribute  to  the  Revolutionary  Whigs  the  credit 

altogether  of  inventing  this  art  of  government.     Its  advan- 

il  long  been  understood  by  ministers  and  favourites, 
though  the  limits  of  the  royal  revenue  prevented  them  from 

'i  it  with  effect.  In  the  reign  of  Mary,  indeed,  the 
gold  of  Spain,  being  added  to  the  usual  resources  of  the 
Tnrone,  produce.!  such  a  spirit  of  ductility  in  her  Parlia- 
ments, thtit  th"  price  for  which  each  member  had  sold  him- 

publicly  ascertained:  and  if  diaries  the  First  could 
have  eoin  iiaii-r  i!  a  similar  supply,  it  is  not  too  much  to 

i hat  the  Commonweal! h  never  would  have  existed. 

But  it  was  during  the  reign  of  iho  second  Charles  that  the 

•  "re  made  to  that  pecuniary  system 

whiHi  our  debt,  our  funds,  and  our  luxes,  have  since  brought 

to  such  p  rt'e'ion;  mid  Clifford  and  Danby  would  not  dis- 

•i'  times  of  political  venality.     Still, 

.  ;.  riment  was  but  partial  and  imperfect,  (A) 

And  attended  wHi  scarcely  any  other  n  that  of 

.vhich  the  power  of  the  purse  has  been 

.    ,e:te  I.  j'i-t  as  (lie  fultuina'ing  ilu-t  of  the  chemists 

may  have  prepared  the  way  lor  the  invention  of  gunpowder. 

(o1  Montcs-furr-ii  seem*  not  a  little  satisfied  with  his  own 
ingenuitv  in  finding  out  the  character  of  the  English  from 
the.  nature  of  t!i'-;r  |io!:tieal  institutions  :  hut  it  appears  to 
mo  somewhat  like  that  ea-y  sag-icily  by  which  Lavaler  has 
.:  I  th"  geniiK  of  Shnkspenre  in  his  !'• 

Preface  to  n  Collection  of  Debates,  etc.  in  11)04 
and  Uilto,  for  an  account  of  the  public  tables  kept  at  West- 
minster, in  Charles  the  Second's  time,  "  to  feed  the  betrayers 
of  their  country."  The  payment  of  each  day's  work  was 
left  under  their  respective  plates. 


Frankly  avow'd  his  bold  enslaving  plan, 
And  claim'd  a  right  from  God  to  trample  man  ! 
But  Luther's  light  had  too  much  warm'd  mankind 
For  Hampden's  truths  to  linger  long  behind ; 
Nor  then,  when  king-like  Popes  had  fallen  so  low 
Could  pope-like  Kingsl  escape  the  levelling  blow. 
That  ponderous  sceptre  (in  whose  place  we  bow 
To  the  light  talisman  of  influence  now,) 
Too  gross,  too  visible  to  work  the  spell 
Which  Modem  Power  performs,  in  fragments  fell : 
In  fragments  lay,  till,  patch'd  and  painted  o'er 
With  fleurs-de-lys,  it  shone  and  scourged  once  more. 
'T  was  then,  my  friend,  thy  kneeling  nation  quafTd 
Long,  long  and  deep,  the  churchman's  opiate  draught 
Of  tame  obedience — till  her  sense  of  right 
And  pulse  of  glory  seem'd  extinguish'd  quite,  • 
And  Britons  slept  so  sluggish  in  their  chain, 
That  wakening  Freedom  call'd  almost  in  vain  ! 
Oh  England !  England  !  what  a  chance  was  thine, 
When  the  last  tyrant  of  that  ill-starr'd  line 
Fled  from  his  sullied  crown,  and  left  thee  free 
To  found  thy  own  eternal  liberty ! 
How  bright,  how  glorious  in  that  sun-shine  hour. 
Might  patriot  hands  have  raised  the  triple  tower* 
Of  British  freedom  on  a  rock  divine, 
Which  neither  force  could  storm  nor  treachery  mine ! 
But  no — the  luminous,  the  lofty  plan, 
Like  mighty  Babel,  seem'd  too  bold  for  man ; 
I  The  curse  of  jarring  tongues  again  was  given 
To  thwart  a  work  which  raised  men  near  to  Heaven  ! 
While  Tories  inarr'd  what  Whigs  had  scarce  begun,1 
While  Whigs  undid  what  Whigs  themselves  had  done,4 


1  The  drivelling  correspondence  between  James  I.  and 
his  "dog  Steeniu"  (the  Duke  of  Buckingham,)  winch  we 
find  among  the  Hardwick  Papers,  sufficiently  shows,  if  we 
wanted  such  illustration,  into  what  doting,  idiotic  btaius  the 
plan  of  arbitrary  power  may  enter. 

2  Tacitus  has  expressed  his  opinion,  in  a  passage  very 
frequently  quoted,  that  such  a  distribution  of  power  as  the 
theory  of  the  British  constitution  exhibits  is  merely  a  subject 
of  bright  speculation,  "  a  system  more  easily  praised  than 
practised,  and  which,  even  could  it  happen  to  exist,  would 
certainly  not  prove  permanent;"  and,  in  truth,  if  we  reflect 
on  the  English  history,  we  shall  feel  very  much  inclined  to 
agree  with  Tacitus.     We  shall  find  that  at  no  period  what- 
ever has  this  balance  of  the  three  estates  existed  ;  that  the 
nobles  predominated  till  the  policy  of  Henry  VII.  and  his 
successor  reduced  their  weight  by  breaking  up  the  feudal 
system  of  property ;  that  the  power  of  the  Crown  became 
then  supreme  and  absolute,  till  the  bold  encroachments  of 
the  Commons  subverted  the  fabric  altogether  ;  that  the  alter- 
nate ascendancy  of  prerogative  and  privilege  distracted  the 
period  which  followed  the  Restoration ;  and  that,  lastly,  the 
Acts  of  1688,  by  laying  the  foundation  of  an  unbounded 
court  influence,  nave  secured  a  preponderance  lo  the  Throne 
which  every  succeeding  year  increases.    So  that  the  British 
constitution  has  never  perhaps  existed  but  in  theory. 

3  "Those  two  thieves  (says  Ralph)  between  whom  the 
nation  was  crucified."—  Use  and  Muse  of  Parliament*, 
pa,»e  164. 

4  The  monnrchs  of  Great  Britain  can  never  be  sufficiently 
grateful  for  that  generous  spirit  which  led  the  Revolutionary 
Whifl  to  give  away  the  Crown,  without  imposing  any  of 
those  restraints  or  stipulations  which  other  men  might  have 
taken  advantage  of  such  a  moment  to  enforce,  and  in  fram- 
ing of  which   they  had  so  good   a  model  to  follow  as  the 
limitations  propos'ed  by  the  Lords  F.ssex  and  Halifax,  in  thn 
debate  upon  the  Exclusion  Hill.   They  not  only  cor, 

ed,  however,  to  accept  of  places,  but  they  look   < 

ould  be  no  impediment  to  their  "  voice  po- 
tential" in  affairs  of  legislation  ;  and  though  an  Act  was 
after  many  years  suffered  to  pass.  -,\  Inch  by  one  of  its  arti 
:  >.lifi"cl  placemen  from  serving  as  members  of  the 
Hulls,.  ,,f  Commons,  yet  it  was  not  allowed  to  inti  r'ere  with 
the  influence  of  the  reigning  monarch,  nor  indeed  with  that 
of  his  successor  Anne,  as  the  purifying  clause  was  not  to 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  time  was  lost,  and  William,  with  a  smile, 
8«w  Freedom  weeping  o'er  the  uniinish'd  p.le ! 
Hence  all  the  ills  you  suffer,  hence  remain 
Such  galling  fragmepts  of  that  feudal  chain,1 
Whoae  links,  around  you  by  the  iNonnan  tiung, 
Though  loosed  and  broke  so  often,  still  have  clung. 
Hence  sly  Prerogative,  like  Jove  of  old, 
Has  turn'd  his  thunder  into  showers  of  gold, 
Whose  silent  courtship  wins  securer  joys,* 
Taints  by  degrees,  and  ruins  without  noise. 


Uke  elli  ct  nil  after  the  decease  of  ibe  latter  sovereign,  and 
ery  con..di-rau-ly  repealed  it  altogether.  So  Uiai,  as 
sentation  has  continued  ever  since,  it  llie  King  were 


represe 


•imple  enough  to  send  lo  foreign  courts  ambassadors  who 
were  intMi  ol  them  in  the  pay  ol  those  court*,  he  would  be 


Act  whirh  had  been  hazarded  since  lliecoiilirinationof  that 
pnvik  -.  -  uiiple  of  our  Deliverer's  reign  has  not 

been  loVt  u|Mii  any  of  bis  successors.  They  promoted  the 
ntahlishiurul  of  a  utanding  army,  and  circulated  in  its  de- 
fence the  celebrated  "Balancing  Letter,"  in  which  it  is 
insinuated  that  England,  even  then,  in  her  boasted  hour  of 
regeneration,  win  arrived  at  such  a  pitch  of  faction  and  cor- 
ruption, lhat  nothing  could  keep  tier  in  order  but  a  Whig 
ministry  and  a  standing  army.  They  refused,  as  long  as 
.  :!d,  to  shorten  the  duration  of  Parliaments,  and, 
though  the  declaration  of  rights  acknowledged  the  necessity 
of  such  a  reform,  they  were  able,  by  arts  not  unknown  to 
modern  ministers,  to  brand  those  as  traitors  and  republicans 
»h  .  ur_-.  ,1  .:.  ,;)  But  the  grand  and  distinguishing  trait  of 
their  measure*  wa»  the  power  which  they  gave  to  the  Crown 
of  annihilating  the  freedom  of  elections,  of  muddying  for 
ever  tint  sin  am  of  representation,  which  had,  even  in  the 
most  aerated  times,  reflected  some  features  of  the  people, 
but  which  then,  lor  the  first  tune,  became  the  Pactolua  of 
the  Court,  and  grew  so  darkened  with  sands  of  gold,  lhat  it 
•crveil  for  the  people's  mirror  no  longer.  We  need  but  con- 
sult the  writings  of  lhat  time,  to  understand  the  astonish- 
ment then  e  vcii-d  by  measures,  which  the  practice  of  a  cen- 
tury has  rendered  not  only  familiar  but  necessary.  See  a 
Kmphlet  railed  "The  Dangrr  of  mercenary  Parliaments," 
118 ;  State  Tracts,  Will.  III.  vol.  ii.  p.  638;  and  see  also 
"  Some  Paradoxes  presented  as  a  New  Year's  Gift."  (Slate 
Petmt,  vol.  iii.  p.  327.) 

1  The  last  great  wound  given  to  the  feudal  system  was 
the  Act  of  the  12th  of  Charles  II.  which  abolished  the  tenure 
of  knights'  service  in  eapite,  and  which  Blackstone  com- 
pares, for  its  salutary  influence  upon  property,  to  the  boasted 
provisions  of  Magna  Charta  itself.  Yet  even  in  this  Act  we 
tee  the  effects  of  lhat  counteracting  spirit,  that  Arimanius, 
which  has  weekend  every  effort  of  the  English  nation  to- 
wards liberty,  which  allowed  but  half  the  errors  of  Popery 
to  be  removed  at  the  Reformation,  and  which  planted  more 
klmse*  I  ban  it  suffered  to  be  rooted  out  at  the  Revolution. 
The  exclusion  of  copyholders  from  their  share  of  elective 
rights  was  permitted  to  remain  as  a  brand  of  feudal  servi- 
tude, and  as  an  obstacle  to  the  rise  of  that  strong  counter- 
balance which  an  equal  representation  of  property  would 
oppose  to  the  weight  of  the  Crown.  If  the  managers  of  the 
Revolntion  had  been  sincere  in  their  wishen  for  reform,  they 
would  not  only  have  taken  this  fetter  off*  the  rights  of  elec- 
tion, hut  they  would  have  renewed  the  mode  adopted  in 
'•'•  time  of  increasing  the  number  of  knights  of  the 
•hire,  to  the  exclu-ion  of  tho«c  rotten  insignificant  boroughs, 
which  have  tainted  the  whole  mass  of  the  constitution, 
irendon  calif  this  measure  of  Cromwell's  "an  al- 
teration fit  to  be  more  warrantably  made,  and  in  a  better 
time."  It  formed  part  of  Mr.  Pitt's  plan  in  1783;  but  Mr. 
Pitt's  plin  of  reform  was  a  kind  of  dramatic  piece,  about 
W  likely  to  be  arted  at  Mr.  Sheridan's  "  Foresters." 

4 for*  Miim  tntnm  iter  et  patens, 

I'retium  Deo. 
Aurum  per  medius  ire  satellites, 

,«0  P«*  »  Pamphlet,  publisher!  in  1693,  upon  the  King's 
Muring  to  sign  the  Triennial  Bill,  called  "  A  Discourse  be- 
a  Yeoman  of  Kent  and 


-  Knight  of  a  Shire."— 
••>n  (suys  the  \  eoman)  the  gentleman  grew  angry, 
•od  t*id  that  I  talked  like  a  base  commonwealth  man." 


While  Parliaments,  no  more  those  sacred  things 
Which  make  and  rule  the  destiny  of  Kings, 
Like  loaded  dice  by  ministers  are  thrown. 
And  each  new  set  of  sharpers  cog  iheir  own  ! 
Hence  the  rich  oil,  lhat  from  the  Treasury  steals 
And  drips  o'er  all  the  Constitution's  wheels, 
Giving  the  old  machine  such  pliant  play,1 
That  Court  and  Commons  jog  one  jot  less  w  ay 
While  Wisdom  trembles  for  the  crazy  car, 
So  gilt,  so  rotten,  carrying  fools  so  far! 


Et  perrumnere  amat  iaza,  pntentius, 
li-.iu  fulmmeo.  Jloral.  lib.  iii.  od.  16. 

Tho  Athenians  considered  seduction  so  much  more  dan- 
gerous than  force,  lhat  the  penalty  for  rape  was  merely  • 
pecuniary  fine,  while  the  emit  of  sediicti.ii  was  : 

ith  death.  An  I  thoujrh  it  must  be  owned  thai,  during  the 
Tfugn  of  that  ravisher.  Pre  oeative,  the  poor  Constitution 
was  treated  like  Miss  ('uiie.tfund  nmnne  th«  Bulgarians  ;  yrt 
I  agree  with  (he  principle  of  the  Athenian  law,  that  her  pre- 
sent ftnie  of  willing  self-abandonment  is  much  more  hope- 
less and  irreclaimable,  and  calls  for  a  more  signal  vengeance 
upon  her  seducers. 

It  would  be  amusing  to  trace  the  history  of  Prerogative 
from  the  date  of  its  strength  under  the  Tudor  princes,  when 
Henry  VII.  and  his  succe.-~,rs  ••tiuii-ht  the  people  ins  Na- 
thaniel Bacon  says)(a)  to  dance  to  the  tune  of  Allegiance," 
to  the  period  of"  the  Revolution,  when  the  Throne,  in  lU 
attacks  upon  liberty,  began  to  exchange  the  noisy  explosions 
of  Prerogative  for  the  Mlent  and  effectual  uir-gnn  of  Influ- 
ence. In  considering  it  too  since  that  memorable  ir.i,  ue 
shall  find  that,  while  the  royal  power  has  been  abridged  in 
branches  where  it  might  be  made  conducive  to  the  mvresis 
of  the  people,  it  has  been  Ifll  in  full  and  unshackled  vigour 
against  almost  every  point  where  the  integrity  of  the  con- 
stitution is  vulnerable.  Fur  instance,  the  power  of  charter- 
ing boroughs,  to  w  hose  capricious  abuse  in  the  hands  of  the 
Stuarts  we  are  indebted  for  mo^ot  the  present  anomalies  of 
representation,  might,  if  suffered  to  remain,  have  in  sorrn 
degree  atoned  for  its  mischief  by  restoring  the  old  unchar- 
tered  boroughs  lo  their  rights,  and  widening  more  equally 
the  basis  of  the  legislature.  But,  by  the  Act  of  Union  with 
Scotland,  this  part  of  the  prerogative  was  removed,  lest 
Liberty  should  have  a  chance  of  being  healed  even  by  the 
rust  of  the  spear  which  had  wounded  her.  The  power, 
however,  of  creating  peers,  which  has  generally  been  exer- 
cised/or the  government  against  the  constitution,  is  left  in 
free,  unqualified  activity ;  notwithstanding  the  example  of 
lhat  celebrated  Bill  for  the  limitation  of  Ibis  ever-budding 
branch  of  prerogative.,  which  was  proposed  in  the  reign  01 
George  I.  under  the  peculiar  sanction  and  recommendation, 
of  the  Court,  hut  which  the  Whigs  rejected  with  that  cha- 
racteristic delicacy,  which  has  generally  prevented  them, 
when  in  office  themselves,  from  taking  any  uncourtly  advan- 
tage of  ihe  Throne.  It  will  be  recollected,  however,  tnat 
the  creation  of  the  twelve  peers  by  the  Tories  in  Anne'* 
rei»n  (a  measure  which  Swift,  like  a  true  party  m«n,  de 
Tends,)  gave  these  upright  Whigs  all  possible  alarm  for  their 
liberties. 

With  regard  to  this  generous  fit  about  his  prerogative 
which  seized  the  good  king  George  I.,  historians  have  said 
[hat  the  paroxysm  originated  more  in  hatred  lo  his  sun  than 
n  love  to  the  constitution:  (A)  but  no  person  acquainted 
with  the  annals  of  the  three  Georses,  could  p 
any  one  of  those  gracious  Monarchs  either  of  ill-will  to  hi* 
tieir,  or  indifference  for  the  constitution. 

1  "  They  drove  so  fast  (says  Welwood  of  the  Ministers 
of  Charles  I.,)  that  it  was  no  wonder  lhat  the  wheels  and 
chariot  broke."  (Memoirs,  p.  3.5.) — But  this  fatal  ac<  iden', 
f  we  may  judge  from  experience,  is  to  be  impiite.l 
the  folly  and  impetuosity  of  the  drivers,  than  to  the  want  of 
that  suppling  oil  from  Ihe  Treasury  which  has  been  found 
10  necessary  to  make  a  government  like  that  of  l-'ni'hncl  run 
smoothly.  If  Charles  had  been  as  well  provided  with  this 
article  as  his  successors  have  been  since  the  happy  !!•  v<>  n- 
tion,  his  Commons  would  tie ver  have  merited  from  the  Throne 
the  h-irsh  ap|>ellation  of  "  seditions  vipers,"  but  would  have 
Seen  (as  they  are  now,  and  I  trust  always  will  be)  "dutiful 
Commons," — "loyal  Commons,"  etc.  eic.  and  would  have 
[riven  him  ship-money,  or  any  other  sort  of  money  he  might 
take  a  fancy  to. 

(a)   Historic,  and  Politif.  nifcirur.ie,  etc.  pnrt  ii.  p.  114 
(4)  Coxe  says  that  thU  Bill  was  projected  by  Sunderlond 


CORRUPTION. 


And  the  duped  people,  hourly  doom'd  to  pay 
The  sums  that  bribe  their  liberties  away,1 
Like  a  young  eagle,  who  has  lent  bjs  plume 
To  fledge  the  shall  by  which  he  meets  his  doom, 
See  their  own  feathers  pluck  d,  to  wing  the  dart 
Which  rank  corruption  destines  for  their  heart ! 


1  The  |»'riod  that  mime. liuely  succeeds  a  coronation  has 
been  called  very  apily  Iho  Honey-moon  of  u  leign ;  and  ii 
we  suppose  the  Tnrono  to  be  the  wife,  Mild  the  1' 
hu-b  in.l,  a'  \  know  no  better  model  of  a  malriiiioinal  iran»- 
•otion,  n  ir  one  that  I  would  sooner  recommend  lo  a  womai 
jf  spirit,  than  th  it  which  Hu- 
ll) the  first  pi, ice,  she  must  not  only  obtain  from  her  husband, 
an  al.owance  of  pin  money  or  civil-list  establishment,  suf- 
fieieui  io  remler  her  independent  of  his  caprice,  bu  she  inusi 
aiso  prevail  on  him  to  make  her  ihe  steward  of  I. 
and  lo  in'. rust  her  with  the  management  of  all  his  pecuniary 
concerns  I  need  nol  tell  a  woman  of  si-use  to  what  spiiited 
may  turn  such  Concessions.  He  will  soon  become 
to  tame  and  docile  under  her  hands, thai  she  may  make  him 
play  the  strangest  and  most  amusing  tricks,  such  as  qn.airel- 
ling  with  Ins  nearest  and  dearest  relations  about  a  dish  of 
tea, (A)  a  turban, (e)  or  a  warfare  ;(d)  preparing  hi-  house  fir 
defence  against  robbers,  by  putting  fellers  and  handcuffs  on 
two-thirds  of  its  inmates;  employing  C-nn — g  and  P-rc-v-! 
in  Ins  sickest  moments  to  read  to  him  alternately  Joe  Miller 
and  the  Catechism,  with  a  thousand  other  diverting  incon- 
sistencies. If  her  spouse  have  still  enough  of  sense  remain- 
ing to  grumble  at  the  ridiculous  c.xh.bition  which  she  makes 
of  him,  let  her  withhold  'from  him  now  and  then  the  rights 
of  the  Habeas  Corpus  Act  (a  mode  of  proceeding  which  the 
women  of  Athens  once  adopted,)  (r.)  and  if  the  good  man 
.oves  such  privileges,  the  interruption  will  soon  restore  him 
jo  submission.  If  his  former  wife  were  a  Papist,  or  had  any 
tendency  lhat  way,  I  would  advise,  my  fair  Sovereign,  when- 
ever he  begins  to  argue  with  h--r  unpleasantly,  to  shout  oul 
'No  Popi-rv,  no  Popery!"  as  loud  as  she.  can,  in'o  his  ears, 
and  it  is  astonishing  what  nn  effect  it  will  have  in  disconcert- 
ing all  his  argnmfu-s.  This  method  was  tried  I.Vely  by  an 
old  woman  of  Xorthamp'on,  imd  with  much  success.  l?eri 
ously,  this  convenient  Jiii^bear  of  Popery  is  by  no  means  the 
east  amini  the  numbcrlc-s  auxiliaries  which  Ihe  Revolution 
has  imrsh  ille.l  on  the  side  of  the  Throne. — Those  unskilful 

i 'harles  and  J  rue-,  ins'ead  of  profiting  wisely  by 
that  useful  snbsenienev  which  has  always  distinguished  the 
ministers  of  oir  .bHshmcnt,  were  blind  enough 

to  plan  Ihe  ruin  of  ibis  best  bulwark  of  iheir  power,  and 
connected  their  designs  upon  iho  Church  so  closely  w'rh 
their  attacks  upon  the  Constitution,  that  they  identified  in 
the  minds  of  the  people  the  interests  of  their  rel'gion  and 
their  liberties.  During  those  times,  therefore,  "  No  Popery" 
was  the  watchword  of  freedom,  and  served  to  keep  the  pub- 
iic  spirit  awake  ngiinst  the  invasions  of  bigotry  and  prero- 
gative. The  Revolution,  however,  by  rem  iving  this  obj  •<•! 
of  jealousy,  has  produced  a  reliance  on  the  orthodoxy  of 
the  Throne,  of  which  the  Throne  has  not  fulled  lotake  every 

advantage,  anil  the  cry  of  "No  Popery"  having,  by 
this  means,  lost  its  power  of  alarming  the  |>ei>ple  ngiinst  the 
encroachments  of  the  Crown,  hus  served  ever  since  the  very 
different  purpose  of  strengthening  the  Crown  ngiinst  the 
claims  and  struggles  of  the  people.  The  danger  of  the 

Church  from  Papists  an  I  Prei I  TS  was  the  chief  pretext 

for  the  repeal  of  the  Triennial  B  II,  for  the  adoption  of  a 
stand  ng  army,  for  the  numerous  suspensions  of  I  In;  Habeas 
Corpu<  Act,  and,  in  short,  for  all  those  sp  ri'ed  infraction* 
of  the  c-institulion  by  which  the  r''i;rns  of  the  last  century 
were  so  eminently  distinguished.  We  have  seen  too,  verv 
lately,  how  the  same  scarecrow  alarm  has  enabled  the 
Throne  to  select  its  ministers  from  men,  whose  servility  is 
their  onlv  claim  to  elevation,  an  I  who  are  pi "dgecl  (if  such 
an  alternative  ciiull  arise)  to  take  part  with  the  tcruplci  of 
the  King  againal  the  salvation  ot  the  empire. 

(<j)  This  is  contrary  to  thp  Fvnrniiril  langmgo  of  p-o 
phecv,  in  which  (n-cording  'oSir  tsarxc  Newto-il  the  Kins 
is  the  husband,  nnd  the  people  the  wife.  Sep  Falx-r,  on  the 
Prophecies. — I  would  be?  leave  to  suggest  lo  Mr.  Fabi»r,  that 
his  friend  Sir  R-ch — d  M-sgr-ve  can,  in  Irs  own  proper  por- 
ton,  supply  him  witn  an  exposition  of  "the  Horns  of  the 


But  soft !  my  friend — I  hear  thee  proudly  say, 

"  \\  hat  !  shall  1  listen  to  the  impious  lay, 

That  dares,  with  Tory  license,  to  profane 

The  bright  bequests  of  William's  glorious  reign  ? 

•Shall  the  great  wisdom  of  our  patriot  sires, 

Whom  II — wk — sb — y  quotes  and  savoury  B — rcb 

admires, 

Be  slander'd  thus  ?  shall  honest  St — le  agree 
With  virtuous  R — se  to  call  us  pure  and  free, 
Yet  fail  to  prove  it  ?  Shall  our  patent  pair 
Of  wise  State-Poets  waste  their  words  in  air, 
And  P — e  unheeded  breathe  his  prosperous  strain, 
And  C — nn — ng  take  the peojile'g  sense  in  vain  ?"' 

The  people ! — ah  !  that  Freedom's  form  should  stay 
Where  Freedom's  Spirit  long  hath  pass'd  away  ' 
That  a  false  smile  should  play  around  the  dead, 
And  flush  the  features  where  the  soul  has  Jled  I-1 
When  Rome  had  lost  her  virtue  with  her  rights, 
When  her  foul  tyrant  sat  on  Capreae's  heights* 
Amid  his  ruffian  spies,  and  doom'd  to  death 
Each  noble  name  they  blasted  with  their  breath ! 
Even  then  (in  mockery  of  that  golden  time, 
When  the  Republic  rose  revered,  sublime, 
And  her  free  sons,  diffused  from  zone  to  zone, 
Gave  kings  to  every  country  but  their  own,) 
Even  then  the  Senate  and  the  Tribunes  stood, 
Insulting  marks,  to  show  how  Freedom's  Hood 
Had  dared  to  flow,  in  glory's  radiant  day, 
And  how  it  ebb'd,  for  ever  ebb'd  away  !* 


Kea<<t. 

(A)    America. 


(c)  India. 


(it)   Trehn-1. 


(f,}  S«e  tlw  Lysistrnta  of  Aristoprnncs.  —  Tht  following 
'»  the  form  of  suspension,  as  he  gives  it: 


1  Somebody  has  said  "  Quand  tons  Ics  IVe:(  *  Keraien 
nu  serait  pas  grand  dommage  ;"  bul  lam  aw  me 
that  th  s  would  be  most  uncivil  lai.su. ige  at  a  time  when  oiii 
)irth-day  odes  and  state-papers  are  written  by  such  pretty 
>oets  as  Mr.  P-e  and  Mr.  C-nn-ng.  I  can  assure  il.e  latter, 
oo,  that  1  think  him  (like  his  water-proof  colleague  Lord 
3-stl-r-gh)  reserved  tor  a  very  different  fate  tr..m  ihnt 
which  the  author  I  have  just  quoted  imagines  for  his  poeti- 
cal fraternity.  All  I  wish  is,  that  he  would  change  places 
wilh  his  brother  P-«,  by  which  means  we  should  h  : \ 
.-hat  less  prose  in  our  odes,  and  certainly  less  poetry  in  our 

Idllti  •'-. 

"  It  is  a  scandal  (said  Sir  Charles  Sedley  in  William' 
eign)  that  a  Government  so  sick  at  heart  as  ours  is,  shoiihl 
ook  so  well  in  the  face;"  and  l-'d-nniid  Burke  has  s  ii  I,  in 
he  present  reign,  "  When  the  people  conceive  lhat  laws 
ind  tiibnnals,  and  even  popular  a>- 

rom  the  ends  of  their   institution,  they  find  in  th  -.-  mini's 
if  degenerated  establishments  only  new  molives  io  diseon- 
i  tent.     Those  bodies  which,  when  I'nllof  life  .nid  b  auty.lay 

in  thi'ir  arms  and  were  their  joy  and  comfort,  «!:. 

an  I  putrid  become  more  loathsome  from  the  remembrance 

of  former  endearinenU." — Thuughts  on  tttc  prctint  l)t* 

contents,  IT.O. 

3 tutor  hnbcri 

Principle,  Augusta  Caprearum  in  mpo  sedentis 
Cum  gregj  Chalcia-o.  Juccnal.  Sal.  x.  v.  02 

.  e  still  continued,  during  Ihe  reign  ofTtberfttS.  lo 

!]  ih  •  bii-ii.,—  of  i  bu  public  ;   the  in.  ney  «  a-    h   n 
•   after  coinerl  by  their  au  hority,  and  ev>ry  other 
pul-'ic  a.Tair  rec-'ivi-d  tleir  sanction. 

We  are  told  by  T  I'-ttus  of  a  certain  rncrt  of  men,  who 
•  c-e  par  irula'ly  nse'"ul  to  Ihe  Kuinan  Kmp  TI  r.s  :  they 
were  calluil  "  Instruments  regip,"  or  "(,"ourt  T.I..!-,"  f,inn 
which  it  n|)|K'ars,  that  my  l.ordii  M-lgr-ve,  ('h-lh-ni,  elc 
elc.  are  by  no  means  things  of  modern  inv>  nlion. 

4  There  is  s  imething  verv  loir-bin;  in  what  Ta'-ilus  t''lls 
Us  of  tin!  hopes  ih  it  revived  in  a  few  patriot  bosoms,  when 
the  death  of  . \iigiistns  was  n  -ar  approaehinf,  an  I  Mi.-  Ion.! 
expectation  with  wh.cli  they  began  "bona  l.bc'itatit  n,.-n»- 
sum  ilisserere." 

I'er^n-on  siyo,  that  Cie^ar's  inter'er"ncc  witli  Ihe  ngiits 
of  el   ction  "  made  ihe  subversion  of  ihe  Republic  n: 
than   any  of  the  formvr  acts   of  his  power  " — Hainan  Re 
public,  book  v.  chap.  1 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  look  around— though  yet  a  tyrant's  sword 

Nor  haunts  your  sleep  nor  trembles  o  er  your  board, 

Though  blood  be  belter  drawn  by  modern  quacks 

With  Treasury  leeches  than  with  sword  or  axe  ; 

Yet  say,  could  even  a  prostrate  Tribune's  power, 

Or  a  mock  Senate,  in  Rome's  servile  hour, 

Insult  so  much  the  rights,  the  claims  of  man, 

As  doth  that  fetter'd  mob,  that  free  divan, 

Of  noble  tools  and  honourable  knaves, 

Of  pension'd  patriots  and  privileged  slaves  ? 

That  party-colour'd  mass,  which  nought  can  warm 

But  quick  Corruption's  heat— whose  ready  swarm 

Spread  their  light  wings  in  Bribery's  golden  sky, 

Buzz  for  a  period,  lay  their  eggs,  and  die ! 

That  greedy  vampire,  which  from  Freedom's  tomb 

Comes  forth  with  all  the  mimicry  of  bloom 

Upon  its  lifeless  cheek,  and  sucks  and  drains 

A  people's  blood  to  feed  its  putrid  veins ! — 

4  Heavens,  what  a  picture  !" — yes,  my  friend,  't  is 

dark —  7 

44  But  can  no  light  be  found,  no  genuine  spark 
Of  former  fire  to  warm  us  ?  Is  there  none 
To  act  a  Marvell's  part  ?"'— I  fear,  not  one. 
To  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  tends, 
In  place  and  power  all  public  spirit  ends  ;* 
Like  hardy  plants,  that  love  the  air  and  sky, 
When  out,  'twill  thrive,  but  taken  in,  't  will  die ! 

Not  bolder  truths  of  sacred  freedom  hung 
From  Sidney's  pen  or  burn'd  on  Fox's  tongue, 
Than  upstart  Whigs  produce  each  market-night, 
While  yet  their  conscience,  as  their  purse,  is  light ; 
While  debts  at  home  excite  their  care  for  those 
Which,  dire  to  tell,  their  much-loved  country  owes, 
And  loud  and  upright,  till  their  price  be  knpwn, 
They  thwart  the  King's  supplies  to  raise  their  own — 
But  bees,  on  flowers  alighting,  cease  their  hum- 
So,  settling  upon  places,  Whigs  grow  dumb! 
And  though  I  feel  as  if  indignant  Heaven 
Must  think  that  wretch  too  foul  to  be  forgiven, 
Who  basely  hangs  the  bright,  protecting  shade 
Of  Freedom's  ensign  o'er  Corruption's  trade,' 
And  makes  the  sacred  flag  he  dares  to  show 
His  passport  to  the  market  of  her  foe  ! — 


1  Andrew  Marvel),  the  honest  opposer  of  the  court  during 
the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  and  the  last  Member  of 
Parliament  who,  according  to  the  ancient  mode,  look  wnges 
from  his  constituent*.     How  very  much  the  Commons  have 
chanted  their  pay-marten !— See  the  State-Poems  foi  some 
rode  but  spirited  effusions  of  Andrew  Marvell. 

2  The  following  artiest  speech  of  Sir  Francis  Winning- 
ton,  in  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Second,  will  amuse  tho-e 
who  are  fully  aware  of  the  perfection  which  we  have  at- 
tained in  that  system  of  Government  whose  humble  begin- 
nings seem  to  have  astonished  the  worthy  Baronet  so  much. 
"I  ilul  observe  (says  he)  that  all  those  who  had  pensions, 
and  mo»t  of  those  who  had  offices,  voted  all  of  a  side,  as 

ted  by  some  ereat  officer,  exactly  as  if  their 

buiinrw  in  this  House  had  been  to  preserve  their  pensions 

and  orfv-es,  and  not  to  make  laws  for  the  good  of  them  who 

'ii  here."— He  alludes  to  that  Parliament  which  was 

/•«ir  rzeellencf,  the  Pensionary  Parliament  '  a  di<- 

.T,  which   it  bus   long  lost,  and  wliKh   we 

,-ive.  it  from  old  custom,  just  as  we  say  The  IrMi  Re- 

•  V'.ile  they  promise  them  liberty,  they  themselves  are 

nit*  of  corruption."    2  Pet.  ii.— I  miK-'est    with 

inui-h  d-f-r.-nco,  to  the  expounders  of  Scripture-Prophecy 

•Miter  Mr.  r-nn-mr  is  not  at  present  fulfillinj  ihe  prediction 

or    the  Kronen,"  who  were  to  come  "  in  the  last  days." 


Yet,  yet  I  own,  so  venerably  dear 

Are  Freedom's  grave  old  anthems  to  mv  eat, 

That  I  enjoy  them,  though  by  rascals  sung, 

And  reverence  Scripture  even  from  Satan's  tongue 

Nay,  when  the  Constitution  has  expired, 

I'll  have  such  men,  like  Irish  wakers,  hired 

To  sing  old  Habeas  Corpus  by  its  side, 

And  ask,  in  purchased  ditties,  why  it  died  ?' 

See  that  smooth  Lord,  whom  nature's  plastic  pains 

Seem'd  to  have  destined  for  those  Eastern  reigns 

When  eunuchs  flourished,  and  when  nerveless  thingi 

That  men  rejected  were  the  choice  of  Kings.8 

Even  he,  forsooth  (oh,  mockery  accurst !) 

Dared  to  assume  the  patriot's  name  at  first —  * 

Thus  Pitt  began,  and  thus  begin  his  apes  ; 

Thus  devils,  when  first  rais'd,  take  pleasing  shapes— 

But  oh,  poor  Ireland  !  if  revenge  be  sweet 

For  centuries  of  wrong,  for  dark  deceit 

And  withering  insult — for  the  Union  thrown 

Into  thy  bitter  cup,4  when  that  alone 

Of  slavery's  draught  was  wanting5 — if  for  this 

Revenge  be  sweet,  thou  hast  that  demon's  bliss ; 


1  I  believe  it  is  in  following  the  corpse  to  the  grave,  am] 
not  at  the  wakes  (as  we  call  the  watching  of  the  dead,)  thai 
this  elegiac  howl  of  my  countrymen  is  performed.    £ 
says,  that  our  howl  "  is  heathenish,  and   proceeds  from  a 
despair  of  salvation."     If  so,  I  think  England  may  join  in 
chorus  with  us  at  present. — The  Abb6  de  Motraye  tells  us, 
that  the  Jews  in  the  East  address  their  dead  in  a  similar 
manner,  and  say,  "  IIu  !  Hu  !  Hu  !  why  did  you  die  ?  1 1  uin't 
you  a  wife?  Had'nt  you  a  long  pipe  7"  etc.  etc.     (See  hia 
Travels.)    I  thought   for  a  long  time  with  Vallancey,  that 
we  were  a  colony  of  Carthaginians;  but  from  thU 

of  de  Motraye,  and  from  the  way  in  which  Mr.  P-rc-v-r 
would  have  us  treated,  1  begin  to  suspect  we  are  no  bettei 
than  Jews. 

2  According  to  Xenophon,  the  chief  circumstance  which 
recommended  eunuchs  to  the  service  of  Eastern  princes, 
was  the  ignominious  station  which  they  held  in  soen 

the  probability  of  their  being,  upon  this  account,  more  de- 
voted to  the  will  and  caprice  of  a  master,  from  whose  notice 
alono  they  derived  consideration,  and  in  whose  favour  they 
found  a  refuge  from  the  contempt  of  mankind.  A5:;:i 


TOVTO  fjiriroTOu  urixoupou  vpor^iovrxi.  (a) — But  1  doubl 
whether  even  an  Eastern  Prince  would  have  chosen  an  eu 
tire  Administration  upon  this  principle. 

3  Does  LordC-stl-r — gh  remember  the  reforming  Rcnolu- 
tions  of  his  early  days  7 

4  "And  in  the  cup  an  Union  shall  be  thrown." 

Hamlet. 

Three  Cs  were  branded  in  the  Sibylline  books,  as  fa'al  to 
the  peace  and  liberties  of  Rome.  Tpi»  *.*-**.  X*XI<TT» 
(Cornelius  Sylla,  Cornelius  Cinna,  and  Cornelius  Lcnlulus.) 
(fr)  And  three  Cs  will  be  remembered  in  Ireland  as  long  ng 
C-md-n  and  cruelty,  Cl-re  and  corruption,  C-stl-r — gh  and 
contempt,  are  alliteratively  and  appropriately  associate,!. 

5  Among  the    many  measures  which,  since  the  Revolu- 
tion,  have  contributed    to   increase  the  influence  of  the 
Throne,  and  to  feed  up  this  "  Aaron's  serpent  of  the  con- 
stitution to  lit  present  healthy  and  respectable  magnitude, 
thf-re  have  been  few  more  nutritive  than  the  Scotch   and 
Irish  Unions.    Sir  John  Parker  said,  in  a  debate  upon  the 
former  question,  that  "  he  would   submit  it  to  Lhe  House, 
whether  men  who  had  basely  betrayed  their  trust,  by  ffivin" 
up  their  independent  constitution,  were  fit  to  be  admitted 
into  the  English  House  of  Commons."   But  Sir  John  wou!3i 
have  known,  if  he  had  not  been  out  of  place  at  the  timn, 
that  the  pliancy  of  such  materials  was  not  among  the  lea  it 
of  their   recommendations.     Indeed  the   promoters  of  the 
Si-ofh  Union  were  by  no  means  disappointed  in  the  lead- 

!)  of  their  measure,  for  the  triumphant  majorities  of 
the  Court-purly  in  Parliament  may  be  dated  from  the  ad 
mission  of  the  45  and  the  16.  Once  or  twice,  upon  the  altera 

•  a  pamphlet  on  the  Union,  by  "a  Philosopher  " 
(A)  See  a  Treatise  by  Pontus  De  Thiard,  "  De  recta  No- 
minum  Impositions,"  p.  42. 


INTOLERANCE. 


For  oh  !  't  is  more  than  hell's  revenge  to  see 
That  England  trusts  the  men  who  've  ruin'd  thee  ! 
That,  in  these  awful  days,  when  every  hour 
Creates  some  new  or  blasts  some  ancient  power, 
When  proud  Napoleon,  like  the  burning  shield' 
Whose  light  comprll'd  each  wondering  foe  to  yield, 
With  baleful  lustre  blinds  the  brave  and  free, 
And  dazzles  Europe  into  slavery  ! 
That,  in  this  hour,  when  patriot  zeal  should  guide, 
When  Mind  should  rule,  and — Fox  should  not  have 

Hied, 

All  that  devoted  England  can  oppose 
To  enemies  made  fiends,  and  friends  made  foes, 
Is  the  rank  refuse,  the  despised  remains2 
Of  tliat  unpitying  power,  whose  whips  and  chains 
Made  Ireland  first,  in  wild,  adulterous  trance, 
Turn    false   to    England's    bed,    and    whore    with 

France ! — 

Those  hack'd  and  tainted  tools,  so  foully  fit 
For  the  grand  artizan  of  mischief,  P-tt, 
So  useless  ever  but  in  vile  employ, 
So  weak  to  save,  so  vigorous  to  destroy ! 
Such  are  the  men  that  guard  thy  threaten'd  shore, 
Oh  England !  sinking  England  !3  boast  no  more. 


tion  of  their  law  of  treason  and  the  imposition  of  the  malt- 
tax  (measures  which  were  in  direct  violation  of  the  Act  of 
Union,)  these  worthy  North  Britons  arrayed  themsehe-  in 
apportion  to  the  Court;  but  finding  this  effort  for  their 
country  unavailing,  they  prudently  deiemiined  to  think 
theneefurward  of  themselves,  and  tew  men  have  kept  to  a 
laudable  resolution  more  firmly. — The  effort  of  Irish  reprc 
sentation  upon  the  liberties  of  England  will  be  no  less  per- 
ceptible and  no  less  permanent. 

OuJ'  ofi  TATPOT 

Asia-4T><  ANTEAAONTOS.  (a) 

The  infusion  of  such  cheap  and  useful  ingredients  as  my 
Lord  L-mr-ck,  Mr.  D-nn-s  Br-wne,  etc.  ete.  into  tin-  Lcjji-- 
Ifktu/r,  must  act  as  a  powerful  alterative  on  the  Constitution, 
and  clear  it  by  degrees  of  all  the  troublesome  humours  of 
honesty. 

1  The  magician's  shield  in  Ariosto:— 

E  tolto  per  vcru'i  dello  splendore 
La  liboriate  a  lora.     Cant.  2. 

We  are  told  that  Ciesar's  code  of  morality  was  contained 
in  the  following  lines  of  Euripides,  which  that  great  man 
very  frequently  repeated: 

Ein-ip  yxp  *Jix!iv  XP1  TvpnvuJcf  trifi 
K*>.>.IO-TOV  ctftxiiv*  T»\».a  J*  !utri£lir  xploov. 

This  appears  to  tin  also  the  moral  code  of  Bonaparte. 

2  When    the    Duke   of  Buckingham    was    assassinated, 
Charles  flic  First,  ns  a  tribute  to  his  memory,  continued  nil 
his  creatures  in  the  same  posts  and  favours  which  they  had 
enjoyed  under  their  patron;  anil  much  in  the  same  manner 
do  we  see  the  country  sacrificed  to  the  manes  of  a  Minister 
at  pres,  nt. 

It  is  invidious  perhaps  to  look  for  parallels  in  the  rei^n 
of  Charles  tin;  First,  hut  the  expedient  of  threatening 
tin1  C  minions  with  dissolution,  which  has  lately  been  played 
off  with  much  eclat,  appears  to  have  been  frequently  re- 
sorted to  at  that  period.  In  one  instance  Hume  tells  ns, 
thiit  tin-  King  sent  his  Lord  Keeper  (not  hi.?  ./r.«/ir)  to  me- 
nace the  House,  that,  unless  they  dcspatehcd  a  certain  Bill 
for  sub-idies,  they  must  expect  to  sit  no  longer.  By  similar 
threats  the1  excise  upon  beer  and  ale  was  carried  in  Chnrlea 
•  •lid's  reiiin.  Tt  is  edifying  to  know,  that  thniiL'h  Mr. 
C-nn-n::  despis-s  Puffendorf,  he  lias  no  objection  lo  prece- 
denis  derived  from  the  Court  of  the  Ptuarls. 

3  The  folio  wins  prophetic,  remarks  occur  in  a  letter  written 
by  Sir  Roheit  Talbot,  who  attended  ihe  Duke  of  Bedford  to 
Paris  in  17(12.     Talking  of  states  which  have  grown  power- 
fa)  From  A  rains  (v.  715,)  a  poet  who  wrote  upon  astro- 
nomy, though,  ns  Cicero  assures  us,  he  knew  nothins  what- 
ever about    the    subject — just    as   the    great  Harvey   wrote 
!l  De  Generation,"  though  he  had   as  little  to  do  with  the 
natter  as  mj  Lord  Viscount  C 


INTOLERANCE. 

PART  THE  FIRST 


"  This  clamour,  which  pretends  to  he  raised  tor  the  safet- 
of  Religion,  has  almost  worn  out  the  very  appearance  of  it 
and  rendered  us  not  only  the  most  divided  but  the  most  im 
moral  people  upon  the  face  of  the  earth." — Jlddison,  fret 
holder,  No.  37. 


START  not,  my  Friend,  nor  think  the  Muse  will  stain 
Her  classic  fingers  with  the  dust  profane 
Of  Bulls,  Decrees,  and  fulminating  scrolls, 
That  took  such  freedom  once  with  royal  souls,1 


ful  in  commerce,  he  says,  "According  to  the  nature  and 
common  course  of  things,  there  is  a  confederacy  against 
them,  and  consequently  in  the  same  proportion  as  they  in- 
crease in  riches,  they  approach  to  destruction.  The  address 
of  our  King  William,  in  making  all  Europe  take  the  alarm 
at  France,  has  brought  that  country  before  us  near  that  ine- 
vitable period.  We  must  necessarily  have  our  turn,  and 
Great  Britain  will  attain  it  as  soon  as  France  shall  have  a 
declaimer  with  organs  as  proper  for  that  political  purpose 
as  were  those  of  our  William  the  Third With- 
out doubt,  my  Lord,  Great  Britain  must  lower,  her  flight. 
Europe  will  remind  us  of  the  balance  of  commerce,  as  she 
has  reminded  France  of  the  balance  of  power.  The  ad- 
dress of  our  statesmen  will  immortalize  them  by  contriving 
for  us  a  descent  which  shall  not  he  a  fall,  by  making  us 
rather  resemble  Holland  than  Carthage  and  Venice." — Let- 
ters on  the  flench  JVation. 

1  The  ki^-deposing  doctrine,  notwithstanding  its  many 
mischievous  absurdities,  was  of  no  little  service  to  the  cause 
of  political  liberty,  by  inculcating  the  right  of  resistance  to 
tyrants,  and  asserting  the  will  of  the  people  to  be  the  only 
true  fountain  of  power.  Bellarmine,  the  most  violent  of  Ihn 
advocates  for  papal  authority,  was  one  of  the  first  to  main- 
tain (see  De  Pontif.  lib.  i.  cap.  ",)  "That  Kings  have  not 
their  authority  or  office  immediately  from  God  nor  his  law, 
but  only  from  the  law  of  nations;"  and  in  Kin<;  . 
"  Defence  of  the  Rights  of  Kings  against  Cardinal  Perron," 
we  find  his  Majesty  expressing  strong  indignation  against 
the  Cardinal  for  having  as-sertrd  "  t,  »t  lo  the  deposing  of  a 
King  the  consent  of  the  people  must  be  obtained" — "  for  by 
these  words  (says  James)  the  people  are  exalted  above  the 
Kine,  and  made  the  judges  of  the  King's  deposing."  p.  J-J4. 
—  I'.ven  in  Mariana's  celebrated  book,  where  the  noiiM-uso 
of  bigotry  does  riot  interfere,  there  are  some  liberal  and  en- 
lightened idew  of  government,  of  the  restraints  which  should 
he  imposed  upon  Royal  power,  of  the  subordination  <•(  the 
Throne  to  the  interests  of  the  people,  etc.  etc.  (Do  I 
R<  uis  Institution*-.  Pep  particularly  lib.  i.  cnp.  fi.  H,  and 
9.) — It  is  rather  remarkable,  too,  that  England  should  he 
indebted  to  another  Jesuit,  lor  the  earliest  defence  of  that 
principle  upon  which  the  Revolution  was  founded,  namely, 
the  right  of  the  people  to  change  the  succession. — (Sen 
Do'eman's  "Conferences,"  written  in  support  of  the  title  of 
the  Infanta  of  Spain  ngainst  that  of  James  I.) — When  Fng- 
lishmen,  therefore,  say  that  popery  is  the  religion  of  slavery, 
they  should  not  only  recollect  that  their  boasted  Constitution 
is  tiie  work  and  bequest  of  Popish  ancestors;  they  should 
not  onlv  remember  the  laws  of  Edward  IIF.  "under  whom 
(says  Bolingbroke)  the  constitution  of  our  Parliaments,  and 
the  whole  form  of  our  Government,  became  re.'necd  inlo 
better  form;"  but  they  should  know  that  even  the  errors  of 
Popery  have  leaned  to  the  cause  of  liberty,  and  that  Papists, 
however  mistaken  their  motives  may  have  been,  were  the 
first  promulgntors  of  (he  doctrines  which  led  to  the  Devolu- 
tion.— But,  in  truth,  the  political  principles  of  the  Roman 
Catholic?  have  generally  been  made  to  suit  the  corn 
of  their  oppressors,  and  they  have  been  represented  alter- 
nately ns  slavish  or  refractory,  according  as  a  prctext_for 
tormenting  them  was  wanting.  The  same  incon 
has  marked  every  other  imputation  ngainst  them.  They 
are  charged  with  laxity  in  the  observance  of  onths,  though 
nn  oath  has  been  found  sufficient  to  shut  them  from  nil 
worldly  advantages.  If  they  reject  some  decisions  of  Ihf  ir 
church,  they  are  said  to  be  sceptics  and  bad  Christiana  ;  I' 


MOORE'S  WORK!-.. 


When  H« -avr-ii  was  yet  the  Pope's  exclusive  trade, 

And  Kings  were  damnd  as  fast  as  now  they're  made 

JVo,  no— let  D— gen-n  search  the  Papal  chair' 

For  fragrant  treasures  long  forgotten  there  ; 

And,  as  the  witch  of  sunless  Lapland  th:uks 

That  little  «warthy  gnomes  delight  in  stinks, 

Let  sallow  P-rc-v-1  snuff  up  the  gnle 

Wh'ch  \vi/.ard  D — gen-n's  gnther'd  sweets  exhale  . 

Enough  for  me,  whose  heart  has  learn'd  to  scorn 

:  .like  in  R-ime  or  England  born, 

Who  loathe  the  venom,  whencesoe'er  it  springs, 

From  Popes  or  Lawyers,1  Pastry-cooks  or  Kings ; 

Enough  for  me  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns, 

As  mirth  provokes,  or  indignation  burns, 

As  C-  nn-ng  vapours,  or  as  France  succeeds, 

As  H-wk-sb'ry  proses,  or  as  Ireland  bleeds! 

And  thou,  my  Friend— if,  in  these  headlong  days, 

\S  h  11  b  got  Zeal  her  drunken  antics  plays 

So  near  a  precipice,  that  men  the  while 

Look  breathless  on  and  shudder  while  they  smile — 

If,  in  such  fearful  days,  thou'It  dare  to  look 

To  hapless  Ireland,  to  this  rankling  nook 

Which  Heaven  has  freed  from  poisonous  things  i 

vain 

While  G-ff-rd's  tongue  and  M-sgr-ve'a  pen  remain — 
If  thou  hast  yet  no  golden  blinkers  got 
To  shade  thine  eyes  from  this  devoted  spot, 
Whose  wrongs,  though  blazon'd  o'er  the  world  the 

be, 

Placemen  alone  are  privileged  not  to  sce-y 
Oh  '.  turn  awhile,  and,  though  the  shamrock  wreathes 
My  homely  harp,  yet  shall  the  song  it  breathes 
Of  Ireland's  slavery,  and  of  Ireland's  woes, 
Live,  when  the  memory  of  her  tyrant  foes 
Shall  but  exist,  all  future  knaves  to  warn, 
Embalm'd  in  hate  and  canonized  by  scorn ! 
When  C-stl-r— gh,3  in  sleep  still  more  profound 
Than  his  own  opiate  tongue  now  deals  around, 
Shall  wait  the  impeachment  of  that  awful  day 
Which  even  Aw  practised  hand  can't  bribe  away ! 


the*  admit  those  very  decision',  they  are  branded  as  bieo's 
•ml  bud  subjects.  We  are  told  lhai  conhMeace  and  kind- 
MM  wit',  make  them  enemies  (o  the  Government,  lliougli  we 
know  HI..I  exclusion  nnil  injuries  have  wilh  difficulty  pre- 
vented them  from  being  its  friends.  In  short,  nothing  can 
Ultet  illustrate  the  misery  of  thaw  shirts  ami  evasions  by 
which  a  long  course  of  cowardly  injiis'ice  must  be  suppli- 
ed,tlmn  llv  whole  hi«lory  of  Great  Britain's  conduct  toward* 
toe  Catholic  part  of  her  empire. 

1  The  "Sella   Stercoraria"  of  the   Popes.— The  Ri"ht 

Honournlde  and  learned  Doctor  will  find  an  Mfntvingof 

.m's  "I)isi]iiisiiin  Historic*  He  papa 

MM,"  (p.  1IH;)  anil  I  recommend  ii  .-it  a  model  for  the 

.i<-h  the  Doctor  is  about  to  take  in  the 

'          '  .:  of  Ireland. 

.'•n  Innocent  X.  was  entreated  to  decide  the  con- 
troversy between   !he  Jesuits   and  the   J>,nsenists,  he  an- 
r,-i],  irml  "he  had  been  bred  a  Liwyer,  and  hud  there 

•n  .1,.  w  th  diviuity."-  I:  were  I, u,,n,  ,1  ih.-il 

ettifoggers  knew  their  element  as  well 
*s  PO-.M-  (nnorent  X. 

3  The  breach  of  fjiith  which  the  manner,  of  the  Irish 

n  euilty  of,  in  disappointing  ihose  hop-s  of 

^ile.l  1,i    the    bosoms    of  ||,e 

talhol.c.  i<  no  new  trail  in  the  annal,  of  Knzlish  policy.' 
A  ..milar  dec-il  wa,  prated  to  facilitate  the  I'nion  wi{|, 
:otland,  and  hope,  were  hold  out  of  f.ie.,,p,i,.n  frorn  thc 
Cor,H>rat...n  and  1  c«t  Ac!,,  in  order  to  divert  the  Parlia- 
sacnt  of  that  country  from  encumbering  the  measure  with 
•»?  itifuUtioo  to  that  effect 


And  oh !  my  friend,  wert  thou  but  near  me  now, 
To  see  the  spring  diffuse  o'er  Erin's  brow 
Smiles  that  shine  out,  unconquerably  fair, 
Even  through  the  blood-marks  left  by  C-md-n'  there 
Couldst  thou  but  see  what  verdure  paints  the  sod 
Which  none  but  tyrants  and  their  slaves  have  trod. 
And  didst  thou  know  the  spirit,  kind  and  brave, 
That  warms  the  soul  of  each  insulted  slave, 
Who,  tired  with  struggling,  sink."  beneath  his  lot, 
And  seems  by  all  but  watchful  France  forgot—2 
Thy  heart  would  burn — yes,  even  thy  Pittite  heart 
Would  burn,  to  think  that  such  a  blooming  part 
Of  the  world's  garden,  rich  in  Nature's  charms, 
And  fill'd  with  social  souls  and  vigorous  arms, 
Should  be  the  victim  of  that  canting  crtw, 
So  smooth,  so  godly,  yet- so  devilish  too, 
Who,  arm'd  at  once  with  prayer-books   and  wit> 

whips,1 
Blood  on  their  hands,  and  Scripture  on  their  lips, 


1  Not  the  C-md-n  who  speaks  thus  of  Ireland  : 
"Alque  unit  verbo  dic-am,  sive  lernes  fccuiiditatem,  sivs 

mariset  portuum  opporlunitaUm,  sive  incohis  re>picies  r,ui 
bell'Coci  aunt,  insenio>i,  corporum  lincameutis  conspicui 
minfica  curnis  rnolhtie  et  propler  musculorum  :rnen:;item 
agilitate  incredibili,  a  multis  dotibus  ita  lV-i  x  est  insula,  ul 
non  male  dixerit  Gynildu;,  'naturam  hoc  Zrphyri  ri-i,'iiuin 
nigniori  oculo  respexisse."  " 

2  The  example  of  lole  at  ion,  which  Bonaparte  |ias  given, 
will  produce,  I  fear,  no  other  effect  than  that  of  detormiiiin* 
the  British  Government  to  persist,  from  the   very  spnit  o? 
oppo-ition,  in  their  own  old  system  of  intolerance  nod  injus- 
tice; just  as  the  Siamese  bhicken  their  teeth,  "  became," 
as  they  say,  "the  devil  has  white  ones."  (a) 

3  One  of  ilie  unhappy  results  of  the  controversy  between 
Protestants  and  Catholics,  is  the  mutual  exposure  which 
heir  criminations  and  recriminations   have  produced.     In 

vain  do  the  Protestants  charge  the  Papists  with  I.VOM   s  'lie 
door  ofsaivatlon   upon  others,   while  miiny  <if  il  • 
vritings  and  articles  breathe  the  same  uncharitable  spirit. 
Vo  canon  of  Constance  or   Lnteran  ever  damned  luveiics 
more  effectually  \h<n  the  eighth  of  the  Thirty-nil"  Anirlrs 
consigns  to  perdition  eve-y  single  member  of  the  Greek 
church,  and  I  doubt  whether  a  more  sweeping  i-';ai>e  c? 
amnalion  was  ever  proposed  in  the  most  bigoted  council, 
ban  that  which  the  Calviniiiic  theory  of  pn  ,!,'-!;na'M  n  in 
lie  seventeenth  of  these  Articles  exh  hits.     Il  ^  true  ihat  no 
beral  Protestant  avows  Mich  i-xc'nsive  opinion*:  tlia'  every 
onest  clereyman  must  feel  a  pans  while  he  sub-crimes  to 
hem;  th:it  some  even  ns-ert  the  Aihana*inn  Crre.l  to  In-  the 
•>rgery  of  one  V  gilius  Tapsensis,  in  tin-  h-jfinn'ng  of  the 
xth  century,  and  Hint  eminent  divines,  like  Jmtin,  I  ave  not 
esltated  to  say,  "There  are  propositions  contained  in  our 
rgjp   and    Articles,    which    no   man   of  common   i-rnsa 
rfrst  n^  helieves."(A)     But  while  all  this  is  (reely  con- 
eded  to  Pro'e-tants;  while  nobody  doubts  their  sincerity, 
'ben  they  declare  that   tlieir  nrtic'es   nre  not  ess'Titia's  of 
i  th,  but  a  collection  of  op:nions  which  have  bren  promul 
ated  by  fallible  men,  and  from  manv  of  which  tln-v   tec) 
lemselves  ju-tified  in  d;sg.'ntin?,— while  so  mneh  I  ! 
etraciion  is  allowed  to  Protestants  upon  their  own  declared 
nd  subscr'beil  Articles  of  religion,  is  it  not  s'r:inje  lhat  a 
m  lar  indnljence  should  be  refused,  with  such  irconvincj 
le  obstinacy,  to   the  Catholics,  upon    tenets   wl.'ch  the'.r 
inrch    hns    unifornilv   re-isted   and    concern-  ed.   ;n   every 
ountrv  where  it  has  flourished  indopendi  ntlv  ?     When  the   * 
aiholirs  siv,   "The  decree  of  the  council  of  l.nterdn, 
Inch  you  object  to  us,  has  no  cl:iim  wha'ever  upon  eithei 
ir  faith  or  our  reason  :  it  did  not  even   pro'p«  to  contain 
iv  doctrin-il  decision,  but  w-'s  merely  n  j>idtei:il  p'oc.  edms 
filial  assenib'y;  and  it  would  be  nn'fnir  for  us  10  impute  a 
ife-tillrmfAnfirmf  to  the  Protestants,  hecniise  tin  ir  first 
ope,  Henry  VIII.  wns  sanctioned  in  an  in'IuL'enco  o1'  ihnt 
ropen-ity,  n«  for  you  to  conclude  that  we  have  inhrriti-d  a 
Hr4«pa*faf  l-iste  'ro'n  the  nets  of  the  Cn-incil  of  I.n'eran, 
the  s-cnlnr  pretcrsions  of  our  Popes.     With  respect,  too 
the  Decree  of  the  Council  of  Constance,  upon  the  s'rength 

[a}  Sre  PHistoire  Naturelle  et  Polit.  du  Royaume  d> 

am,  etc. 

I*)  Strictures  on  the  Articles,  Subscriptions,  etc. 


INTOLERANCE. 


225 


Tyrants  by  creed,  and  torturers  by  text, 
Make  this  life  hell,  in  honour  of  the  next 
Your  R-desd-les,  P-rc-v-ls,  —  oh,  gracious  Heaven  ! 
If  I'm  presumptuous,  be  my  tongue  forgiven, 
Wt.en  here  I  swear,  by  my  soul's  hope  of  rest, 
I'd  rather  have  been  born,  ere  man  was  blest 
With  tin;  pure  dawn  of  Revelation's  light, 
Yes  !  —  rather  plunge  me  back  in  Pagan  night 
And  take  my  chance  with  Socrates  lor  bliss,1 
Than  be  the  Christian  of  a  faith  like  this, 
Which  builds  on  heavenly  cant  its  earthly  sway, 
And  in  a  convert  mourns  to  lose  a  prey  ; 
Which,  binding  polity  in  spiritual  chains, 
And  tainting  piety  with  temporal  stains,2 

of  which  you  accuse  us  of  breaking:  faiih  with  herelies,  we 
<tn  nut  hesitate  lo  pronounce  that  Deciee  a  caluniniuiiB  for- 
Bery,  a  i'orsery.  too,  so  obvious  und  ill-fabricntrd,  that  none 
but  our  i  nfiriflh  have  ever  ventured  to  dive  it  the  slightest 
credit  of  authentic!  y."  —  When  the  Catholics  make  these 
declarations  (and  they  are  almost  weary  with  making  them  ;) 
when  they  show  too,  by  their  conduct,  tliut  these  declarations 
arc  sincere,  and  that  their  faith  and  murals  are  no  more  regu- 
lated by  the  absurd  decrees  of  old  councils  and  Copes,  than 
their  science  is  influenced  by  the  I'apal  anathema  against 
that  Irishman,  (a)  who  first  found  out  the  Antipodes:  —  is  it 
not  strange  that  so  many  still  wilfully  distrust  what  every 
good  man  is  so  much  interested  in  believinic  ?  That  so 
many  should  prefer  the  dark-lantern  of  the  13th  century  to 
the  sunshine  of  intellect  which  has  since  spread  over  the 
world,  and  that  every  dabbler  in  theology,  from  Mr.  Le  Me 
turier  down  lo  the  Chancellor  of  the  Kxchc  quer,  should  dar<? 
so  oppose  the  rubbish  of  Constance  and  Lateran  to  the 
briclit  triumphant  progress  of  justice,  generosity,  and  truth  1 

1  There  is  a  singular  work  "  upon  the  Souls  ot  tlie  Pa- 
gans," by  one  Franciscus  Collius,  in  which  he  discusses, 
with  much  coolness  and  erudition,  all  the  probable  chances 
of  salvation  upon  which  a  heathen  philosopher  may  calcu- 

ate.  He  damns  without  much  difficulty  Socrates,  Plato, 
etc.  and  tlie  only  one  at  whose  fute  he  seems  to  hesitate 
is  Pythagoras,  in  consideration  of  his  golden  thi::li,  anil 
the  many  niiriicltis  which  lie  performed;  but,  having  ha- 
Junced  his  claims  a  liitle,  and  rinding  rrason  to  father  all 
thes»  miracles  on  the  devil,  he  at  length,  in  tre  twenty-fifth 
chapter,  decides  ii|  on  damning  him  also.  (De  Anitni-  Pag  - 
norum,  !ib.  iv.  cap.  20  and  25.)  —  Dante  compron 
matter  with  the  Pagans,  and  gives  them  a  neutral  territory 
or  limbo  of  their  own,  where  their  employment,  it  must  bi> 
owned,  is  not  very  enviable  —  "  Senza  spcme  viveoio  in 
desio."  Cant.  iv.  —  Among  the  many  errors  imputed  to  Ori- 
gen,  he  is  accused  of  having  denied  the  eternity  of  future 
punishment,  and,  if  he  never  advanced  a  more  irrational 
doctrine,  we  mav  forgive  him.  lit?  went  so  fur,  however,  as 
to  im-lnile  the  devil  himself  in  the  general  hell-delivery 
which  he;  supposed  would  one  day  or  other  take  place,  and 
in  this  St.  Aiigii-iiin  thinks  him  rather  too  merciful  —  "  Mise 
ricordior  profecto  fuit  Origenes,  qni  et  ipsnm  diabolutn," 
etc.  (De  Civitat.  Dei,  lib.  xxi.  cap.  17.)—  St.  Jeroin  says, 
that,  according  to  Origen,  "the  devil,  afler  a  certain  lime, 
will  be  ns  well  off  as  the  angel  Gabriel"  —  "Id  ipsiirn  fore 
in  quod  dialmlum."  (See  his  Epistle  to  I'amma- 
chius.)  But  llalloix,  in  his  Defence  of  Orig"n,  denies  tint 
he  had  any  of  this  misplaced  tenderness  for  toe  devil.  —  I 
take  the  liberty  of  recommend  in;:  the-"  •nufiliiP  upon  dam- 
nation to  tin'  particular  attention  of  the  learned  Chancellor 
of  the  Exchequer. 

2  Mr.  Fox,  in  his  Speech  on  the  Repeal  of  tlie  Test  A--t 
(1790,)  condemns  the  intermixture  of  religion  with  the  politi- 
cal consti'tiiion  of  a  state:     "  What  purpose    li     I 

"\cept  the  baleful  purpose  of  comimimcalin::  mid 
receiving  contamination?  Under  s'ich  an  alliance  corrup- 
tion must  alight  upon  the  one,  and  slavery  overwhelm  the 


fa)  Virgilius,  mirnamed  Solivagns,  a  native  of  Ireland, 
who  maintained,  in  the  8th  century,  the  doctrine  of  flu-  An- 
tipodes, atisl  was  anathematized  accordingly  by  tlie  Pope. 
John  Scot'us  Erigena,  another  Irishman,  was  the  first  that 
evor  wrote  against  transubstnntiation. 
2F 


Corrupts  both  State  and  Church,  and  makes  an  oath 
The  knave  and  atheist's  passport  into  both — 
Which,  while  it  dooms  dissenting  souls  to  know 
Nor  bliss  above  nor  liberty  below, 
Adds  the  slave's  suffering  to  the  sinner's  fear, 
And,  lest  he  'scape  hereafter,  racks  him  here  !' 


which  arc  in  their  original,  end,  business,  :nid  in  every  thing, 
perfectly  distinct  and  infinitely  different  from  each  other."— 
Vir.it  J.i  Her  an  TuUration. 

The  corruption  of  Christianity  may  be  dated  fiom  the 
period  of  its  establishment  under  Constant  ;no,  nor  could  all 
the  splendour  which  it  then  acquired  atone  lor  the  peace  and 
purity  which  it  lost. 

1  I  doubt  whether,  after  all,  there  has  not  been  as  much 
bigotry  among  Protestants  as  amoi.g  PapisU.  According 
to  tlie  hackneyed  quotation — 

Iliacos  intra  muros  peccatur  et  extra. 

The  great  champion  of  the  Reformation,  Melanehthon, 
whom  Jorlin  calls  "a  divine  of  much  mildness  and  good- 
nature" thus  expresses  his  approbation  of  the  burning  uf 
Servetus :  "  Legi  (he  says  to  Bullinger)  quie  de  Serveti 
III  isphemiisrespondistis,  etpietatem  ac  judicia  vest™  probo. 
Judico  etiain  senatum  Geuevensem  recle  fecisse,  quod  ho- 
minem  pertinacem  et  non  omissurum  blaspbeiinas  su.-tulit; 
miratus  sum  esse  qui  severitatem  illain  improbent." — 
I  have  great  pleasure  in  contrasting  with  these  "MI  d  and 
good-natured"  sentiments  the  following  words  of  the  Papist 
IS  i lii/c,  in  addressing  his  friend  Conringins:  "  Interim  ame- 
mus,  mi  Conringi,  et  tametsi  diversas  opiniones  tuemur  in 
causa  religionis,  moribus  tamcn  diversi  non  simus,  qu. 
eadem  literarum  studia  sectamur." — Herman.  Cvitritif 
Epistol.  par.  second,  p.  5V. 

llntne  tells  us  that  the  Commons,  in  the  beginning  of 
Charles  the  First's  reign,  "attacked  Montague,  one  of  tho 
King's  chaplains,  on  account  of  a  moderate  book  which  ha 
had  lately  composed,  and  which,  to  their  great  disgust, 
saved  virtuous  Catholics,  as  well  ag  other  Christians,  from 
eternal  torments." — In  the  same  manner  a  complaint  wni 
lodged  before  the  Lords  of  the  Council  against  that  excel- 
lent writer  Hooker,  for  having,  in  the  pennon 
Popery,  attempted  lo  save  many  of  his  Popish  ancestors  for 
i'jititrnntr. — To  these  example*  of  I'rot'S'ant  toleration  I 
shall  beg  leave  to  oppose  the  following  extract  from  a  letter 
of  old  Rojer  Ascham  (the  tutorof  Queen  Elizabeth,)  which 
s  preserved  among  the  Harrington  Paper?,  and  was  written 
n  I'lliTp,  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester,  complaining  of  the  Arch- 
h  shop  Young,  who  bad  taken  away  bis  prebend  in  the 
church  of  York:  "Master  Bourne  (nj  did  never  grieve  me 
half  so  moche  in  offering  me  wrong,  as  Mr.  Dudley  and  the 
Byshopp  of  York  doe,  in  taking  away  my  right.  No 
byshopp  in  Q.  Mary's  time  would  have  so  dealt  with  me; 
not  Mr.  Bourne  hytnself,  when  Winchester  lived,  durst  have 
so  dealt  with  me."  For  snche  -TOO,!  e-timntion  in  those  da  yes 
even  ">e  learnedest  and  wys"st  men,  as  G  -irdener  ami  Car- 
dinal Pool",  mail"  of  my  poore  service,  that  altlioip_'h  they 
knewe  perfectly  that  in  religion,  bo  h  by  open  wrytmge  and 
prvvie  talke,  I  was  contrarye  unto  them;  yea.  whtn  Sir 
Francis  Englcfieid  by  name  .did  note  mo  specially  M  the 
council  board,  Gardener  would  not  suffer  me  to  lie  called 
thither,  nor  touched  ellswheare,  saiim-e  stichr  words  of  ma 
in  a  lettr".  as,  though  lettres  cannot,  I  blushe  to  wri'e  them 
to  your  Lonlshi'ip.  Winchester's  jrood-will  stoode  not  in 
-•peal,  n;r  faire  and  wishing  well,  hut  he  did  in  decde  tint  for 
mo,  (I,)  'whereby  my  wife  nnd  children  shall  live  the  bettor 
N'ugsp  Antiqurr,  vol.  i.  p.  !>H,  W.>— 

If  met]  who  acted  thus  were  bigots,  what  shall  wo  call  .Mr 
P-rr-v-l? 

In   SutclifFfi  "  Purvey  of  Ponerv,"  there  i«  tlie  following 

«,.rliiin:   "  Papi-K  that    i'o-:tivMv  hold    tlie   h<  retical  and 

trilMI  of  I'M.  modern  cburc'li  of  Rome,  cann    • 
hlv  !»•  saved.'— A«  ti  contrast  to  this   nnd  other  specimen! 
of  Protestant  lib;  ra];'v,  which  it  would  b"  much  m<J 

-  ..it  >o  collect,  I  refer  mv  render  to  the  Declaration 
of  I.e  P.'- i  'M'l,  while  lie  rends  the  -en'  • 

nun  tijion  foler'tion,  I  doubt  not  he  will  feel  in- 
eli:ied    lo   exclaim    vith   Belsbam,    "Blush. 

nd   b"    confounded   at    the    comparison    of   your 
own  wretched  and  malignant  prejudices  with  the  genrroiM 

>rtl  Sir  John   Bourne,  Principal  Secretary  of  SJate  »o 

Queen   M:iM-. 

•  A)  Rv  Gardener's  favour  Ascham  long  hell  HI  felloe- 
hip,  tbough  not  resident. 


z-r. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Bui  no— far  other  faith,  far  milder  beams 

Of  heavenly  justice  warm  the  Christian's  dreams 

Hu  creed  is  writ  on  Mercy's  page  above, 

By  the  pure  hands  of  all-atoning  Love  ! 

He  weeps  to  see  his  soul's  Religion  twine 

The  tyrant's  sceptre  with  her  wreath  divine, 

And  he,  while  round  him  sects  and  nations  raise 

To  the  one  God  their  varying  notes  of  praise, 

Blesses  each  voice,  whate'er  its  tone  may  be, 

That  serves  to  swell  the  general  harmony  !' 

Such  was  the  spirit,  grandly,  gently  bright, 

That  fill'd,  oh  Fox !  thy  peaceful  soul  with  light ; 

While  blandly  spreading,  like  that  orb  of  air 

Which  folds  our  planet  in  its  circling  care, 

The  mighty  sphere  of  thy  transparent  mind 

Embraced  the  world,  and  breathed  for  all  mankind ! 

Last  of  the  great,  farewell ! — yet  not  the  last — 

Though  Britain's  sunshine  hour  with  thee  be  past, 

lerne  still  one  gleam  of  glory  gives, 

And  feels  but  half  thy  loss  while  Grattan  lives. 


APPENDIX. 


THE  following  is  part  of  a  Preface  which  was  in- 
tended by  a  friend  and  countryman  of  mine  for  a  col- 
lection of  Irish  airs,  to  which  he  had  adapted  Eng- 
lish words.  As  it  has  never  been  published,  and  is 
not  inapplicable  to  my  subject,  I  shall  take  the  liberty 
of  subjoining  it  here. 

»  *  *  * 

"  Our  history,  for  many  centuries  past,  is  creditable 
neither  to  our  neighbours  nor  ourselves,  and  ought 
not  to  be  read  by  any  Irishman  who  wishes  either  to 
love  England  or  to  feel  proud  of  Ireland.  The  loss 
of  independence  very  early  debased  our  character, 
and  our  feuds  and  rebellions,  though  frequent  and 
ferocious,  but  seldom  displayed  that  generous  spirit 
of  enterprise  with  which  the  pride  of  an  independent 
monarchy  so  long  dignified  the  struggles  of  Scotland. 
It  is  true  this  island  has  given  birth  to  heroes  who, 
under  more  favourable  circumstances,  might  have 
left  in  the  hearts  of  their  countrymen  recollections  as 
dear  as  those  of  a  Bruce  or  a  Wallace  ;  but  success 
was  wanting  to  conseciate  resistance,  their  cause 
was  branded  with  the  disheartening  name  of  treason, 
and  their  oppressed  country  was  such  a  blank  among 
nations,  that,  like  the  adventures  of  those  woods 
which  Rinaldo  wished  to  explore,  the  fame  of  their 
actions  was  lost  in  the  obscurity  of  the  place  where 
they  achieved  them. 

•  Erramlo  in  qurlli  boschi 

Trovar  polria  itrane  av venture  e  multe, 


and  enlarged  idem,  the  noble  Mid  animated  lun»ua"e  of 
thii  Popinh  priert."— Kwoy«,  xxvii.  p.  86. 

"  La  tolerance  eft  la  chose  du  monde  la  plus  propre  a 
ramenor  le  iiecle  d'or  et  a  faire  un  concert  et  uno  harmonic 
do  plutieun  vou  et  instruments  de  different*  long  et  notes, 
•HMagrtaMa  pour  le  moins  qnn  1'  uniformity  d'  uno  senle 
*oit."  ll.ivl",  < '.,mrnentaire  Philosophinno,  etc.  part.  ii. 
chap,  vi.— Both  Bnyle  and  Locke  would  have  treated  the 
lulijrct  ot  Toleration  in  a  manner  more  worthy  of  themselves 
«od  of  the  cnus.-,  if  they  had  written  in  an  age  less  distracted 
•r  religious  prejudice*. 


Ma  come  i  luoghi  i  fatti  ancor  son  foschi, 
Che  non  se'n  ha  notizia  le  piu  volte.  * 

"  Hence  it  is  that  the  annals  of  Ireland,  through  a 
long  lapse  of  six  hundred  years,  exhibit  not  one  ot" 
those  shining  names,  not  one  of  those  themes  of  na- 
tional pride,  from  which  poetry  borrows  her  noblest 
inspiration;  and  that  history,  which  ought  to  be  the 
richest  garden  of  the  Muse,  yields  nothing  to  her 
here  but  weeds  and  cypress.  In  truth,  the  poet  w  ho 
would  embellish  his  song  with  allusions  to  Irish 
names  and  events  must  be  content  to  seek  them  in 
those  early  periods  when  our  character  was  yet  un- 
alloyed and  original,  before  the  impolitic  craft  of  our 
conquerors  had  divided,  weakened,  and  disgraced 
us;  and  the  only  traits  of  heroism  which  he  can 
venture  at  this  day  to  commemorate,  with  safety  to 
himself,  or,  perhaps,  with  honour  to  the  country,  are 
to  be  looked  for  in  those  times  when  the  native 
monarchs  of  Ireland  displayed  and  fostered  virtues 
worthy  of  a  better  age ;  when  our  Malachies  wore 
collars  of  gold  which  they  had  won  in  single  combat 
from  the  invader,2  and  our  Briens  deserved  the  bless 
ings  of  a  people  by  all  the  most  estimable  qualities 
of  a  king.  It  may  be  said  indeed  that  the  magic  of 
tradition  has  shed  a  charm  over  this  remote  period, 
to  which  it  is  in  reality  but  little  entitled,  and  that 
most  of  the  pictures,  which  we  dwell  on  so  fondly, 
of  days  when  this  island  was  distinguished  amidst  the 
gloom  of  Europe,  by  the  sanctity  of  her  morals,  the 
spirit  of  her  knighthood,  and  the  polish  of  her  schools, 
are  little  more  than  the  inventions  of  national  par- 
tiality, that  bright  but  spurious  offspring  which  vanity 
engenders  upon  ignorance,  and  with  which  the  first 
records  of  every  people  abound.  But  the  sceptic  is 
scarcely  to  be  envied  who  would  pause  for  stronger 
proofs  than  we  already  possess  of  the  early  glories 
of  Ireland;  and  were  even  the  veracity  of  all  these 
proofs  surrendered,  yet  who  would  not  fly  to  such 
flattering  fictions  from  the  sad  degrading  truths  which 
the  history  of  later  times  presents  to  us  ? 

"  The  language  of  sorrow  however  is,  in  general, 
best  suited  to  our  music,  and  with  themes  of  this  na- 
ture the  poet  may  be  amply  supplied.  There  is  no' 
a  page  of  our  annals  which  cannot  afford  him  a  sub- 
ject, and  while  the  national  Muse  of  other  countries 
adorns  her  temple  with  trophies  of  the  past,  in  Ire- 
land her  altar,  like  the  shrine  of  Pity  at  Athens,  is  to 
be  known  only  by  the  tears  that  are  shed  upon  it 
'lacrymis  altaria  sudant.'3 

"There  is  a  well-known  story,  related  of  the  An- 
tiochians  under  of  reign  of  Theodosius,  which  is  not 
only  honourable  to  the  powers  of  music  in  general, 
but  which  applies  so  peculiarly  to  the  mournful  melo- 
dies of  Ireland,  thatl  cannot  resist  the  temptation  of 
introducing  it  here. — The  piety  of  Theodosius  would 
have  been  admirable,  if  it  had  not  been  stained  with 
intolerance ;  but  his  reign  affords,  I  believe,  the  first 
example  of  a  disqualifying  penal  code  enacted  by 
Christians  against  Christians.4  Whether  his  inter- 


1  Ariosto,  cnnto  iv. 

2  See  Warner's  History  of  Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  ix. 

3  Statius,  Thebaid,  lib.  xii. 

4  "  A  sort  of  civil  excommunication  (says  Gibbon,)  which 
separated  them  from  their  fellow-citizens  by  a  peculiar  brand 
of  infamy  ;  and  this  declaration  of  the  supreme  mugistrar* 
tended  to  justify,  or  at  leiut  to  excuse,  the  insults  of  a  fa 


INTOLERANCE. 


227 


fcrence  with  the  religion  of  the  Antiochians  had  any 
share  in  the  alienation  of  their  loyalty  is  not  expressl  \f 
ascertained  by  historians;  but  severe  edicts,  heavy 
taxation,  and  the  rapacity  and  insolence  of  the  men 
whom  he  sent  to  govern  them,  sufficiently  account 
for  tiie  discontents  of  a  warm  and  susceptible  people. 
Repentance  soon  followed  the  crimes  into  which  their 
impatience  had  hurried  them,  but  the  venge^Jce  of 
the  Emperor  was  implacable,  and  punishments  of 
the  most  dreadful  nature  hung  over  the  city  of  An- 
tioch,  whose  devoted  inhabitants  totally  resigned  to 
despondence,  wandering  through  the  streets  and 
public  assemblies,  giving  utterance  to  their  grief  in 
dirges  of  the  most  touching  lamentations.1  At  length, 


Flavianus,  their  bishop,  whom  they  sent  to  intercede 
with  Theodosius,  finding  all  his  entreaties  coldly  re- 
jected, adopted  the  expedient  of  teaching  these  songs 
of  sorrow,  which  he  had  heard  from  the  lips  of  hi* 
unfortunate  countrymen,  to  the  minstrels  who  per- 
formed for  the  Emperor  at  table.  The  heart  of  Theo- 
dosius could  not  resist  this  appeal ;  'ears  fell  fast  into 
his  cup  while  he  listened,  and  the  Antiochians  were 
forgiven. — Surely,  if  music  ever  spoke  the  misfortunes 
of  a  people,  or  could  ever  conciliate  forgiveness  for 
their  errors,  the  music  of  Ireland  ought  to  possess 
those  powers  I' 


natic  populace.  The  sectaries  were  gradually  disqualified 
lc:r  ill'-  |iosM'*sion  of  honourable  or  lucrative  employments, 
and  Theodosius  was  satisfied  with  his  own  justice  when  he 
decreed,  that,  as  the  Eunomians  distinguished  the  nature  of 
the  Son  from  that  of  the  Father,  they  should  be  incapable 
of  making  their  wills,  or  receiving  any  advantage  from  testa- 
mentary donations." 


fitvoi,  T»I{  pi>.«?i*ic  IJD,JO». — Nicephor.  lib.  lii.  cap.  43. 
This  story  is  also  in  Sozomen,  lib.  vii.  cap.  23 ;  but  unfor- 
tunately Chrysostom  says  nothing  whatever  about  it,  and  be 
not  only  had  the  best  opportunities  of  information,  but  was 
too  fond  of  music,  as  appears  by  his  praises  of  psalmody  (Ex- 
posit,  in  Psal.  Jtli.)  to  omit  such  a  flattering  illustration  of 
its  powers.  He  imputes  their  reconciliation  to  the  inter- 
ference of  the  Antiochian  solitaries,  while  Zozimus  attii 
butes  it  to  the  remonstrances  of  the  sophist  Libnnius  — 
Gibbon,  I  think,  does  not  evei.  allude  to  the  glory  of  the  mo 
uciauj. 


THE  SCEPTIC; 

A  PHILOSOPHICAL  SATIRE. 


KOMON  lIAXTnN  BAXIAEA. 

I'IXPAR.  ap.  Herodot.  lib.  3. 


PREFACE. 

TUT.  sceptical  philosophy  of  the  ancients  has  been 
u  much  misrepresented  as  the  Epicurean.  Pyrrho, 
perhaps,  may  have  carried  it  to  an  irrational  excess 
(though  we  must  not  believe,  with  Beattie,  all  the  ab- 
surdities imputed  to  this  philosopher,)  but  it  appears 
to  me  that  the  doctrines  of  the  school,  as  stated  by 
Sextus  Empiricus,1  are  much  more  suited  to  the 
frailty  of  human  reason,  and  more  conducive  to  the 
mild  virtues  of  humility  and  patience,  than  any  of 
those  systems  which  preceded  the  introduction  of 
Christianity.  The  Sceptics  held  a  middle  path  be- 
tween the  Dogmatics  and  Academicians,  the  former 
of  whom  boasted  that  they  had  attained  the  truth, 
while  «he  latter  denied  that  any  attainable  truth  ex- 
:«ted:  the  Sceptics,  however,  without  asserting  or 
denying  its  existence,  professed  to  be  modestly  and 
anxiously  in  search  of  it ;  as  St.  Augustin  expresses 
it,  in  his  liberal  tract  against  the  Manicheans,  "  nemo 
nostrum  dicat  jam  se  invenisse  veritatem ;  sic  earn  quav 
ramus  quasi  ab  utrisque  nesciatur."2  From  this  habit 
of  impartial  investigation,  and  the  necessity  which  they 
imposed  upon  themselves  of  study  ing,  not  only  every 
system  of  philosophy,  but  every  art  and  science 
which  pretended  to  lay  its  basis  in  truth,  they  neces- 
sarily took  a  wider  range  of  erudition,  and  were 
more  travelled  in  the  regions  of  philosophy  than 
those  whom  conviction  or  bigotry  had  domesticated 
in  any  particular  system.  It  required  all  the  learning; 
of  dogmatism  to  overthrow  the  dogmatism  of  learn- 
ing ;  and  the  Sceptics,  in  this  respect,  resembled  that 
anriom  incendiary,  who  stole  from  the  altar  the  fire 
with  which  he  destroyed  the  temple.  This  advantage 
ever  all  the  other  sects  is  allowed  to  them  even  by 
,  whose  treatise  on  the  miracles  of  the  Virgo 
Il'illcnsis  will  sufficiently  save  him  from  all  suspi- 
cion of  scepticism.  "  Lahore,  ingenio,  memoria  supra 
omnes  pene  philosophos  fuisse. — Quid  nonne  omnia 
alionim  secta  tenere  debuerunt  et  inquirere,  si  pote- 
runt  rcfellere  ?  res  dicit.  Nonne  orationes  varias, 
ran*,  subtiles  invcniri  ad  tarn  receptas,  claras,  cert'as 


1  I'vrr.  Hypnlh.     The  reader  may  finil  a  tolerably  clear 
•h*trnct  of  iliu   work  of  Sextui  Empiricus  in  La'Vente 
de»  !*••  -enne,  liv.  i.  cha|i.  ii.  etc. 

2  Lib.  contra  Kpi«L  Manichtei  quam  vocant  Fuodamenti. 
Op.  Puu,  lorn,  vu 


(ut  videbatur)    sententias    evertendas  ?"   etc.   etc.' 
Afanuduct.  ad  Philosoph.  Stoic.  Diss.  4. 

The  difference  between  the  scepticism  of  the  an- 
cients and  the  moderns  is,  that  the  former  doubted 
for  the  purpose  of  investigating,  as  may  be  exempli- 
fied by  the  third  book  of  Aristotle's  Metaphysics,* 
while  the  latter  investigate  for  the  purpose  of  doubt- 
ing, as  may  be  seen  through  most  of  the  philosophical 
works  of  Hume.3  Indeed  the  Pyrrhonism  of  lattei 
days  is  not  only  more  subtle  than  that  of  antiquity, 
but,  it  must  be  confessed,  more  dangerous  in  its  ten 
dency.  The  happiness  of  a  Christian  depends  so 
much  upon  his  belief,  that  it  is  natural  he  should  feel 
alarm  at  the  progress  of  doubt,  lest  it  steal  by  degrees 
into  the  region  from  which  he  is  most  interested  in 
excluding  it,  and  poison  at  last  the  very  spring  of  his 
consolation  and  hope.  Still,  however,  the  abuses  of 
doubting  ought  not  to  deter  a  philosophical  mind  from 
indulging  mildly  and  rationally  in  its  use  ;  and  there 
is  nothing,  I  think,  more  consistent  with  the  humble 
spirit  of  Christianity,  than  the  scepticism  of  him  who 
professes  not  to  extend  his  distrust  beyond  the  circle 
of  human  pursuits,  and  the  pretensions  of  human 
knowledge.  A  philosopher  of  this  kind  is  among  the 
readiest  to  admit  the  claims  of  Heaven  upon  his  faith 
and  adoration:  it  is  only  to  the  wisdom  of  this  weak 
world  that  he  refuses,  or  at  least  delays  his  assent ; 
it  is  only  in  passing  through  the  shadow  of  earth  that 
his  mind  undergoes  the  eclipse  of  scepticism.  No 
follower  of  Pyrrho  has  ever  spoken  more  strongly 
against  the  dogmatists  than  St.  Paul  himself,  in  the 
First  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians ;  and  there  are  pas- 
sases  in  Ecclesiastes  and  other  parts  of  Scripture 
which  justify  our  utmost  diffidence  in  all  that  human 
reason  originates.  Even  the  sceptics  of  antiquity 
refrained  from  the  mysteries  of  theology,  and,  in 
entering  the  temples  of  religion,  laid  aside  their  phi- 
losophy at  the  porch.  Sextus  Empiricus  thus  declares 
the  acquiescence  of  his  sect  in  the  general  belief  of  a 


1  See  Mar'in.  Shoockiusde  fcrpticismo,  who  endeavours, 
I  think  weakly,  to  refute  this  opinion  of  Lipsius. 

2  E<TT<  Si  TOI?  fv^-opro-xi  /S:uXo/<ivoi(  vftvpjev  TO   J<» 

»0(»l«-a<  x»Xio{. — 

Melaphys.  lib.  iii.  cap.  1. 

3  Neither  Hume,  however,  nor  Berkeley,  are  to  be  judged 
by  the  misrepresentations  of  Beattie,  whose  book,  however 
amiably  intended,  appears  to  me  a  most  unphiloscphicsl 
appeal  to  popular  feelings  and  piejudices,  and  a  continued 
pctitiu  frtncipii  throughou 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


229 


superintending  Providence :  1v  fcv  /?i^>  KuraicoXo 
Souvrc;  a«5o^d5-u>5  tyajizv  tivai  diovs  KO.I   at^o/iiv  3io 
icai  Tifioi'oiiv  avTovs  tiafiev.     Lib.  lit.  cap.  1.     In  sho 
it  appears  to  me  that  this  rational  and  well-regulate 
scepticism  is  the  only  daughter  of  the  schools  tha 
can  be  selected  as  a  handmaid  for  piety  :  he  who  dis 
trusts  the  light  of  reason  will  be  the  first  to  follow 
more  luminous  guide  ;  and  if,  with  an  ardent  lovefo 
truth,  he  has  sought  her  in  vain  through  the  ways  o 
this  life,  he  will  turn  with  the  more  hope  to  that  bet 
ter  world,  where  all  is  simple,  true,  and  everlasting 
for  there  is  no  parallax  at  the  zenith — it  is  only  nea 
our  troubled  horizon  that  objects  deceive  us  into 
vagu«  and  erroneous  calculations. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


As  the  gay  tint  that  decks  the  vernal  rose,1 

Not  in  the  flower,  but  in  our  vision  glows ; 

As  the  ripe  flavour  of  Falernian  tides 

Not  in  the  wine,  but  in  our  taste  resides  ; 

So  when,  with  heartfelt  tribute,  we  declare 

That  Marco  's  honest  and  that  Susan  's  fair, 

"Tis  in  our  minds,  and  not  in  Susan's  eyes 

Or  Marco's  life,  the  worth  or  beauty  hes  : 

For  she,  in  flat-nosed  China,  would  appear 

As  plain  a  thing  as  Lady  Anne  is  here ; 

And  one  light  joke,  at  rich  Loretto's  dome 

Would  rank  good  Marco  with  the  damn'd  at  Rome, 

There  's  no  deformity  so  vile,  so  base, 
That  'tis  not  somewhere  thought  a  charm,  a  grace ; 
No  foul  reproach  that  may  not  steal  a  beam 
From  other  suns,  to  bleach  it  to  esteem !' 


1  "The  particular  bulk,  number,  figure,  and  motion  of 
the  parts  of  tire  or  snow  are  really  in  them,  whether  any  one 
perceive  them  or  not,  and  therefore  they  may  be  called  real 
qualities,  because  they  really  exist  in  those  bodies ;  but  light, 
heat,  \vhiu-ncss,  or  coldness,  are  no  more  renlly  in  tin  MI  tn.-ni 
sickness  01  pain  is  in  manna.  Take  away  the  sensation  ol 
them  ;  let  not  the  eye  see  light  or  colours,  nor  the  ears  hear 
Bounds,  let  the  palate  not  taste,  nor  the  nose  smell,  and  all 
colours,  tastes,  odours,  and  suiiiuN,  as  they  are  such  parti- 
cular ideas,  vanish  yid  ceaso." — Jj>cke,  book  li.  chap.  8. 

Bishop  Berkeley,  it  id  well  known,  extended  this  doctrine 
even  to  primary  qualities,  and  supposed  that  matter  itself 
has  but  an  ideal  existence,  ilow  shall  we  apply  the  bishop's 
throry  to  that  period  which  preceded  the  formation  of  man, 
when  our  system  of  sensible  things  was  produced,  and  the 
sun  shone,  and  the  waters  flowed,  without  any  sentient  being 
to  witness  them  1  The  spectator,  whom  VVhUton  supplies, 
will  scarcely  solve  the  difficulty:  "To  speak  my  mind  free- 
ly," says  he,  "  I  believe  that  theMessias  wns  there  actually 
present." — See  WAisfon,  of  the  Mosaic  Creation. 

2  1  m<  ti  us  employs  this  argument  of  the  Sceptics,  among  his 
consolatory  reflections  upon  the  emptiness  of  fame.  "  Quid 
quod  diversarum  gentium  mores  inter  so  atque  instituta  dis- 
cordant, ut  quod  a  pud  alios  laude,  apud  alios  stipplicio  dig- 
mimjudicetur'!"  Lib.  ii.  prosa.  7. — Many  amusing  instances 
of  diversity,  in  the  tastes,  manners,  and  morals  of  different 
nations,  in-iy  b"  found  throughout  the  works  of  that  intereot- 
ingscepiic  LeMothe  le  Vayer. — See  hisOpusculeSceptique, 
his  treatise  "do  la  Secte  Sccptique,"  and,  above  all,  those 
Dialogues,  not  to  be  found  in  his  works,  which  he  published 
under  tin;  nnme  of  Horatius  Tubero. — The  chief  objection 
to  these  writings  of  Le  Vayer  (and  it  is  a  blemish  which,  1 
think,  may  hi-  felt  in  the  Esprit  des  Loix,)  is  the  suspicion* 
obscuri'y  of  the  sources  from  which  he  frequently  draws  his 
instances,  and  the  indiscriminate  use  which  he  makes  of  the 
lowest  populace  of  the  library,  those  lying  travellers  anil 
wonder  mongers,  of  whom  Shaftesbury  complains,  in  his 
Advice  10  an  Author,  as  having  tended  in  his  own  time  to 
.he  diffusion  of  a  verr  vicious  sort  of  scepticism.  Vol.  i.  p. 


Ask,  who  is  wise  ? — you  '11  find  the  self-same  man 
A  sage  in  France,  a  madman  in  Japan  , 
And  here  some  head  beneath  a  mitre  swells, 
Which  there  had  tingled  to  a  cap  and  bells : 
Nay,  there  may  yet  some  monstrous  region  be, 
Unknown  to  Cook,  and  from  Napoleon  free, 
Where  C*stl*r**gh  would  for  a  patriot  pass, 
And  mouthing  M*lgr*ve  scarce  be  deem'd  an  ass ! 

"  List  not  to  reason,"  Epicurus  cries, 

But  trust  the  senses,  there  conviction  lies :" — ' 
Alas  !  they  judge  not  by  a  purer  light, 
Nor  keep  their  fountains  more  untinged  and  bright : 
Habit  so  mare  them,  that  the  Russian  swain 
Will  sigh  for  train-oil  while  he  sips  champagne ; 
And  health  so  rules  them,  that  a  fever's  heat 
Would  make  even  Sh*r*d*n  think  water  sweet ! 

Just  as  the  mind  the  erring  sense2  believes, 
The  erring  mindxin  turn,  the  sense  deceives, 


352.  The  Pyrrhonism  of  Le  Vayer,  however,  is  of  the  most 
innocent  and  playful  kind;  and  Villemandy,  the  author  of 
Scepticismus  Debellatus,  exempts  him  specially  in  the  decla- 
ration of  war  which  he  denounces  agajnst  the  other  armed 
neutrals  of  the  sect,  in  consideration  of  the  orthodox  limit* 
within  which  he  has  confined  his  incredulity. 

1  This  was  also  the  creed  of  those  modem  Epicureans, 
whom  Ninon  de  1' Kudos  collected  around  her  in  the  Rue 
des  Tournelles,  and  whose  object  seems  to  have  been  to 
decry  the  faculty  of  reason,  as  tending  only  to  embarrass  our 
use  of  pleasures,  without  enabling  us,  in  any  degree,  to  avoid 
heir  abuse.  Madame  des  Houlieres,  the  fair  pupil  of  Dec 
tarreaux  in  the  arts  of  poetry  and  voluptuousness,  has  de- 
'oted  most  of  her  verses  to  this  laudable  purpose,  and  u 
uch  a  determined  foe  to  reason,  that,  in  one  of  her  pasto- 
rals, she  congratulates  her  sheep  on  the  want  ol  it.  St.  Evre- 
uont  speaks  thus  upon  the  subject : 

"  UD  melange  incertain  d'espiit  et  de  matiere 
Nous  fait  vivre  avec  trop  ou  trop  peu  de  lumicre. 

Nature,  tieve-nous  a  la  clarte  des  anges, 
Ou  nous  abaise  au  sens  des  simples  auimaux." 
iVIiich  sentiments  I  have  thus  ventured  to  paraphrase: 
Had  man  been  made,  at  Nature's  birth, 
Of  only  flame,  or  only  earth, 
Had  he  been  form'd  a  perfect  whole 

Of  purely  Mat,  or  grossly  Uiii, 
Then  sense  would  ne'er  have  clouded  soul, 

Nor  soul  resirain'd  the  sense's  blisa. 
Oh  happy !  had  his  light  been  strong, 

Or  had  he  never  shared  a  light, 
Which  burns  enough  to  show  he  't  wrong, 

Yet  not  enough  to  lead  him  right! 

2  See  those  verses  upon  the  fallaciousness  of  the  sense*. 
eginning  "Fallunt  nos  oculi,"  etc.  among  the  fragments  of 
ironius.  The  most  sceptical  of  the  ancient  poets  was 
luripides,  and  I  defy  the  whole  school  of  Pyrrho  to  produce 
more  ingenious  doubt  than  the  following: 

Tl(  J'  01  J»v  II  £>-v  TOU  j'  0  xixX*T«l  Samr, 

To  £ii»  Ji  3»i(r«iiif  i«~ri. — See  Laert.  in  Pyrrli. 

s  and  Pinto  were  the  grand  sources  of  ancient 
rep-instil.     Cicero  tolls  us  (de  Orator,  lib.  iii.)  that  they 
upplied  Areesilits  with  the  doctrines  of  the  Middle  Acad,e- 
iv ;  and  how  much  these  resembled  the  tenets  of  tli 
c's,  may  be  seen  even  in  Sextus  Empiricus,  (lib.  i.  cap.  33.) 
who,  with  all  hi«  distinctions,  can  scarcely  prove  anyditTVr- 
nce.     One  is  sorry  to  fin. I  that  Epicurus  was  a  dogmatist; 
ml  I  rather  think  his  natural  temper  would  have  led  him  to 
ie  repose  of  scepticism,  if  tin- Stoics,  by  their  vioit1:  •' 
lion,  hail  not  forced  him  to  be  as  obstinate  as  themselves 
ideed  Plutarch,  in  reporting  some  of  his  opinions,  rcpio 
him  ns  delivering  them  with  considerable  hesitntion 
ovpo?  ouTir  *irQj-na>fKit  rflur-i'i',  iy^pivof  TOW  t*&t%* 
.    I)e  Placit.  Philosoph.  lib.  ii.  cap.  13.    See  nl-o  tha 
1st  and  02d  chapters.     But  that  the  leading  characteristic* 
f  the  sect  were  self-diifTicienry  and  dogmatism,  nppoan 
om  what  Cicero  says  of  Velleius,  De  Natur.  Deor. — "Turn 
iiis.  lidiMitur  snne,  ut  solent  is'i,  nibil  tarn  verens  quara 
e  dubitare  aliqua  de  re  videretur  " 


< 


230 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  cold  disgust  can  find  but  wrinkles  there, 

Where  passion  fancies  all  that 's  smooth  and  fair. 

•  *  •  *,  who  sees,  upon  his  pillow  laid, 

A  face  for  which  ten  thousand  pounds  were  paid, 

Can  tell,  how  quick  before  a  jury  flies 

The  spell  that  mock'd  the  warm  seducer's  eyes ! 

Seff  is  the  medium  least  refined  of  all 

Through  which  opinion's  searching  beam  can  fall ; 

And,  passing  there,  the  clearest,  steadiest  ray 

Will  tinge  its  light  and  turn  its  line  astray. 

Th'  Ephesian  smith  a  holier  charm  espied 

In  Dian's  toe,  than  all  his  heaven  beside ;' 

And  true  religion  shines  not  half  so  true 

On  one  good  living  as  it  shines  on  two. 

Had  W— Ic— t  first  been  pension'd  by  the  Throne, 

Kings  would  have  suffer' d  by  his  praise  alone ; 

And  P — ine  perhaps,  for  something  snug  per  ann., 

Had  laugh'd,  like  W— 11— ely,  at  all  Rights  of  Man ! 

But  'tis  not  only  individual  minds 

That  habit  tinctures,  or  that  interest  blinds ; 

Whole  nations,  fool'd  by  falsehood,  fear,  or  pride, 

Their  ostrich-heads  in  self-illusion  hide  : 

Thus  England,  hot  from  Denmark's  smoking  meads, 

Turns  up  her  eyes  at  Gallia's  guilty  deeds ; 

Thus,  selfish  still,  the  same  dishonouring  chain 

She  binds  in  Ireland,  she  would  break  in  Spain ; 

While  praised  at  distance,  but  at  home  forbid, 

Rebels  in  Cork  are  patriots  at  Madrid  ! 

Oh  !  trust  me,  Self  can  cloud  the  brightest  cause, 

Or  gild  the  worst ; — and  then,  for  nations'  laws ! 

Go,  good  civilian,  shut  thy  useless  book ; 

In  force  alone  for  laws  of  nations  look.       ' 

Let  shipless  Danes  and  whining  Yankees  dwell 

On  naval  rights,  with  Grotius  and  Vattel, 

While  C — bb— t's  *  pirate  code  alone  appears 

Sound  moral  sense  to  England  and  Algiers  ! 

Woe  to  the  Sceptic,  in  these  party  days, 

Who  burns  on  neither  shrine  the  balm  of  praise ! 

For  him  no  pension  pours  its  annual  fruits, 

No  fertile  sinecure  spontaneous  shoots ; 

Not  Aw  the  meed  that  crown'd  Don  H — kh — m's 

rhyme, 

Nor  sees  he  e'er,  in  dreams  of  future  time, 
Those  shadowy  forms  of  sleek  reversions  rise, 
So  dear  to  Scotchmen's  second-sighted  eyes ! 


1  See  AcU,  chap,  xix.;  where  every  line  reminds  one  of 
thrive  reverend  craftsmen  who  are  so  ready  to  cry  out — 
"Th«  church  in  in  danger!" 

"  For  a  certain  man  named  Demetrius,  a  silversmith, 
which  .nade  silver  shrinei  for  Diana,  brought  no  small  gain 
unto  ill.:  craftsmen: 

'•\Vhom  he  called  together,  wilh  the  workmen  of  like 
occupation,  and  said,  Sirs,  ye  know  that  by  this  craft  we 
have  our  wealth: 

"  So  that  not  only  this  our  craft  is  likely  to  be  get  at 
nought,  but  also  that  the  temple  of  the  great  goddess  Diana 
•houlil  be  despised,"  etc.  etc. 

•2  With  most  of  thii  writer's  latter  politic*  I  confess  I  feel 
a  most  l.e-irtv  concurrence,  and  perhaps,  if  I  were  on  Eng- 
lishman, my  pride  might  lend  me  to  acquiesce  in  that  system 
of  lawle«s,  unlimited  sovereignty,  which  he  claims  so  boldly 
for  hi«  country  AI  «i-a;  but,  viewing  the  question  somewhat 
more  ilimnt.Twtcdly,  nn-l  a<  a  friend  to  the  common  rights 
of  mankind,  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  doctrines  which 
bf i  maintained  upon  thi;  Copenhagen  expedition,  nnd  the 
diffrreiiRf*  with  America,  would  establish  a  species  of  mari- 
tim-  tyr.innv.  an  AMMdiUbti  to  the  character  of  Knulnnd 
•i  it  Hould  be  galling  and  unjust  to  the  other  nations  of  the 


Yet  who,  that  looks  to  time's  accusing  leaf, 
Where  Whig  and  Tory,  thief  opposed  to  thief, 
On  either  side  in  lofty  sharne  are  seen,1 
While  Freedom's  form  hangs  crucified  between—- 
Who, B — rd—  tt,  who  such  rival  rogues  can  see, 
But  flies  from  both  to  honesty  and  thee  ? 

If,  giddy  with  the  world's  bewildering  maze,2 
Hopeless  of  finding,  through  its  weedy  ways, 
One  flower  of  truth,  the  busy  crowd  we  shun, 
And  to  the  shades  of  tranquil  learning  run, 
How  many  a  doubt  pursues  !3  how  oft  we  sigh, 
When  histories  charm,  to  think  that  histories  lie ! 
That  all  are  grave  romances,  at  the  best, 
And  M — sgr — ve's4  but  more  clumsy  than  the  rest ! 
By  Tory  Hume's  seductive  page  beguiled, 
We  fancy  Charles  was  just  and  Strafford  mild  ;* 
And  Fox  himself,  with  party  pencil,  draws 
Monmouth  a  hero,  "  for  the  good  old  cause !"" 
Then,  rights  are  wrongs,  and  victories  are  defeats, 
As  French  or  English  pride  the  tale  repeats  ; 
And,  when  they  tell  Corunna's  story  o'er, 
They'll  disagree  in  all,  but  honouring  Moore ! 


1  This  I  have  borrowed  from  Ralph, —  Use  and  Jbusc  of 
Parliaments,  p.  J64. 

2  The  agitation  of  the  ship  is  one  of  the  chief  difficultiei 
which  impede  the  discovery  of  the  longitude  lit  sea  ;  and  the 
tumult  and  hurry  of  life  are  equally  unfavourable  to  that 
calm  level  of  mind  which  is  necessary  to  an  inquirer  after 
truth. 

In  the  mean  time,  our  modest  Sceptic,  in  the  absence  of 
truth,  contents  himself  with  probabilities,  resembling  in  this 
respect  those  suitors  of  Penelope,  who,  when  they  found 
that  they  could  not  possess  the  mistress  herself,  very  wisely 
resolved  to  put  up  with  her  maids ;  T>I  If>ivjxo7r>!  *-x,>;cri*£n» 

ftTf      £vvX,«4V2i,     T**$      TXVTtlf     «/<*^VUTO     SipXTT  XI  VXtf . Plu- 

tarch  rifpi  JlmSav  Aytuyiif. 

3  See  a  curious  work,  entitled,  "  Reflections  upon  Learn- 
ins,"  written  on  the  plan  of  Agrippa's  "  Di>  Vanilate  Scien- 
tiarum,"  but  much  more  honestly  and  skilfully  executed. 

4  This  historian  of  the  Irish  rebellions  has  outrun  even 
his  predecessor  in  the  same  task,  Sir  John  Temple,  for  whose 
character  with  respect  to  veracity  the  reader  may  consult 
Carte's  Collection  of  Ormond's  Original  Papers,  p.  207.    S  a 
also  Dr.  Nelson's  account  of  him,  in  the  Introduction  to  the 
second  volume  of  his  Historic.  CdMect 

5  He  defends  Stafford's  conduct  as  "  innocent  ami  even 
laudable."     In  the  same  spirit,  speaking  of  the  arbitrary 
sentences  of  the  Star  Chamber,  he  says — "The  severity  of 
the  Star  Chamber,  which  was  generally  ascribed  to  Laud's 
passionate   disposition,  was  perhaps,  in   itself,  somewhat 
blamcable." — See  Towers  upon  Hume. 

6  That  flexibility  of  temper  and  opinion,  which  the  habits 
of  scepticism  are  so  calculated  to  produce,  are  thus  pleaded 
for  by  Mr.  Fox,  in  the  very  sketch  of  Monmouth  to  which 
I  allude;  and  this  part  of  the  picture  the  historian  may  be 
thought  to  have  drawn  for  himself.     "  One  of  the  most 
conspicuous  features  in  his  character  scorns  to  have  been  a 
remarkable,  and,  as  some  think,  a  culpable  degree  of  flexi- 
bility.   That  such  a  disposition  is  preferable  to  its  opposite 
extreme  will  be  admitted  by  all,  who  think  that  modesty, 
even  in  excess,  is  more  nearly  allied  to  wisdom  than  conceit 
and  self-sufficiency.    He  who  has  attentively  considered  the 
political,  or  indeed  the  general  concerns  of  life,  may  possibly 
so  still  further,  and  may  rank  a  willinsnoss  to  be  convinced, 
or,  in  pome  cases,  even  without  conviction,  to  concede  our 
own  opinion  to  that  of  other  men,  among  the  principal  in- 
eredients  in  the  composition  of  practical  wisdom." — The 
Sceptic's  readiness  of  concession,  however,  arises  more  from 
uncertainty  than  conviction,  more  from  a  suspicion  that  Ms 
own  opinion  may  he  wrong,  than  from  any  persuasion  that 
the  opinion  of  his  adversary  is  right.     "It  may  be  so,"  %vrta 
the  courteous  and  sceptical  formula,  with  which  the  Dutch 
were  accustomed  to  reply  to  the  statements  of  ambassadors 
—See  I.loyiTs  State  Worthies,  art.  Sir  Thomas  Wiat. 

To  the  historical  fragment  of  Mr.  Fox,  we  may  apply 
what  Pliny  says  of  the  last  unfinished  works  of  celebrated 
artists — "  In  lenncinio  commendationis  dolo"  est  nianus,  cum 
id  ageret,  extincta?." — Lib.  xxxv.  cap.  2. 


THE  SCEPTIC. 


23] 


Nay,  future  pens,  to  flatter  future  courts, 
May  cite  perhaps  the  Park-guns'  gay  reports, 
To  prove  that  England  triumph'd  on  the  morn 
Which  found  her  Junot's  jest  and  Europe's  scorn ! 

In  science  too — how  many  a  system,  raised 
Like  Neva's  icy  domes,  awhile  hath  blazed 
With  lights  of  fancy  and  with  forms  of  pride, 
Then,  melting,  mingled  with  the  oblivious  tide . 
Now  Earth  usurps  the  centre  of  the  sky, 
Now  Newton  puts  the  paltry  planet  by  ; 
Now  whims  revive  beneath  DescartesV  pen, 
Which  now,  assail'd  by  Locke's,  expire  again: 
And  when,  perhaps,  in  pride  of  chemic  powers, 
We  think  the  keys  of  Nature's  kingdom  ours, 
Some  Davy's  magic  touch  the  dream  unsettles, 
And  turns  at  once  our  alkalis  to  metals  ! 

Or,  should  we  roam,  in  metaphysic  maze, 

Through  fair-built  theories  of  former  days, 

Some  Dr — mm — d2  from  the  north,  more  ably  skill'd, 

Like  other  Goths,  to  ruin  than  to  build, 

Tramples  triumphant  through  our  fanes  o'erthrown, 

Nor  leaves  one  grace,  one  glory  of  his  own ! 

-  Oh  Learning!  Learning!  whatsoe'er  thy  boast, 
Unletter'd  minds  have  taught  and  chann'd  us  most: 
The  rude,  unread  Columbus  was  our  guide 
To  worlds,  which  learn'd  Lactantius  had  denied, 
And  one  wild  Shakspeare,  following  Nature's  lights, 
Is  worth  whole  planets,  fill'd  with  Stagyrites  ! 


1  Descartes,  who  is  considered  as  the  parent  of  modern 
scepticism,  savs,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  whole;  nuii'i-  ol 
jihild.-ophy  which  docs  not  admit  of  two  opposite  opinions, 
and  wlucii  is  not  involved  in  doubt  and  uncertainty.     "  In 
Philosophia  nihil  arlhuc  reperiri,  de  quo  nun  in  ulramquc 
imrtmi  ilisputnlur,  hoc  est,  quod  non  sit  incertum  et  dubi- 
n m."     CJiii-scmTi  is  another   of  our   modern    sceptics,  and 
WedderkopiF,  in  his  Dissertation  "De  Sccptirismo  prof;mo 
et  sucro"  (Argentornt.  IfiliC,)  has  denounced  Erasmus  as  a 
follower  of  Pvrrho,  for  his  opinions  upon  the  Trinity,  and 
gomo  other  suhjects.     To  these  if  we  add  the  names  of 
Bayle,  Mallebranclie,  Drydcn,  Lfmko,  etc.  etc.  I  think  there 
is  no  one  who  need  be  ashamed  of  doubling  in  such  company. 

2  See  this  gentleman's  Academic  ti>"jstions. 


See  grave  Theology,  when  once  she  stravs 
From  Revelation's  path,  what  tricks  she  plays ! 
How  many  various  heavens  liath  Fancy's  wing 
Explored  or  touch'd  from  Papias1  down  to  King!' 
And  hell  itself,  in  India  nought  but  smoke,3 
In  Spain 's  a  furnace,  and  in  France — a  joke 

Hail,  modest  ignorance !  thou  goal  and  prize, 
Thou  last,  best  knowledge  of  the  humbly  wise  ! 
Hail,  sceptic  ease !  when  error's  waves  are  pa^t. 
How  sweet  to  reach  thy  tranquil  port*  at  last, 
And,  gently  rock'd  in  undulating  doubt, 
Smile  at  the  sturdy  winds  which  war  without ! 
There  gentle  Charity,  who  knows  how  frail 
The  bark  of  Virtue,  even  in  summer's  gale, 
Sits  by  the  nightly  fire,  whose  beacon  glows 
For  all  who  wander,  whether  friends  or  foes  ! 
There  Faith  retires,  and  keeps  her  white  sail  furl'd, 
Till  call'd  to  spread  it  for  a  purer  world ; 
While  Patience  lingers  o'er  the  weedy  shore, 
And,  mutely  waiting  till  the  storm  be  o'er, 
Turns  to  young  Hope,  who  still  directs  his  eye 
To  some  blue  spot,  just  breaking  in  the  sky ! 

These  are  the  mild,  the  blest  associates  given 

To  him  who  doubts,  and  trusts  in  nought  but  Heaven 


1  Papias  lived  about  the  time  of  the  Apostles,  and  is  sup 
posed  to  have  given  birth  to  the  heresy  of  the  Cliiliasttr,  whose 
heaven  was  by  no  means  of  a  spiritual  nature,  but  rather  uo 
anticipation  of  the  Prophet  of  Hera's  elysium.     Sue  Euso- 
luiis   Hist.  Ecclesiast.  lib.  iii.  cap.  33,  and  Hieronym.  de 
Scriptor.  Ecclesiast. — though,  from  all  that  I  can  find  in 
these  authors  concerning  Papias,  it  seems  hardly  fair  to  im- 
pute to  him  those  gross  imaginations  in  which  the  believer! 
of  the  sensual  mill  run  mm  indulged. 

2  King,  in  his  Morsels  of  Criticism,  vol.  i.  supposes  the 
sun  to  he  the  receptacle  of  blessed  spirits. 

3  The  Indians  call  hell  "The  House  of  Smoke."     See 
Picart  upon  the  Religion  of  the  Banians.    The  reader  who 
is  curious  about  infernal  matters  may  be  edified  by  consult- 
ing Rusca  de  Inferno,  particularly  lib.  ii.  cap.  7,8,  where  he 
will  find  the  precise  sort  of  fire  ascertained  in  which  wicked 
spirits  are  to  be  burned  hereafter. 

4  "Chere    Sceptique,   douce    pftture  de  mon   amo,  et 
I'unique  port  de  salut  a  un  esprit  qui  aime  le  repos  '."—J,a 
Mvthe  le  Payer. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON, 


DEDICATION. 


TO  HIS  ROYAL  HIGHNESS  THE  PRINCE  OF  WALES. 
S,R     In  allowing  me  to  dedicate  this  work  to  your  Royal  Highness,  you  have  conferred  upon 
me  an'T.onou  "STfeel  very  sens.bly  :  and  1  have  only  to  regret  that  the  pages  wbach  you  have 
thus  distinguished  are  not  more  deserving  of  such  illustnous  patronage. 
Believe  me,  SIR, 
With  every  sentiment  of  respect, 
Your  Royal  Highness's 
Very  grateful  and  devoted  Servant, 
THOMAS  MOORE. 

ADVERTISEMENT.                        \ 

It  may  be  necessary  to  mention  that,  in  arranging  ; 
the  Odes,  the  Translator  has  adopted  the  order  of 
the  Vatican  MS.    For  those  who  wish  to  refer  to  the  j 
original,  he  has  prefixed  an  Index,  which  marks  the 
number  of  each  ode  in  Barnes  and  the  other  editions. 

INDEX. 

ODE.                                                                                                       BARNES. 

>r,E.                                                                       BARNES 

..7 

a  iv      rip    ft 

..4 

r  r                 r** 

..3 

.43 

.40 

.23 

..8 

.41 

1  ^      ^ 

.47 

1  u  ,y  £       ?  a 

.24 

.66 

.42 

0  c  ** 

..6 

48 

*t^uT*  **    f 

..5 

49 

,°  p°  ov  ™ 

.25 

17 

T    ', 

.37 

^   ** 

18 

.38 

6  Erc^of  TT\c<ciav  nor"  tlpov 

59 

'n^  y^p     ^       ^  XO 

..26 

11 

T"V             *  5  n          n 

..27 

tyovaiv       yv         j 

15 

..39 

^     **         0        ^ 

31 

£yu     i 

..34 

in  T      **  fl  \  * 

12 

..36 

..     '  "                 n 

10 

..54 

13 

..35 

14 

**       »     tT 

..53 

32 

..50 

9 

..51 

16  Ayt,  £u»ypa<£<i>v  api^t.... 
17  Tpcupt  /ioi  BadvXXov  olru 

28 
29 

58  'O  ^parera?  /i*  b  ^pvaof  ....  ---•  -•--  -••-  ••- 

..65 
..52 

21 

..64 

19  TIapa  r>jv  <r<rti)V  BaOuXXov 

22 

*        +        *        *        *       * 

.  56 

30 

19 

57 

20 

58 

23  f)tX«  Xtytiv  Arpniat  

2 

64  rouvou^ai  <r\  cXa^poAe..-.  .....-....-...- 

..60 
61 

33 

62 

26  Xu  ptv  Xtytif  ra  0ij/?ijy  . 

1C 

67 

55 

68 

For  the  order  of  the  rest,  see  the  Notes 

46 

ODES  OF  ANACREOX. 


233 


AN  ODE 

BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


KFII  'oi'ij'otf  rnri7<ri, 
Tiit^f  iror'  &  /uX<;-»7j 
'IXapoj  ysXuv  t«rt«ro. 

MffluulV  Tt  Ktlt  XllplyJ 

A/*0i  atTOV  oi  (T  cfJUT 
'A-n\ut  avve^optveav 
O  fltXi;  TO  T;;J  Kn 


O  At  Xct'xa  TTDpfvpoi 
Kpiva  (HIV  po&otiri  TrX 
E0iXei  $t<j>u>v  ytpovr 
H  (U  Scaur  at'uirovi, 


E<rop<ixr'  AvaKpcovra, 
Kaoptixra  rovj  tptarast 
Yrofi£tcWcr<raj  EITTE* 
Xo$s,  5'  if  Avaxpcovra 
Tov  aotyuiTarov  aTravriav, 
KjXfouaiv  01  (ro:f'><j-«<, 
Ti,  y£j)a>v,  Ttov  /3iov  //EV 
Tnis  £/)a«ri,  r<j>  Avaip, 
K'  one  ffioi  icpaTf.iv  e&u>Kas  ; 
Ti  <j>t\>ifia  TTIS  KiOripr/s, 
TJ  (turtXXa  TOD  Auaiou, 
Aitl  y'  crpv<prj^af  qfwn, 
Ou<r  tpovs  VO/JLOVS  ittacKwv, 
OVK  tfiov  Xa^uiv  awruy; 
'O  fo  TI?IOJ  incXi^rjf 
Mi/rt  ^u<r^tpaivt,  <pn<"i 
'Or<,  Oca,  <rou  y*  avcu  /uv, 
*O  ao^wrarof  aravriDV 
Ilapa  ruv  crofuiv  Ka\ovjiai' 
^1X101,  ir«i>,  Xufyi^uj, 
Mera  ruiv  KaXuv  yuyaixaiy 
A^fXu;  Jf  rt^-i'a  rai^ui, 
iii  Xu/ir;  yap,  t//ov  ijrop 
Av«^^£«  jtovovf  iptaras' 
'&ltt  fttorov 


Ou  aoifios  pt\(ftios  ci/ti  ; 
T(f  <ro<p<artpos  jtcv  £$-i. 


REMARKS  OJf  ANACREON 

THWIE  is  very  little  known  with  certainty  of  the 
life  of  Anacrcon.  Chamxleon  Heracleotes,1  who 
wrote  upon  the  subject,  has  been  lost  in  the  general 
wreck  of  ancient  literature.  The  editors  of  the  poet 
have  collected  the  few  trifling  anecdotes  which  are 
scattered  through  the  extant  authors  of  antiquity,  and, 
supplying  the  deficiency  of  materials  by  fictions  of 
their  own  imagination,  they  have  arranged,  what  they 
call,  a  life  of'Anacreon.  These  specious  fabrications 
are  intended  to  indulge  that  interest  which  we  natu- 
rally feel  in  the  biography  of  illustrious  men ;  but  it 
is  rather  a  dangerous  kind  of  illusion,  as  it  confounds 


1  He  is  quoted  by  Atlirnxus  <v 
2  G 


the  limits  of  history  and  romance,1  and  is  too  often 
supported  by  unfaithful  citation.1 

Our  poet  was  born  in  the  city  of  T^os,  in  the  deli- 
cious region  of  Ionia,  where  every  thing  respired 
voluptuousness.3  The  time  of  his  birth  appears  to 
have  been  in  the  sixth  century  before  Christ,4  and  he 
flourished  at  that  remarkable  period  when,  under  the 
polished  tyrants  Hipparchus  and  Polycrates,  Atli-ns 
and  Samos  were  the  rival  asylums  of  genius.  The 
name  of  his  father  is  doubtful,  and  therefore  cannot 
be  very  interesting.  His  family  was  perhaps  illustri- 
ous, but  those  who  discover  in  Plato  that  he  was  a 
descendant  of  the  monarch  Codrus,  exhibit,  as  usual, 
more  zeal  than  accuracy.* 

The  disposition  and  talents  of  Anacreon  recom- 
mended him  to  the  monarch  of  Samos,  and  he  was 
formed  to  be  the  friend  of  such  a  prince  as  Polycra- 
tes. Susceptible  only  to  the  pleasures,  he  felt  not 
the  corruptions  of  the  court ;  and  while  Pythagoras 
fled  from  the  tyrant,  Anacreon  was  celebrating  his 
praises  on  the  lyre  We  are  told  too  by  Maxiinus 
Tyrius,  that  by  the  influence  of  his  amatory  songs  he 
softened  the  mind  of  Polycrates  into  a  spirit  of  be- 
nevolence toward  his  subjects.6 

The  amours  of  the  poet  and  the  rivalship  of  the 
tyrant7  I  shall  pass  over  in  silence;  and  there  are 
few,  I  presume,  who  will  regret  the  omission  of  most 
of  those  anecdotes,  which  the  industry  of  some  editors 
has  not  only  promulged  but  discussed.  Whatever  is 
repugnant  to  modesty  and  virtue  is  considered  in 
ethical  science,  by  a  supposition  very  favourable  to 
humanity,  as  impossible ;  and  this  amiable  persuasion 
should  be  much  more  strongly  entertained  where  the 
transgression  wars  with  nature  as  well  as  virtue 
But  why  are  we  not  allowed  to  indulge  in  the  pre- 
sumption? Why  are  we  officiously  reminded  that 
there  have  been  such  instances  of  depravity  ? 

Hipparchus,  who  now  maintained  at  Athens  the 


1  The  History  of  Anacreon,  by  Momieur  Gacon  (le  JK>- 
Hte  sang  fard)  is  professedly  a  romance ;  nor  does  Mudiv 
iniiisi'lli'  Scudcri,  from  whom  be  borrowed  ilir  I>1>  a,  pi.  :.  n,l 
to  historical  veracity  in  her  account  of  Anacreon  nml  S..ji- 
pho.     Tlirsi1,  then,  are  allowable.    But  bow  can  Barnes  be 
forgiven,  who,  with  all  the  confidence  of  u  biographer,  traces 
every  wandering  of  the  poet,  and  settles  him  in  hi*  old  age 
at  a  country  villa  near  TKIM  1 

2  The  learned  Monsieur  Baylo  has  detected  some  infideli- 
ties of  quotation  in  Le  Fevre.     See  Itictionnaire  Histo- 
riqur,elc.    Madame  Dacier  u  not  more  accurate  than  hci 
father:  they  have  almost  made  Anacreon  prime  minister  in 
the  monarch  of  Samos. 

3  The  Asiatics  were  as  remarkable  for  genius  as  for  lux- 
ury.   "  Ingunia  Asiatica  inclyla  per  gentes  fecere  povie, 
Anacreon,  inde  Mimnermus  et  Antimachus,"etc. — Snlinut. 

4  I  have  not  attempted  to  define  the  particular  Olympiad, 
but  have  adopted  the  idea  of  Bayle,  who  says,  "  Je  n'ai 
point   marque   d'Olympiade;  car,  pour  un  homme  qui  a 
vecu  85  ana,  il  me  semble  one  Ton  ne  doit  point  s'enfermer 
dans  des  borncs  si  etroitcs. 

5  This  mistake  is  founded  on  a  false  interpretation  of  a 
very  obvious  passage  in  Plato's  Dialogue  on  Tcmperim--*  ; 

!<•<!  with  Madame  Dacier,  and  has  been  r 
implicitly  by  many.    Gail,  a  late  editor  of  Annc-i  on,  sroms 
to  claim  to  himself  the  merit  of  detecting  this  error ;  but 
Bayle  hud  observed  it  before  him. 

(i  Av*xpi  i-v  Xxpiaif  li9\vxp*T!tv  rfiifxn. — Maxim.  Tyr. 
$21.   Maxiinus  Tyrius  mentions  tin-  amoof  other  n. 
of  the  influence  of  poetry.     If  Gail  had  read  Mnxn.un 
Tyrius,  how  could  he  ridicule  this  idea  in  Mouionnei,  as 
inmiilliiMiticated? 

7  In  thn  romance  of  Clelia,  the  anecdote  to  which  I  allude 
is  told  of  a  young  girl,  with  whom  Anacreon  fell  in  love, 
while  she  pe.rsonnted  the  god  Apollo  in  a  mask  Hut  her* 
Mademoiselle  Scuderi  consulted  nature  more  than  truth 


231 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


power  which  his  father  Pisistratus  had  usurped,  was 
one  of  those  elegant  princes  who  have  polished  the 
fetter*  of  their  subject*.  He  was  the  first,  according 
to  Plato,  who  edited  the  poems  of  Homer,  and  com- 
manded them  to  be  sung  by  the  rhapsodists  at  the 
celebration  of  the  Panathenaea.  As  his  court  was  the 
galaxy  of  genius,  Anacreon  should  not  be  absent. 
Hipparchus  sent  a  barge  for  him ;  the  poet  embraced 
the  invitation,  and  the  muses  and  the  loves  were 
wailed  with  him  to  Athens.1 

The  manner  of  Anacreon's  death  was  singular. 
We  are  told  that  in  the  eighty-fifth  year  of  his  age  he 
was  choked  by  a  grape-stone  ;2  and  however  we  may 
gmile  at  their  enthusiastic  partiality,  who  pretend  that 
it  was  a  peculiar  indulgence  of  Heaven,  which  stole 
him  from  the  world  by  this  easy  and  characteristic 
death,  we  cannot  help  admiring  that  his  fate  should 
be  so  emblematic  of  his  disposition.  Caelius  Calcag- 
ninus  alludes  to  this  catastrophe  in  the  following 
epitaph  on  our  poet : 
»  Then,  hallow'd  sage,  those  lips  which  pour'd  along 

The  «weetest  lapses  of  the  cygnet's  song, 
A  grape  has  closed  for  ever! 

Here  let  the  ivy  kin  the  poet't  tomb, 

Mere  let  the  rose  he  loved  with  laurels  bloom, 
In  bands  that  ne'er  shall  lever! 

But  far  be  thou,  oh !  far,  unholy  vine, 

By  whom  the  favourite  minstrel  of  the  Nine 
Expired  his  rosy  breath ; 

Thy  god  himself  now  blushes  to  confess, 

Unholy  vine !  he  feels  he  loves  thee  less, 

Sm"e  poor  Anacreon's  death ! 

There  can  scarcely  be  imagined  a  more  delightful 
theme  for  the  warmest  speculations  of  fancy  to  wan- 
ton upon,  than  the  idea  of  an  intercourse  between 
Anacreon  and  Sappho.  T  could  wish  to  believe  that 
they  were  contemporary :  any  thought  of  an  inter- 
change between  hearts  so  congenial  in  warmth  of 
.  passion  and  delicacy  of  genius  gives  such  play  to  the 
imagination,  that  the  mind  loves  to  indulge  in  it ;  but 
the  vision  dissolves  before  historical  truth ;  and  Cha- 
ma-leon  and  Hennesianax,  who  are  the  source  of  the 
supposition,  are  considered  as  having  merely  indulged 
in  a  poetical  anachronism.* 

1  There  is  a  very  interesting  French  poem  founded  upon 
this  anecdote,  imputed  to  Desyvetaux,  and  colled  "Ana- 
creon Ciloyen." 

2  Fabricius  appears  not  to  trust  very  implicitly  in  this 
story.    "  Uve  passe  acino  tandem  suffocatus,  si  credimus 
Suide  in  oi»oxoTii; ;  alii  enim  hoc  mortis  genere  perisse  tra- 
dunt  Sophoclem."     Fabricii.  Bibliothec.  Griec.  lib.  ii.  cup. 
15.     It  must  be  confessed  that  Lucian,  who  tells  us  that 
Sophocles  was  choked  by  a  grape-stone,  in  the  very  same 
treatise  mention*  the  longevity  of  Anacreon,  and  yet  is  silent 
oa  the  manner  of  his  death.     Could  he  have  been  ignorant 
Of  such  a  remarkable  coincidence,  or,  knowing,  could  he 
have  neglected  to  remark  ill    See  Regnier's  Introduction 
to  his  Anacreon. 

3  At  te,  sancte  senex,  acinus  sub  tartara  misit; 

Cy?np«  claosit  qui  tibi  vocis  iter. 
Vo«,  bedene,  tumulum,  tumulum  von,  cingite  lauri: 

Hoc  rosa  perpetuo  vernet  odora  loco ; 
At  vitis  procul  hino,  procul  hinc  odiosa  facesaat, 

ftiie  eausam  dire  prolulit,  uva,  necis, 
Creditor  ipse  minus  vitem  jam  Bacchus  amare, 

In  vatcm  tantum  que  fuit  ausa  nefas. 
Olio*  Calcagninus  has  translated  or  imitated  the  epigrams 
'{  TH,  M»j>.>o;  £ev«,  which  are  given  under  the  name  of 
Anacreon. 

4  Barnes  is  convinced  of  the  synchronism  of  Anacreon 
*nd  Sappho;  but  very  gratuitously.     In  citing  his  authori- 
bns.  it  is  strange  that  he  neglected  the  line  which  Fulviiu 


To  infer  the  moral  dispositions  of  a  poet  from  the 
tone  of  sentiment  which  pervades  his  works,  is  some- 
times a  very  fallacious  analogy :  but  th,e  soul  of  Ana- 
creon speaks  so  unequivocally  through  his  odes,  thai 
we  may  consult  them  as  the  faithful  mirrors  of  hu 
heart.1  We  find  him  there  the  elegant  voluptuan, 
diffusing  the  seductive  charm  of  sentiment  over  pas- 
sions and  propensities  at  which  rigid  morality  mist 
frown.  His  heart,  devoted  to  indolence,  seems  to  th>nk 
that  there  is  wealth  enough  in  happiness,  but  seldom 
happiness  enough  in  wealth ;  and  the  cheertuiiess 
with  which  he  brightens  his  old  age  is  interesting  and 
endearing:  like  his  own  rose,  he  is  fragrant  even  in 
decay.  But  the  most  peculiar  feature  of  his  mind  is 
that  love  of  simplicity  which  he  attributes  to  himseli 
so  very  feelingly,  and  which  breathes  characteris- 
tically through  all  that  he  has  sung.  In  truth,  if  we 
omit  those  vices  in  our  estimate  which  ethn.'c  religion 
not  only  connived  at  but  consecrated,  we  shall  say 
that  the  disposition  of  our  poet  was  amiable;  his 
morality  was  relaxed,  but  not  abandoned  ;  and  Vir- 
tue with  her  zone  loosened  may  be  an  emblem  of  the 
character  of  Anacreon.* 

Of  his  person  and  physiognomy  time  has  preserved 
such  uncertain  memorials,  that  perhaps  it  were  bet 
ter  to  leave  the  pencil  to  fancy  ;  and  few  can  read 
the  Odes  of  Anacreon  without  imagining  the  form  o' 
the  animated  old  bard,  crowned  with  roses,  and  sing- 
ing to  the  lyre.3 


Ursinus  has  quoted,  as  of  Anacreon,  amon°  the  testimonies 
to  Sappho : 

Fabricius  thinks  that  they  might  have  been  contemporary, 
but  considers  their  amour  as  a  tale  of  imagination.  Vossiug 
rejects  the  idea  entirely  as  also  Olaus  Borrichius,  ecc.  etc 

1  An  Italian  poet,  in  some  verses  on  Belleau's  translation 
of  Anacreon,  pretends  to  imagine  that  our  bard  did  not  feel 
us  he  wrote. 

Lyceum,  Venerem,  Cupidinemque 

Senex  lustt  Anacreon  poeta. 

Sed  quo  tempore  nee  capaciores 

Rogabat  cyathos,  nee  inquietis 

Urebatur  amoribus,  sed  ipsis 

Tii mum  vcrsibus  et  jocis  amabat, 

Nu.lum  pra;  se  habitum  gerens  amanti* 

To  Love  and  Bacchus,  ever  young, 

While  sage  Anacreon  touch'd  the  lyre 
He  neither  felt  the  loves  he  sung, 

Nor  fill'd  his  bowl  to  Bacchus  higher. 
Those  flowery  days  had  faded  long, 

When  youth  could  act  the  lover's  part; 
And  passion  trembled  in  hi- 

But  never,  never  reach'd  his  heart. 

2  Anacreon's    character  has  been   variously   coloured 
Barnes  lingers  on  it  with  enthusiastic  admiration,  but  he  is 
always  extravagant,  if  not  sometimes  even  profane.     Mon- 
sieur Baillet,  who  is  in  the  opposite  extreme,  exaggerates 
too  much  the  testimonies  which  he  has  consulted  ;  and  we 
cannot  surely  agre»  with  him  when  he  cites  such  a  compiler 
as  Athenacus,  as  "  un  des  plus  savans  critiques  de  1'antir 
quitc." — Jugemenl  des  Savans,  M.C.V. 

Barnes  could  not  have  rend  the  passage  to  which  he  re- 
fers, when  he  accuses  Le  Fevre  of  having  censured  our 
poet's  character  in  a  note  on  Longinus,  the  note  in  question 
is  manifest  irony,  in  allusion  to  some  reprHnension  which 
Le  Fevre  had  suffered  for  his  Anacreon;  and  it  is  evident 
that  prnise  rather  than  censure  is  intimated.  See  Johannes 
Vulpius  de  Utilitate  Poetices,  who  vindicates  our  poet's 
reputation. 

3  Johannes  Faber,  in  his  description  of  the  coin  of  Urei 
nus.  mentions  a  head  on  a  very  beautiful  cornelian,  which 
he  supposes  was  worn  in  a  ring  by  some  admirer  of  the  poet 
In  the  Iconograpliia  of  Canini  there   is  n  youthful  hend  of 
Anacreon  from  a  Grecian  medal,  with  the  letters  TEIOS 
around  if,  on  the  reverse  there  is  a  Neptune,  holding  a  spear 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


235 


After  the  very  enthusiastic  eulogiums  bestowed  by 
the  ancients  and  moderns  upon  the  poems  of  Ana- 
creon,1 we  qped  not  be  ditiident  in  expressing  our 
raptures  at  their  beauty,  nor  hesitate  to  pronounce 
them  the  most  polished  remains  of  antiquity.*  They 
are  all  beauty,  all  enchantment.3  He  steals  us  so  in- 
sensibly along  with  him,  that  we  sympathize  even  in 
his  excesses.  In  his  amatory  odes  there  is  a  delicacy 
of  compliment  not  to  be  found  in  any  other  ancient 
poet.  Love  at  that  period  was  rather  an  unrefined 
emotion;  and  the  intercourse  of  the  sexes  was  ani- 
mated more  by  passion  than  sentiment.  They  knew 
not.  those  little  tendernesses  which  form  the  spiritual 
part  of  affection ;  their  expression  of  feeling  was 
therefore  rude  and  unvaried,  and  the  poetry  of  Love 
deprived  of  its  most  captivating  graces.  Anacreon, 
however,  attained  some  ideas  of  this  gallantry  ;  and 
the  same  delicacy  of  mind  which  led  him  to  this  re- 
finement prevented  him  from  yielding  to  the  freedom 
of  language,  which  has  sullied  the  pages  of  all  the 
other  poets.  His  descriptions  are  warm ;  but  the 
warmth  is  in  the  ideas,  not  the  words.  He  is  sportive 
without  being  wanton,  and  ardent  without  being 
licentious.  His  poetic  invention  is  most  brilliantly 
displayed  in  those  allegorical  fictions  which  so  many 
have  endeavoured  to  imitate,  because  all  have  con- 
fessed them  to  be  inimitable.  Simplicity  is  the  dis- 
tinguishing feature  of  these  odes,  and  they  interest  by 
their  innocence,  while  they  fascinate  by  their  beauty  : 
they  are,  indeed,  the  infants  of  the  Muses,  and  may 
be  said  to  lisp  in  numbers. 

I  shall  not  be  accused  of  enthusiastic  partiality  by 


in  li :<  rijht  hand,  and  a  dolphin  'in  the  left,  with  the  word 
TIANllN,  inscribed,  "  volendoci  denolare  (says  Canini)  die 
quelle  ciltadini  la  coniiissero  in  honore  del  suo  rompatriota 
poeta."  There  is  also  among  the  conn  of  de  Wilde,  one 
which,  though  it  bears  no  etl>gy,  was  pr»lin!ily  struck  to  the 
memory  of  Anacreon.  It  has  the  word  THlliN,  encircled 
with  an  ivy  crown.  "  At  quidni  respint  luce  corona  Ana- 
creontem,  nobilem  lyricum  "!" — De  Wilde. 

1  Besides  those  wlin-li  arc  ex'.unt,  In;  wrote  hymns,  ele- 
gies, epigrams,  etc.     Some  of  the  np'grams  -nil  e\i-t.     Ho 
rare  alludes  to  a  poem  of  his  upon  the  rivalry  of  Circe  nnd 
Penelope  in  the  affections  of  Ulysses,  lib.  i.  od.  17.    The 
scholiast  upon  Nicander  cites  a  fragment  from  a  poem  upon 
sleep,  by  Anacreon,  and  attributes  to  him  likewise  a  medi- 
cinal treatise.     Fulgentius  mentions  a  work  of  his  upon  the 
war  between  Jupiter  and  the  Titans,  and  the  origin  of  the 
consecration  of  the  eagle. 

2  See  Horace,  Maximus  Tyrius,  etc.     "  His  style  (says 
Scnliger)  is   sweeter  than  the  juice  of  the   Indian  reed." 
I'o.Mi-es,  lib.  i.  cap.  44. — "  From  the  softness  of  Ins  verses 

•'.aiis  Borrichius)  the  ancients  bestowed  on  him  the 
epithets  sweet,  delicate,  graceful,  etc."  Dissertationes  Aca- 
demicic,  dc  Poetis,  diss.  L— ScafifW  again  praises  him  in  a 
nun;  speaking  of  the  pt^tt,  or  ode,  "  Anacreon  niitem  non 
tolum  dedit  hiec  piii,  sed  etiiitn  in  iupis  mella." — See  the 
[)u-sn:.'e  of  Riipin,  quoted  by  nil  the  editors.  I  cannot  omit 
citing  tin;  following  very  spirited  apostrophe  of  tliu  author 
of  the  Commentary  prefixed  to  the  Parma  edition  :  "  O  vos, 
sublimes  animap,  vos,  Apollinis  alumni,  qui  post  unum  Alc- 
nianem  in  tola  Hellade  lyricam  poesitn  exsuscitastis,  coluistis, 
nmpliticaslis,  quaeso  vos  an  iillu«,  imqirim  fuerit  vales  qui 
Teio  cnntori  vel  naturae  candorevel  metri  suavitatepalmam 
pr;i-ri|)ii-rit."  See  likewise  Vinc.'ii/o  Gravini  della  Rng. 
Poetic,  lihro  primo,  p.  !I7. — Among  tlie  Ritral'i  del  Cavalier 
Marino,  there  is  one  of  Anacreon  beginning  Cingetemi  la 
fronle,  etc.  etc. 

3  "  We  may  perceive,"  says  Vossius,  "  that  the  iteration 
of  his  words  conduces  very  much  to  the  sweetness  ut   h> 
ityle."     Henry  Stephen  remarks  the  same  beauty  in  a  note 
on  the  forty-fourth  ode.     This  figure  of  iteration  is  his  most 
appropriate  grace.     Thj  modern  writers  of  Juvenilia  and 
Bnsia   have  adopted   it  to  an  excess  which  destroys  the 

ffcct. 


those  who  have  read  and  felt  the  original;  but  to 
others  I  am  conscious  that  this  should  not  be  tin-  lan- 
guage of  a  translator,  whose  faint  reflection  of  these 
beauties  can  but  little  justify  his  admiration  of  them. 

In  the  age  of  Anacreon  music  and  poetry  were  in- 
separable. These  kindred  talents  were  for  a  long 
time  associated,  and  the  poet  always  sung  his  own 
compositions  to  the  lyre.  It  is  probable  that  they  wert 
not  set  to  any  regular  air,  but  rather  a  kind  of  musical 
recitation,  which  was  varied  according  to  the  fancy 
and  feelings  of  the  moment.1  The  poems  of  Ana- 
creon were  sung  at  banquets  as  late  as  the  time  of 
Aulus  Gellius,  who  tells  us  that  he  heard  one  of  the 
odes  performed  at  a  birth-day  entertainment.1 

The  singular  beauty  of  our  poet's  style,  and  per- 
haps the  careless  facility  with  which  he  appears  to 
have  trifled,  have  induced,  as  I  remarked,  a  number 
of  imitations.  Some  have  succeeded  with  wonder- 
ful felicity,  as  may  be  discerned  in  the  few  od<» 
which  are  attributed  to  writers  of  a  later  period.  But 
none  of  his  emulators  have  been  so  dangerous  to  his 
fame  as  those  Greek  ecclesiastics  of  the  early  ages, 
who,  conscious  of  inferiority  to  their  prototypes,  de- 
termined on  removing  the  possibility  of  comparison, 
and,  under  a  semblance  of  moral  zeal,  destroyed  the 
most  exquisite  treasures  of  antiquity.3  Sappho  and 
Alcaeus  were  among  the  victims  of  this  violation ;  and 
the  sweetest  flowers  of  Grecian  literature  fell  be- 
neath the  rude  hand  of  ecclesiastical  presumption. 
It  is  true  they  pretended  that  this  sacrifice  of  genius 
was  canonized  by  the  interests  of  religion  ;  but  I  have 
already  assigned  the  most  probable  motive  ;4  and  if 
Gregorius  Nazianzenus  had  not  written  Anacreon- 
tics, we  might  now  perhaps  have  the  works  of  the 
Teian  unmutilated,  and  be  empowered  to  say  exult- 
ingly  with  Horace, 

Nee  HI  quid  olim  lusit  Anacrcon 

Dele  V  it  HJtaS. 

The  zeal  by  which  these  bishops  professed  to  be  ac- 
tuated gave  birth,  more  innocently,  indeed,  to  an 
absurd  species  of  parody,  as  repugnant  to  piety  as  it 
is  to  taste,  where  the  poet  of  voluptuousness  wa« 
made  a  preacher  of  the  gospel,  and  his  muse,  like  the 
Venus  in  armour  at  Laccdxmon,  was  arrayed  in  all 
the  severities  of  priestly  instruction.  Such  was  the 


1  In  the  Paris  edition  there  are  four  of  the  original  ode* 
set  to  musif,  bv  citizens  Le  Siieur,  (lossec,  Mehul,  «c  '.  Che- 
rubim.   "On  chante  du  Latin  et  de  I'ltalien,"  navi  Gail, 
"quelquefois  memo   sail*  lea  entendre;  qui  empcche  que 
nous  ne  clmntions  de*  ode*  Grecques  ?"     The  cbromauc 
learning  of  these  composer*  ii  very  unlike  what  we  are  told 
of  the  simple  melody  of  the  ancients;  and  they  have  ali 
mistaken  the  accentuation  of  the  wordi. 

2  The  Parma  commentator  is  rather  carelec*  in  referring 
to  this  passage  of  Aulus  Gellius  (lib.  xix.  cap.  9.) — The  odu 
was  not  sung  by  the  rhetorician  Julianui,  a*  he  'ays,  but 
by  the  minstrels  of  both  sexes,  who  wero  introduced  at  the 
entertainment. 

3  See  what  Colomesius,  in  his  "  Literary  Treasures,"  hai 
quoted  from  Alcyonius  de  Exilio :  it  may  be  found  in  Bax- 
ter.    Colomesius,  after  citing  the  passage,  addi,  "  HSBC  auro 
contra  cara  non  potui  not!  appom-re." 

4  We  may  perceive  by  the  beginning  of  the  first  hymn  ol 
Bishop  Synesius,  that  he  made  Anacreon  and  Sappho  hi» 
models  of  composition. 


T 

AIO-S 


«8.J« 


n  n:*,n* 


Marsnniu*  and  Damaccenu*  were  likewise  aiithoH  of  pioit 
I  Anacreontic* 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"  Anacreon  Recantatus,"  by  Carolus  de  Aquino,  a 
Jesuit,  published  1701,  which  consisted  of  a  series  of 
palinodes  to  the  several  songs  of  our  poet.  Such  too 
was  the  Christian  Anacreon  of  Patrignauus,  another 
Jesuit,1  who  preposterously  transferred  to  a  most 
•acred  subject  all  that  Anacreon  had  sung  to  festivity. 

His  metre  has  been  very  frequently  adopted  by  the 
modem  Latin  poeta.  Scaliger,  Taubmannus,  Bar- 
thius,'  and  others,  have  evinced  that  it  is  by  no 
means  uncongenial  with  that  language.3  The  Ana- 
creontics of  Scaliger,  however,  scarcely  deserve  the 
name ;  they  are  glittering  with  conceits,  and,  though 
often  elegant,  are  always  laboured.  The  beautiful 
fictions  of  Angerianus,*  have  preserved,  more  hap- 
pily than  any,  the  delicate  turn  of  those  allegorical 
fables,  which,  frequently  passing  through  the  me- 
diums of  version  and  imitation,  have  generally  lost 
their  finest  rays  in  the  transmission.  Many  of  the 
Italian  poets  have  sported  on  the  subjects,  and  in  the 
manner  of  Anacreon.  Bernardo  Tasso  first  introduced 
the  metre,  which  was  afterwards  polished  and  en- 
riched by  Chabriera  and.  others.5  If  we  may  judge 
by  the  references  of  Degen,  the  German  language 
abounds  in  Anacreontic  imitations  •  and  Hagedorn6 
is  one  among  many  who  have  assumed  him  as  a 
model.  La  Farre,  Chaulieu,  and  the  other  light  poets 
of  France,  have  professed  too  to  cultivate  the  muse 
of  Teos ;  but  they  have  attained  all  her  negligence, 
with  little  of  the  grace  that  embellishes  it.  In  the 
delicate  bard  of  Chiras7  we  find  the  kindred  spirit  of 
Anacreon:  some  of  his  gazelles,  or  songs,  possess 
all  the  character  of  our  poet. 

We  come  now  to  a  retrospect  of  the  editions  of 
Anacreon.  To  Henry  Stephen  we  are  indebted  for 
having  first  recovered  his  remains  from  the  obscurity 
in  which  they  had  reposed  for  so  many  ages.  He 
found  the  seventh  ode,  as  we  are  told,  on  the  cover 
of  an  old  book,  and  communicated  it  to  Viotorius, 
who  mentions  the  circumstance  in  his  "Various 
Readings."  Stephen  was  then  very  young;  and  this 
discovery  was  considered  by  some  critics  of  that  day 


1  This,  perhaps,  if  the  "  Jcsuita  qniilam  Grieculiis"  al- 
luded lo  by  Barnes,  who  has  himself  composed  an  Avaxpfwv 
XpiTTiave,-,  as  absurd  as  the  rest,  but  somewhat  more  skil- 
fully executed. 

2  I  have  seen  somewhere  an  account  of  the  MSS.  of  Bar- 
thius,  written  just  »fter  1>U  diMib,  which  mentions  many 
mure  Anacreontic*  of  his  than  I  believe  liuve  ever  been  pub- 
h»hed. 

3  Thus  too  Albertus,  a  Danish  poet: 

Fiilii  itii  minister 
Gaodebo  temper  esse 

'"i  simper  ilii 

•'niiri-  mnlxo  ; 
Ganilelm  -euiper  ilium 

•••  pnTiiilillis 
AnacreonticilliK. 

Bee  tho  Danish  PoeN  collected  by  Rostgaard. 

1  •  y  translation.  There  is  a  very 

seauliful  Anacreontic  by  Hugo  GrotiuH.    See  lib.  i.  Fur- 
raginii. 

4  From  An;priano3,  Prior  has  taken  h:s  most  elc»ant 
juvlh'doji'-Jil  mli|'  •<•!«. 

•i!>.  -ni,  llin'nrn  dclh  Vole.  Poes. 

8  l/aimnlile  Hngedorn  vaiit  quelquel'oix  Anacreon.  Do- 
l«t,  Idee  (In  In  Poi'.ie  Allemnn.K 

7  8c«  Todrrini  on  tl.p  learning  -if  the  Turks,  as  translated 
1»r  DP  f'onrnsrd.  Prince  Pantemir  lia*  tnnile  the  Russians 
acquainted  with  Anaorpon.  Sii>  his  life,  prefixed  to  a  trans- 
ition of  his  Satires,  by  the  Abbe  de  Guasco. 


as  a  literary  imposition.1  In  1554,  however,  he  gave 
Anacreon  to  the  world,2  accompanied  with  Annota- 
tions and  a  Latin  version  of  the  greatar  part  of  the 
odes.  The  learned  still  hesitated  to  receive  them  as 
the  relics  of  the  Teian  bard,  and  suspected  them  to 
be  the  fabrication  of  some  monks  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  This  was  an  idea  from  which  the  classic 
muse  recoiled  ;  and  the  Vatican  manuscript,  con- 
sulted by  Scaliger  and  Salmasius,  confirmed  the  an- 
tiquity of  most  of  the  poems.  A  very  inaccurate 
copy  of  this  MS.  was  taken  by  Isaac  Vossius,  and 
this  is  the  authority  which  Barnes  has  followed  in  his 
collation  ;  accordingly  he  misrepresents  almost  as 
often  as  he  quotes ;  and  the  subsequent  editors,  rely- 
ing upon  him,  have  spoken  of  the  manuscript  with 
not  less  confidence  than  ignorance.  The  literary 
world  has,  at  length,  been  gratified  with  this  curi- 
ous memorial  of  the  poet,  by  the  industry  of  the 
Abbe  Spaletti,  who,  in  1781.  published  at  Rome  a 
fac-simile  of  the  pages  of  the  Vatican  manuscript, 
which  contained  the  odes  of  Anacreon.3 

Monsier  Gail,  has  given  a  catalogue  of  all  the  edi- 
tions and  translations  of  Anacreon.  I  find  their  num- 
ber to  be  much  greater  than  I  could  possibly  have 
had  an  opportunity  of  consulting.  I  shall  therefore 
content  myself  with  enumerating  those  editions  only 
which  I  have  been  able  to  collect ;  they  are  very 
few,  but  I  believe  they  are  the  most  important : — 

The  edition  by  Henry  Stephen,  1554,  at  Paris — 
the  Latin  version  is,  by  Colomesius,  attributed  to 
John  Dorat.4 

The  old  French  translations,  by  Ronsard  and  Bel- 
leau — the  former  published  in  1555,  the  latter  in 
1556.  It  appears  that  Henry  Stephen  communicated 
his  manuscript  of  Anacreon  to  Rcnsard  before  he 
published  it,  by  a  note  of  Muretus  upon  one  of  tho 
sonnets  of  that  poet.* 

The  edition  of  Le  Fevre,  1G60. 

The  edition  by  Madame  Dacicr,  1681,  with  a  prose 
translation.6 


1  Robertellus,  in  his  work  "  De  Katione  corrigendi,"  pio- 
nounces  these  verses  to  be  triflings  of  some  insipid  Gr&?isU 

2  Ronsard  commemorates  this  event: 


Jo  vay  boire  a  Henri  Ktii-nne 
Qui  lies  enfers  nousa  lundu, 
Du  vieil  Anacreon  perdu, 

La  douce  lyre  Te'ienne. 


Ode  xv.  book  5. 


I  fill  the  bowl  to  Stephen's  name, 

Who  rescued  from  the  gloom  of  night 

The  Teian  bard  of  festive  fame, 
And  brought  his  living  lyre  to  light. 

3  This  manuscript^  which  Spaletti  thinks  as  old  as  the 
tenth  century,  was  brought  from  the  Pnluline   into  the  Va- 
tican library :  ii  is  a  kind  of  anthology  of  Greek  epigram*; 
and  in  the  fiTlith  page  of  it  are  found  the  y.tnx/*£'x  a-v^an- 
o-ixxz  of  Anacreon. 

4  "  Le  m^me  (M.  Vossius)  m'a  dit  qu'il  avail  poosrde  un 
Anncreon,  oil  Sriilict-r  :iv:iit  mnrque  de  sn  mnin,  qu'Hi-nri 
Ktienne  n'  etnit  p;is  1'antftir  de  In  version  Latine  des  odea 
de  ce  pocte,  mais  Jean  Dorat."     Paulus  Colomesius,  Parti- 
cular! tes. 

folomesius,  however,  seems  to  havn  relied  too  implicitly 
on  Vossim:  almost  all  these  Particuhiriies  begin  with  "  M. 
Vii-sins  m'a  dit." 

5  "  Ln  fiction  de  ce  sonnet,  comme  Pautrur  meme  m'a 
dit,  p-it  prise  d'linn  ode  d'Anncreon,  encore  non  irnprimea 
i|ii'il  a  depnis  trnduite,  TV  piv  CIK*  %fXiJW." 

6  The  author  ol  Nouvclles  do  la  Repub.des  Lett,  praises 
this  translation  very  liberally.     I  have  always  thought  il 
vague  and  spiritless. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


23-J 


The  edition  by  Longepierre,  1G8-1,  with  a  transla- 
tion in  verse. 

The  edition  by  Baxter;  London,  1695. 

A  French  translation  by  La  Fosse,  1701. 

"  L'Histoire  des  Odes  d'Anacre^on,"  by  Monsieur 
Gacon;  Rotterdam,  1712. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  several  hands, 
1713,  in  which  the  odes  by  Cowley  are  inserted. 

The  edition  by  Barnes;  London,  1721. 

The  edition  by  Dr.  Trapp,  1733,  with  a  Latin  ver- 
nion  in  elegiac  metre. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  John  Addison, 
1705. 

A  collection  of  Italian  translations  of  Anacreon, 
published  at  Venice,  173f>,  consisting  of  those  by 
Corsini,  Regnier,1  Salvini,  Marchetti,  and  one  by  se- 
veral anonymous  authors.2 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Fawkes  and 
Doctor  Broome,  1760.3 

Another,  anonymous,  1768. 

The  edition  by  Spaletti,  at  Rome,  1781 ;  with  the 
fac-simile  of  the  Vatican  MS. 

The  edition  by  Degen,  1786,  who  published  also  a 
German  translation  of  Anacreon,  esteemed  the  best. 

A  translation  in  English  verse,  by  Urquhart,  1787. 

The  edition  by  Citoyen  Gail,  at  Paris,  seventh 
year,  1799,  with  a  prose  translation. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


ODE  I.* 

I  SAW  the  smiling  bard  of  pleasure, 
The  minstrel  of  the  Teian  measure  ; 
*T  was  in  a  vision  of  the  night, 
He  beam'd  upon  my  wandering  sight : 
I  heard  his  voice,  and  warmly  press'd 
The  dear  enthusiast  to  my  breast. 
His  tresses  wore  a  silvery  die, 
But  beauty  sparkldfl  in  his  eye  ; 
Sparkled  in  his  eyes  of  fire, 
Through  the  mist  of  soft  desire. 


1  The  notes  of  Regnier  nre  not  inserted  in  this  edition : 
they  must  l>e  interesting,  as  they  were  for  the  most  part 
communicated  by  the  ing"nious  Menage,  who,  we  may  per- 
ceive, bestowed  some  research  on  the  subject,  by  a  passage 
in  the  Menngiana — "C*  est  nussi  lui  (M.  Bigot)  qui  s'est 
donne  la  peine  de  conferer  des  mnnuscrits  en  Italic  dans  le 
lenris  (]iieje  travaillaia  sur  Anacreon  " — Menagiana,  secon- 
di;  part  in. 

12  I  find  in  Hnym's  Notizia  de'  I,ibri  rari,  nn  Italian  trans- 
lation mentioned,  by  Caponnc  in  Venice,  1070. 

M  Tins  is  th«'  most  complete  of  the  English  translations. 

4  This  ode  is  the  first  of  the  series  in  the  Vatican  mnnu- 
geripl,  which  attributes  it  to  no  other  poet  than  Anacreon. 
They  who  assert  that  the  manuscript  imputes  it  to  Hasiliiifl 
have  li  RII  misled  by  the  words  Tou  XUTOV  c.xc-i>.ix  .>{  in  the 
marnin,  which  nre  merely.intetided  as  a  title  to  the  follow- 
ing ode.  Whether  it  be  the  production  of  Anacreon  or  not, 
it  has  nil  the  !'(.:itnres  of  ancient  simplicity,  and  is  a  beautiful 
imitation  of  the  poet's  happiest  manner. 

Sparkled  in  his  ryrv  of  fire, 

Through  the  mint  of  fa  ft  ilrtirr.]  "  How  could  he  know 
at  the  first  look  fs:iv»  Baxter)  that  the  poet  was  cix-i-jvo 
There  are  surely  many  tell-tales  of  this  propensity;  and  the 
following  are  the  iii'lices,  which  the  physiognomist  gives, 
describing  n  disposition  perhaps  not  unlike  that  of  Anacreon 


His  lip  exhaled,  whene'er  he  sigh'd, 

The  fragrance  of  the  racy  tide ; 

And,  as  with  weak  and  reeling  feet, 

He  came  my  cordial  kiss  to  meet, 

An  infant  of  the  Cyprian  band 

Guided  him  on  with  tender  hand. 

Quick  from  his  glowing  brows  he  drew 

His  braid,  of  many  a  wanton  hue ; 

I  took  the  braid  of  wanton  twine, 

It  breathed  of  him  and  blush'd  with  wine 

I  hung  it  o'er  my  thoughtless  brow, 

And  ah  !  I  feel  its  magic  now  ! 

I  feel  that  even  his  garland's  touch 

Can  make  the  bosom  love  too  much ! 


ODE  H. 

GIVE  me  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Which  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  sing. 
Proclaim  the  laws  of  festal  rite, 
I  'm  monarch  of  the  board  to-night ; 
And  all  around  shall  brim  as  high, 
And  quaff  the  tide  as  deep  as  1 ! 
And  when  the  cluster's  mellowing  dews 
Their  warm,  enchanting  balm  infuse, 
Our  feet  shall  catch  the  elastic  bound, 
And  reel  as  through  the  dance's  round 
Oh  Bacchus !  we  shall  sing  to  thee, 
In  wild  but  sweet  ebriety  ! 
And  flash  around  such  sparks  of  thought, 
As  Bacchus  could  alone  have  taught ! 


yo>,  OVTI  $uriu>;  $»uX>if,  OVTI  »fttvrti.  —  Adamanliiu 
•'Tbe  eyes  that  are  humid  and  fluctuating  show  a  piupen- 
sity  to  pleasure  and  love;  they  bespeak  too  a  mind  of  in- 
tegrity and  beneficence,  a  generosity  of  disposition,  and  a 
genius  for  poetry." 

Haptista  Porta  tells  us  some  strange  opinion)  of  the  an- 
cient physiognomists  on  the  subject,  their  reasons  for  which 
were  curious,  and  perhaps  not  altogether  fanciful.  —  V'-le 
Physiognom.  Julian.  Baptiit.  Port*. 

I  took  the  braid  of  wanton  t:rinr, 

It  breathed  of  Aim,  etc.]  Philostratni  bai  the  tame  thought 
in  one  of  hiiEpai-ixs,  where  he  speaks  of  the  garland  which 
he  had  sent  to  his  mistress.  £>  Ji  govXu  TI  $  i\»  x*fO»- 

5*1,  T«    VllC'Xva    MvTljrijUyflv,  /UIJXITI    jTvfOVTS    fO^aav  /<OyOV 

«XA.»  xxi  (raw.  "  If  thou  art  inclined  to  gratify  thy  lover, 
send  him  back  the  remains  of  the  garland,  no  longer  breath- 
ing of  roses  only,  but  of  thee!"  Which  pretty  conceit  i« 
borrowed  (as  the  author  of  the  Observer  remarks}  in  a  well- 
known  little  song  of  Ben  Jonson'i  :  — 

"  But  thou  thereon  didst  only  breathe, 

And  sent  it  back  to  mo  ; 
Since  when,  it  looks  and  smells,  I  iwear, 

Not  of  iUelf,  but  thee  !" 

Jtnd  ah!  I  ferl  its  mafic  now'.}  This  idea,  as  T,nn-n 
pierre  remarks,  IB  in  an  epigram  of  the  seventh  book  of  the 
Anthologia. 


While  I  unconwious  quaff'd  my  wine, 

'T  was  then  thy  fingers  slily  stole 
Upon  mv  brow  that  wreath  of  thine, 

Which  since  has  madden'd  all  my  soul  ! 
Proclaim  the  lairs  of  festal  rite.]  The  ancients  pr»^ 
scribed  certain  laws  of  drinking  at  their  festivals,  for  an  uc 
count  of  which  see  the  commentators.  Anacreon  hero  acuj 
the  symposiarch,  or  mnstei  of  the  festival.  I  have  Iran* 
latcd  accordinz  to  those  who  consider  xu:«XX»  i"r/*M*  at 
an  inversion  of  iir/*:vs  XU.TIXX**. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Then  give  the  harp  of  epic  song, 
Wtn.-h  Homer's  finger  thrill'd  along ; 
But  tear  away  the  sanguine  string, 
For  war  is  not  the  theme  I  slog! 


ODE  III.1 

LISTEN  to  the  Muse's  lyre, 
Master  of  the  pencil's  fire ! 
Sketch'd  in  painting's  bold  display, 
Many  a  city  first  pourtray; 
Many  a  city,  revelling  free, 
Warm  with  loose  festivity. 
Picture  then  a  rosy  train, 
Bacchants  straying  o'er  the  plain ; 
Piping,  as  they  roam  along, 
Roundelay  or  shepherd-song. 
Paint  me  next,  if  painting  may 
Such  a  theme  as  this  pourtray, 
All  the  happy  heaven  of  love, 
These  elect  of  Cupid  prove. 


ODE  1V.» 

VOLCAN  !  hear  your  glorious  task ; 
1  do  not  from  your  labours  ask 
In  gorgeous  panoply  to  shine, 
For  war  was  ne'er  a  sport  of  mine 
No— let  me  have  a  silver  bowl, 
Where  I  may  cradle  all  my  soul ; 
But  let  not  o'er  its  simple  frame 
Vour  mimic  constellations  flame 
Nor  grave  upon  the  swelling  side 
Orion,  scowling  o'er  the  tide. 
I  care  not  for  the  glittering  wane, 
Nor  yet  the  weeping  sister  train. 
But  oh !  let  vines  luxuriant  roll 
Their  blushing  tendrils  round  the  bowl. 
While  many  a  rose-lipp'd  bacchant  maid 
Is  culling  clusters  in  their  shade. 
Let  sylvan  gods,  in  antic  shapes, 
Wildly  press  the  gushing  grapes ; 
Ana  flights  of  loves,  in  wanton  ringlets, 
Flit  around  on  golden  winglets ; 
While  Venus,  to  her  mystic  bower, 
Beckons  the  rosy  vintage-Power. 


1  Monsit  j  I.a  Fowe  ha»  thought  proper  to  lengthen  this 
poem  by  considerable  interpolations  or  hii  own,  which  he 
thinks  are  indispensably  necessary  to  the  completion  of  the 
description. 

2  This  is  the  ode  which  Aiilns  Gellios  tolls  us  was  per- 
faimed  by  minstrels  at  an  entertainment  where  he  was  pre- 
sent. 

H'kilt  many  a  rote-lipp'd  bacchant  maid,  etc.]  I  have 
fiven  this  according  to  the  Vatican-  manuscript,  in  which 
.ne  ode  concludes  with  the  following  lines,  not  inserted  ac- 
rarktely  in  any  of  the  editions  : 

1I'.»»T»»  s^*-|k.OU(    fist 
Kat  d9T«vx(  X*T'  «wr«r 
Kal  /iairaf«(  -rfvynr*;, 
Tlom  Si  M»s»  ei»5» 


Kai  zpvrtvf  rc 
Kxi  Ku?ipqr  yi 
'Oftiu  *»>.»  Au 

ItaT*  K1  A?fo 


ODE  V.' 

GRAVK  me  a  cup  with  brilliant  grace, 
Deep  as  the  rich  and  holy  vase, 
Which  on  the  shrine  of  Spring  reposes. 
When  shepherds  hail  that  hour  of  roses 
Grave  it  with  themes  of  chaste  design, 
Form'd  for  a  heavenly  bowl  like  mine. 
Display  not  there  the  barbarous  rites 
In  which  religious  zeal  delights  ; 
Nor  any  tale  of  tragic  fate, 
Which  history  trembles  to  relate ! 
No — cull  thy  fancies  from  above, 
Themes  of  heaven  and  themes  of  love 
Let  Bacchus,  Jove's  ambrosial  boy, 
Distil  the  grapes  in  drops  of  joy, 
And  while  he  smiles  at  every  tear, 
Let  warm-eyed  Venus,  dancing  near 
With  spirits  of  the  genial  bed, 
The  dewy  herbage  deftly  tread. 
Let  Love  be  there,  without  his  arms, 
In  timid  nakedness  of  charms ; 
And  all  the  Graces  link'd  with  Love, 
Blushing  through  the  shadowy  grove  ; 
While  rosy  boys,  disporting  round, 
In  circles  trip  the  velvet  ground ; 
But  ah!  if  there  Apollo  toys, 
I  tremble  for  my  rosy  boys ! 


ODE  VI.* 

As  late  I  sought  the  spangled  bowers, 
To  cull  a  wreath  of  matin  flowers, 


1  Degen  thinks  that  this  ode  is  a  more  modern  imitation 
of  the  preceding.  There  is  a  poem  by  Cxlius  Calcagninus 
in  the  manner  of  both,  where  he  gives  instructions  about  the 
making  of  a  ring 

Tornabis  anmiltim  mini 

Et  fabre,  et  apte,  et  commode,  etc.  etc. 

Let  Love  be  there,  wit/tout  his  arms,  etc.]    Thus  Sanna- 
zaro  in  the  eclogue  of  Gallicio  roll'  Arcadia: 
Vegnan  li  vaghi  Amori* 
Senza  fiammulle,  6  strali, 
Scherzando  insieme  pargoletti  e  nudi. 

Fluttering  on  the  busy  wing, 

A  train  of  naked  Cupids  came, 
Sporting  round  in  harmless  rins, 

Without  a  dart,  without  a  flume. 

And  thu»  in  the  Pervigilium  Veneris; 

Ite  nymphip,  posuit  arma,  feriatus  est  amor. 

Love  is  disarm'd — ye  nymphs,  in  safety  stray, 
Your  bosoms  now  may  boast  a  holiday  ! 

But  ok!  if  there  Jlpollo  toys, 

1  tremble  fur  my  rosy  boys!]     An  allusion  to  the  fable, 
that  Apollo  had  killed   his  beloved   boy  Hyacinth,  while 
playing  wiih  him  at  quoits.     "This  (says  M.  La  Fos«e)  is 
assuredly  the  sense  of  the  text,  and  it  cannot  admit  of  any 
other." 

The  Italian  translators,  to  save  themselves  the  trouble  of 
a  note,  have  taken  the  liberty  ofcmaking  Anacreon  explain 
this  fable.  Thus  Salvini,  the  most  literal  of  any  of  them : 

Ma  con  lor  non  giuochi  Apollo; 

Cli';  in  fiero  risco 

Col  duro  itisco 

A  Gincinto  Raced  il  collo. 

2  The  Vntiran  .MS.  pronounces  this  beautiful  fiction  to  be 
the  genuine  offspring  of  Anacreon.     It  has  all  the  feature* 
of  Uie  parent: 

et  Pieile  insriis 
Noscjtetur  ab  omnibus. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


239 


Where  many  an  early  rose  was  weeping, 
1  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping. 
I  caught  the  boy,  a  goblet's  tide 
Was  richly  mantling  by  my  side, 
I  caught  him  by  his  downy  wing, 
And  whelm' d  him  in  the  racy  spring. 
Oh  !  then  I  drank  the  poison'd  bowl, 
And  Love  now  nestles  in  my  soul ! 
Yes,  yes,  my  soul  is  Cupid's  nest, 
I  feel  him  fluttering  in  my  breast. 


ODE  VII.1 

THE  women  tell  me  every  day 

That  all  my  bloom  has  past  away. 

"  Behold,"  the  pretty  wantons  cry, 

"  Behold  this  mirror  with  a  sigh  ; 

The  locks  upon  thy  brow  are  few, 

And,  like  the  rest,  they're  withering  too !" 

Whether  decline  has  thinn'd  my  hair, 

I'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care  ; 


But  this  I  know,  and  this  I  fcel, 
As  onward  to  the  tomb  I  steal, 
That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer  ; 
And  had  I  but  an  hour  to  live, 
That  little  hour  to  bliss  I'd  give ! 


ODE  VIII.1 

I  CARE  not  for  the  idle  state 
Of  Persia's  king,  the  rich,  the  great ! 
I  envy  not  the  monarch's  throne, 
Nor  wish  the  treasured  gold  my  own. 
But  oh !  be  mine  the  rosy  braid, 
The  fervour  of  my  brows  to  shade ; 
Be  mine  the  odours,  richly  sighing, 
Amidst  my  hoary  tresses  flying. 
To-day  I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine, 
As  if  to-morrow  ne'er  should  shine  ; 
But  if  to-morrow  comes,  why  then — 
I'll  haste  to  quaff  my  wine  again. 


The  commentators,  however,  have  attributed  it  to  Julian, 
a  royal  poet. 

H'kcre  many  an  early  rose  was  iceepin/r, 
I  found  the  urchin  Cupid  sleeping.]     This  idea  is  pret- 
tily imitated  in  the  following  epigram  by  Andreas  Nauge- 
rius: 

Florentes  dum  forte  vagans  mea  Hyella  per  hortoa 

Texit  odoralis  lilia  cana  rosis, 
Ecce  rosas  inter  latilantcm  invenit  amorem 
«    Et  simul  annexis  tloribus  implicuit. 
Luctatur  primo,  ct  contra  nitentibus  alia 

Indomitus  tentat  solvere  vincla  puer, 
JIox  ubi  lacteotas  et  dignas  matre  papillus 

Vidit  et  ora  ipsos  nota  movere  Deos. 
Impositosque  coinse  ambrosios  ut  sentit  odores 

liii.'sque  lesit  diti  messe  beatus  Arabs; 
"  I  Mixit)  mea,  quaere  novum  tibi  mater  amorem, 
Imperio  sedes  have  erit  apta  raeo." 

As  fair  Hyella,  through  the  bloomy  grove, 

A  wreath  of  many  mingled  flow'rets  wove, 

Within  a  rose  a  sleeping  love  she  found, 

And  in  the  twisted  wreaths  the  baby  bound. 

Awhile  he  struggled,  and  impatient  tried 

To  break  the  rosy  bonds  the  virgin  tied  ; 

But  when  he  saw  her  bosom's  milky  swell, 

Her  features,  where  the  eye  of  Jove  might  dwell; 

And  caught  the  ambrosial  odours  of  her  hair, 

Rich  as  the  breathings  of  Arabian  air; 

"  Oh  !  mother  Venus"  (said  the  raptured  child 

By  charms,  of  more  than  mortal  bloom,  beguiled,) 

"Go,  seek  another  boy,  thou'st  lost  thine  own, 

Hyella's  bosom  shall  be  Cupid's  throne  !" 

This  epigram  of  Xaugerius  is  imitated  by  Lodovico  Dolce, 
in  e  poem  beginning 

Montre  raccoglie  hor  uno,  hor  altro  fiore 
Virina  a  mi  rio  di  chiare  et  lucid'  onde, 
Lidin,  etc.  etc. 

1  Albert!  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  a  poem  beginning 
Ni-;i  mi  dice  e  Clori 
Tirai,  tu  se'  pur  vi-irlio. 
Hlirttirr  drcli'if,  A<J.»  tfiinn'd  my  hair, 
I'm  sure  I  neither  know  nor  care.]     Henry  Stephen  very 
justly  remarks  the  elegant  negligence  of  expression  in  tin- 
original  here  : 


Ot/x'  oij*. 

And  Longepierre  has  adduced  from  Catullus  what  he  thinks 
a  similar  instance  of  this  simplicity  of  manner  : 

Ipse  quis  sit,  utrum  sit,  an  non  sit,  id  quoque  ncsctt. 
Longepierrs  was  a  good  critic,  but  perhaps  the  line  which 
he  has  selected  is  a  specimen  of  a  carelessness  not  very  ele- 


gant; at  the  game  time  I  confess,  that  none  of  the  Latin 
poets  have  ever  appeared  to  me  to  capable  of  imitati:ig  the 
graces  of  Anacreon  as  Catullus,  if  he  had  not  allowed  a 
depraved  imagination  to  hurry  him  to  often  into  vuljar 
licentiousness. 

That  still  as  death  approaches  nearer, 
The  joys  of  life  are  sweeter,  dearer ;]     Pontanus  i.ui  a 
very  delicate  thought  upon  the  subject  of  old  age. 

Quid  rides,  Matronal   senem  q  lid  temnis  amanleint 
Quisquis  amat  nulla  est  conditione  senex. 
Why  do  you  scorn  my  want  of  youth, 
And  with  a  smile  my  brow  behold? 
Lady,  dear  !  believe  this  truth 

That  he  who  lovea  cannot  be  old. 

1  "  The  German  poet  Leasing  has  imitated  this  ode.  VoL 
i.  p.  24." — Degen.  Gail  de  Eilitionibus. 

Baxter  conjectures  that  this  was  written  upon  the  occa- 
sion of  our  poet's  returning  the  money  to  Policrate*,  accord 
ing  to  the  anecdote  in  Stobaeus. 
/  care  not  for  the  idle  state 

Of  Persia' t  king,  etc.]  "  There  is  a  fragment  of  Archi 
lochus  In  Plutarch,  'De  tranquillitatc  animi,'  which  our 
poet  has  very  closely  imitated  here :  it  begins, 

Ou  ftut  r»  Tuyta  TOU  jroXuxpuo-ou  piXu. — Harnn. 
In  one  of  the  monkish  imitators  of  Anacreon  we  find  the 
same  thought 

Yuxi»  «/"!•  «P»T«», 

Ti  rat  yi^iif  yinrjai; 

fc)i\i"(  Tvyiat  TX  KXI  T»  ; 

Be  mine  the  odours,  richly  fiffhinr, 
Amidst  my  hoary  tretses^ying.}  In  theorigiail,  pvpt-rt 
xaraSpsxuv  v;r>iv>iv.  On  account  of  this  idea  of  perfuming 
the  l>i-nrd,  Cornelius  de  Pauw  pronounces  the  whol<-  •»>>•  to 
be  the  spurious  production  of  some  lascivious  monk,  who 
was  nursing  his  beard  with  unguents.  Hut  he  slxmld  have 
known  that  this  was  an  ancient  eastern  custom,  whii-h.  if  »« 
may  l»-lieve  Savary,  still  exists:  "  Vous  voyvz,  Munsn-ur 
(says  this  traveller,)  que  I'usage  antique  de  se  parfuincr  la 
tcte  et  la  barbe,  (a)  cclebre  par  le  prophule  K'.i.  subxiste 
encore  de  nos  jours."— Lettre  12.  Savary  likcw:- 
this  very  odo  of  Anacreon.  Angerianus  has  not  thought 
the  idea  inconsistent;  he  has  introduced  it  in  the  following 
lines: 

Hire  mihi  rum,  rosis  et  cingere  tempora  rnyrto, 

Et  cunts  mullo  dilapiilare  mero. 
Ha-c  mihi  cura,  comas  et  barhnm  t'mgere  succo 
As.-yrio  ct  dulces  contimi:ir< 

This  be  my  care  to  twine  the  rosy  wroaih, 

And  drench  my  soriows  in  the  ample  bow) , 
To  let  my  beard  the  Assyrian  unsiient  breathe, 

And  give  a  loose  tr  levity  of  «oul ! 

(a)  "  Sirul  wnztirntum  in  capite  quod  descendit  in  htr 
bam  Aaron. — Paaumc  133." 


VK) 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  thus  while  all  our  days  are  bright, 

Nor  time  has  dimm'd  their  bloomy  light, 

Ix-t  us  the  festal  hours  beguile 

With  mantling  cup  and  cordial  smile ; 

And  shed  from  every  bowl  of  wine 

The  richest  drop  on  Bacchus'  shrine  ! 

For  death  may  come  with  brow  unpleasant, 

May  come  when  least  we  wish  him  present, 

And  beckon  to  the  sable  shore, 

And  grimly  bid  us— drink  no  more  ! 


ODE  IX.1 

I  PEAT  thee,  by  the  gods  above, 
Give  me  the  mighty  bowl  I  love, 
And  let  me  sing,  in  wild  delight, 
"  I  will— I  will  be  mad  to-night!" 
Alcmzon  once,  as  legends  tell, 
Was  frenzied  by  the  fiends  of  hell; 
Orestes  too,  with  naked  tread, 
Frantic  paced  the  mountain  head ; 
And  why  ? — a  murder'd  mother's  shade 
Before  their  conscious  fancy  play'd ; 
But  I  can  ne'er  a  murderer  be, 
The  grape  alone  shall  bleed  by  me ; 
Yet  can  I  rave,  in  wild  delight, 
"  I  will — I  will  be  mad  to-night." 
The  son  of  Jove,  in  days  of  yore 
Imbrued  his  hands  in  youthful  gore, 
And  brandish'd,  with  a  maniac  joy, 
The  quiver  of  the  expiring  boy : 
And  Ajax,  with  tremendous  shield, 
Infuriate  scour'd  the  guiltless  field. 
But  I,  whose  hands  no  quiver  hold, 
No  weapon  but  this  flask  of  gold, 
The  trophy  of  whose  frantic  hours 
Is  but  a  scatter'd  wreath  of  flowers; 
Yet,  yet  can  sing  with  wild  delight, 
"I  wUl — I  will  be  mad  to-night !" 


ODE  X.« 

TELL  me  how  to  punish  thee, 
For  the  mischief  done  to  me! 
Silly  swallow !  prating  thing, 
Shall  1  clip  that  wheeling  wing? 


I  Tin-  IKX-I  here  i<  in  a  frenzy  of  enjoyment,  and  it  U,  in- 
ieed, "  unubil  a  iruania." 

r  di  pnetifl, 
Pi  lawivin,  e  di  vino, 
Triplicate  furore, 
Banco,  Apollo,  ot  Amnrc. 

Riiritti  del  Cavalier  Marino. 
Thii  ii,  n§  Scaliger  expresses  it, 

Tn«snin»  dulce, 

Ettapiiium  furere  furorem. 

9  TVn  ode  in  addressed  to  a  swallow.    I  find  from  TVjon 
and  fnrn  Gail's  indei,  that  the  Germnn  poet  \V. 

'ih.  ii.  carm.  5;  that  Ramler 
aim  hai  imitated  ii,  T,yr.  liliimenlesp,  lib.  iv.  p.  335-  and 

.   d'de  Fxlitionihns. 

\W  n'p  referred  hv  Deeen  to  that  stupid  bonk,  the  Fpis- 
tie*  of  Al'-iph  on,  tenth  cpi«']e.  th  rd  honk;  where  lophnn 

of  being  wakaoed,  by  tfae  era 
a  cock,  from  his  vision  of  riches. 

•?.rtr.-\    Th»  loquacity  of  the 
twtllow  was  provcrbialized  ;  thu«  Nicottmtut : 


Or,  as  Tereus  did  of  old 
(So  the  fabled  tale  is  told,) 
Shall  I  tear  that  tongue  away, 
Tongue  that  utter'd  such  a  lay  ? 
How  unthinking  hast  thou  been ! 
Ix>ng  before  the  dawn  was  seen, 
When  I  slumber'd  in  a  dream, 
(Love  was  the  delicious  theme !) 
Just  when  I  was  nearly  blest, 
Ah !  thy  matin  broke  my  rest ! 


ODE  XI.1 

"TELL  me,  gentle  youth,  I  pray  thee, 
What  in  purchase  shall  I  pay  thee 
For  this  little  waxen  toy, 
Image  of  the  Paphian  boy?" 
Thus  I  said,  the  other  day, 
To  a  youth  who  pass'd  my  way. 
"  Sir,"  (he  answer'd,  and  the  while 
Answer'd  all  in  Doric  style,) 
"  Take  it,  for  a  trifle  take  it ; 
Think  not  yet  that  I  could  make  it ; 
Pray  believe  it  was  not  I ; 
No— it  cost  me  many  a  sigh, 
And  I  can  no  longer  keep 
Little  gods  who  murder  sleep  !" 
"  Here,  then,  here,"  I  said,  with  joy, 
Here  is  silver  for  the  boy  : 
He  shall  be  my  bosom  guest, 
Idol  of  my  pious  breast!" 
Little  Love  !  thou  now  art  mine, 
Warm  me  with  that  torch  of  thine  ; 
Make  me  feel  as  I  have  felt, 
Or  thy  waxen  frame  shall  melt. 
I  must  burn  in  warm  desire, 
Or  thou,  my  boy,  in  yonder  fire ! 


ODE  XII. 

THEY  tell  how  Atys,  wild  with  love, 
Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove  ;l 


TOO  Cpov 


xpxtrtino 


If  in  pratin?  from  mornin;  till  ni^ht, 

A  S'frn  of  our  uisdom  there  be, 
The  nwnllowg  are  wiser  by  ri<rlit, 

For  iliey  prattle  much  faster  than  we. 
Or,  as  Trreus  rfi'rf  of  old,  etc.]  Modern  poetry  has  en« 
firmed  thf  name  of  Philomel  njion  the  nisrhtincalc;  lint  many 
very  respectable  undents  a-sisnxd  tins  metamorphose  W 
Progne,  and  made  Philomel  the  swallow,  as  Anacreun  d<>e« 
here. 

1  It  is  difficult  to  preserve  with  any  jrace  the  narrative 
simplicity  of  this  ode,  nnd  the  humour  of  the  turn  with  which 
it  concludes.     I  feel  that  the  translation  mast  appear  ver 
vapid,  if  not  ludicrous,  to  an  English  reader. 

Jtnd  I  can  no  longrr  krrp 

f.itllr  frnrtu,  irhn  iniir.ter  slrep  .']  I  have  nnt  literally 
rendered  the  epithet  y^vTopsxra;  if  it  has  any  muaii!i% 
here,  it  is  one,  perhaps,  better  omitted. 

/  muft  burn  in  warm  drsire, 

Or  thou,  mil  ln,n,  in  tinndrr  firt  f]   Mnnsiem  LI  r  [ 
cnnj.-rturi-s  from  tliis,  that,  wlintever  .Anncrron  mijlit  say, 
he  soTPlimes  felt  the  i  ronvenienres  of  old  a?e,  nnd  her« 
solicits  from  the  power  of  Love  a  warmth  which  he  could 
no  Innjrer  expect  from  Nature. 

2  Thni  trll  hmr  .-7ri/.«,  trilil  irith  l»rr, 

Roams  the  mount  and  haunted  grove.]  There  are  many 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


241 


Cybele's  name  he  howls  around, 

'JTie  gloomy  blast  returns  the  sound  ! 

Oft  loo  by  Clares'  hallow'd  spring, 

The  votaries  of  the  laurell'd  king 

Quaff  the  inspiring  magic  stream, 

And  nive  in  wild  prophetic  dream. 

But  fronsied  dreams  are  not  for  me, 

Great  Bacchus  is  my  deity  ! 

Full  of  mirth,  and  full  of  him, 

"While  waves  of  perfume  round  me  swim  ; 

\Vhile  flavour'd  bowls  are  full  supplied, 

And  you  sit  blushing  by  my  side, 

I  will  be  mad  and  raving  too — 

Mad,  my  girl !  with  love  for  you ! 


ODE  XIII. 

I  WILL,  I  will ;  the  conflict 's  past, 
And  1  '11  consent  to  love  at  last. 
Cupid  has  long,  with  smiling  art, 
Invited  me  to  yield  my  heart ; 
And  I  have  thought  that  peace  of  mind 
Should  not  be  for  a  smile  resign'd ; 
And  I  've  repell'd  the  tender  lure, 
And  hoped  my  heart  should  sleep  secure. 
But  slighted  in  his  boasted  charms, 
The  angry  infant  flew  to  arms ; 
He  slung  his  quiver's  golden  frame, 
He  took  his  bow,  his  shafts  of  flame, 
And  proudly  summon'd  me  to  yield, 
Or  meet  him  on  the  martial  field. 
And  what  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 
I  took  to  arms,  undaunted  too : — 


conlradictory  glories  of  the  loves  of  Cybele  and  Atys.  It  is 
certain  tliat  he  was  mutilated,  but  whether  by  his  o\vn  fury, 
or  her  jealousy,  is  a  point  which  authors  are  not  ajrwd 
upon. 

Cybele's  nnme  he  howls  around,  etc.]    I  have  adopted 
Uo  accentuation  which  Elias  Andreas  gives  to  Cybele: 
In  montibus  Cybel-jn 
Mugno  eonans  boatu. 

Oft  too  by  Claras'  hallow'd  spring,  etc.]  This  fountain 
was  in  a  grove,  consecrated  to  Apollo,  and  situated  between 
Colophon  and  Lebedru,  in  Ionia.  The  god  had  an  oracle 
there.  Scaliger  has  thus  alluded  to  it  in  his  Anucreontica  : 

Semel  ut  concitus  (Bstro, 

Veluti  qui  Clarias  aquas 

Ebibcre  loquacei, 

Quo  plus  canunt,  plura  volunt. 

While  wart*  of  perfume,  etc.]  Spaletti  has  mistaken  the 
import  of  xapio-Sits,  as  applied  to  the  poet's  mistress:  "Mea 
falisatiw  arnica."  He  intrrprcU  it  iu  a  sense  which  must 
want  either  delicacy  or  gallantry. 

And  what  did  I  unthinking  do  ? 

I  took  to  arms,  undaunted  too.]  Lon;epierre  has  quoted 
an  epigram  from  the  Anthologia,  in  which  the  poet  assume* 
Ueasoo  as  the  armour  against  Love. 


rpo; 


i  <rTip»«io-i 


, 

6vxTO(  f  *5»v*T«  <run».iu<n>juxi-i|»  Ji  poi|9o» 
Baxx"  JXX,  TI  f<"'f  «p«J  *«'  «y»  !*»•**»• 

With  Reason  I  covor  my  breast  as  a  shield, 
Ami  fearlessly  incut  little  Love  in  the  field  ; 
Thus  fichtinff'  h'-s  jiKlship,  I'M  ne'er  be  dismay  d; 
But  if  lifu'eliiis  should  ever  advance  to  his  aid, 
Alas  !  then,  unable  to  combat  the  two, 
Unfortunate  warrior!  what  should  I  dol 
This  idea  of  the  irresistibility  of  Cupid   and  Bacchus 
united,  is  delicately  expressed  in  an  Italian  poem,  which  is 
so  vnrv  Anacreont'ic,  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for  introducing 
it.    Indeed,  it  is  an  imitation  of  our  poet's  sixth  ode. 
2  H 


Assumed  the  corslet,  shield,  and  spear 
And,  like  Pelides,  smiled  at  fear. 
Then  (hear  it,  all  you  Powers  above !) 
I  fought  with  Love  !  I  fought  with  Lore! 
And  now  his  arrows  all  were  shed — 
And  I  had  just  in  terror  fled — 
When,  heaving  an  indignant  sigh, 
To  see  me  thus  unwounded  fly, 
And  having  now  no  other  dart, 
He  glanced  himself  into  my  heart  ! 
My  heart — alas  the  luckless  day ! 
Received  the  god,  and  died  away. 
Farewell,  farewell,  my  faithless  shield . 
Thy  lord  at  length  was  forced  to  yield. 
Vain,  vain  is  every,  outward  care, 
My  foe's  within,  and  triumphs  there 


ODE  XIV.1 

COUNT  me,  on  the  summer  trees, 
Every  leaf  that  courts  the  breeze ; 


Lavossi  Amoro  in  quel  vicino  fiume 
Ove  giuro  (Pastor)  che  bevend  'io 
Bevei  le  fiammc,  anzi  I'  istesso  Dio, 
t"  hor  con  I'  bumide  piume 
Lascivetto  mi  scberza  al  cor  intorno. 
Ma  che  sarei  s'  io  Io  bevessi  un  giorno 
Bacco,  nel  tuo  liquore  1 
Sarei,  piu  che  non  suuo  ebro  d'Amora 

The  urchin  of  the  bow  and  quiver 
Was  bathing  in  a  neighbouring  river 
Where,  as  I  drank  on  yester-«ve 
(Shepherd-youth  !  the  tale  believe,) 
'T  was  not  a  cooling  crystal  draught, 
*T  was  liquid  flame  I  madly  qusif'd  ; 
For  Love  was  in  the  rippling  tide, 
I  fell  him  to  my  bosom  glide  ; 
And  now  the  wily  wantun  minion 
Plays  o'er  my  heart  with  restless  pinion 
This  was  a  day  of  fatal  star, 
But  were  it  nut  more  fatal  far, 
If,  Bacchus,  in  thy  cup  of  fire, 
I  found  this  fluttering,  young  desire  1 
Then,  then  indeed  my  soul  »bould  prove 
Much  more  than  ever,  drunk  with  love! 

Jlnd,  having  note  no  other  dart, 

He-glanced  himself  into  my  Afar*.']     Drydcn  has  paro- 
died tins  thought  in  the  following  extravngant  lines: 

-  I  'm  all  o'er  Love  ; 
Nay,  I  am  Love;  Love  shot,  and  shot  so  fast, 
He  shot  himself  into  my  breust  at  last. 
1  The  poet,  in  this  catalogue  of  his  mistrowet,  mean* 
nothing  more  ihnn,  by  a  lively  hyperbole,  to  tell  us  that  ha 
heart,  unfettered  by  any  one  object,  was  warm  with  devo- 
tion towards  the  sex  in  general.    CowVy  is  indebt>  d  to  this 
ode  for  the  hint  of  his  ballad,  called  "  The  Chronicle  ;'   and 
the  learned  Monsieur  Menage  has  imitated  it  in  a  Greek 
Anacreontic,  which  has  so  much  ease  and  spirit,  th»t  th« 
reader  may  not  be  dUpleased  at  seeing  it  here  : 
ITpe;  Biiovs. 


Avvif,  Bia»,  *»i 
K»i  TOW?  ifiov; 
Auvi,  BI-HV,  ao< 


Opux?*;,  N»T 
Nnpi'^a;  TI  w 
O  <ro«  C'»-»>  * 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Count  me  on  the  foamy  deep, 
Every  wave  that  sinks  to  sleep ; 
Then,  when  you  have  numbered  these 
Billowy  tides  and  leafy  trees, 
Count  me  all  the  flames  I  prove, 
All  the  gentle  nymphs  I  love. 
First,  of  pure  Athenian  maids, 
Sporting  in  their  olive  shades, 
You  may  reckon  just  a  score ; 
Nay,  I  '11  grant  you  fifteen  more. 
In  the  sweet  Corinthian  grove, 
Where  the  glowing  wantons  rove, 
Chains  of  beauties  may  be  found, 
Chains  by  which  my  heart  is  bound ; 
There  indeed  are  girls  divine, 
Dangerous  to  a  soul  like  mine ; 


Xpvo-.iv,  xaxiiv,  yX«xn«», 
Ep»«>iov,  »*Mm|*| 
An  /«ov,»  (p<Xi<r»i 
f.',*yi  HI  Svvaipiir. 
Tell  the  foliage  of  the  woods, 
Tell  the  billows  of  the  Hoods, 
Number  midnight's  starry  store, 
And  the  sands  that  crowd  the  shore; 
Then,  my  Bion,  thou  may'st  count 
Of  my  loves  the  vast  amount ! 
I  've  been  loving,  all  my  days, 
Many  nymphs,  in  many  ways. 
Virgin,  widow,  maid,  and  wife— 
I've  been  doting  all  my  life. 
Naids,  Nereids,  nymphs  of  fountains, 
Goddesses  of  groves  and  mountains, 
Fair  and  sable,  great  and  small, 
Yes — I  swear  1  've  loved  them  all ! 
Every  passion  soon  was  over, 
I  was  but  the  moment's  lover; 
Oil !  1  *m  such  a  roving  elf, 
That  the  Queen  of  Love  herself, 
Though  she  practised  all  her  wilus, 
Rosy  blushes,  golden  smiles, 
All  her  beauty'*  proud  endeavour 
Could  not  chain  my  heart  for  ever ! 
Count  me,  on  tke  summer  trees, 

Every  leaf,  etc.]  This  figure  is  called,  by  the  rhetori- 
cians, •JV»»TO»,  and  is  very  frequently  made  use  of  in 
poetry.  The  amatory  writers  have  exhausted  a  world  of 
Imagery  by  it,  to  express  the  infinity  of  kisses  which  they 
require  from  the  lips  of  their  mistresses:  in  this  Catullus  led 
the  way : 

— quam  sidera  mult.i,  cum  tacet  nox, 

Furtivus  hominum  vident  amores; 

Tam  te  r-asia  multa  basiare, 

Vcsano  satis,  et  super  Catullo  eat: 

Qua?  ncc  pernumerare  curiosi 

Possint,  nee  mala  fascinare  lingua.         Carm.  7. 

As  many  stellar  eyes  of  light, 

As  through  the  silent  waste  of  night, 

Gazing  upon  this  world  of  shade, 

Witness  some  secret  youth  and  maid, 

Who,  fair  as  thou,  arid  fond  as  I, 

In  stolen  joys  enamour'd  lie ! 

F<>  many  kisses,  ere  I  slumber, 

Upon  those  dew-bright  li|>s  I  'II  number; 

f?o  many  vermil,  honey'd  kisses, 

Envy  can  never  count  our  blisses. 

No  tongue  shall  tell  the  sum  but  mine ; 

No  lips  shall  fascinate  but  thine ! 
In  tke  firret  Corinthian  front, 

Where  tke  gloving  wantons  rove,  etc.]  Corinth  was 
TCTy  famous  for  the  beauty  and  number  of  its  courtezans. 
Venus  was  the  deity  principally  worshipped  by  the  people, 
«nd  prostitution  in  her  temple  was  a  meritorious  act  of  reli- 
gion. Conformable  to  this  was  their  constant  and  solemn 
prayer,  that  the  gods  would  inrreahe  the  number  of  their 
courtezans.  We  may  perceive  from  the  application  of  the 
verb  MMttagM*,  in  Aristophanes,  that  the  wantonness  of 
the  Corinthians  became  proverbial. 
There  indeed  are  girls  dirine, 

Dangerous  to  a  tout  like  mine !]  "  With  justice  has  the 
poet  attributed  beauty  to  lh«  women  of  Greece." — Degen. 


Many  bloom  in  Lesbos'  isle  ; 
Many  in  Ionia  smile  ; 
Rhodes  a  pretty  swarm  can  boast ; 
Caria  too  contains  a  host. 
Sum  these  all — of  brown  and  fair, 
You  may  count  two  thousand  there ! 
What,  you  gaze  !  I  pray  you,  peace ! 
More  1  '11  find  before  I  cease. 
Have  I  told  you  all  my  flames 
'Mong  the  amorous  Syrian  dames  ? 
Have  I  numbered  every  one 
Glowing  under  Egypt's  sun  ? 
Or  the  nymphs  who,  blushing  sweet, 
Decks  the  shrine  of  love  in  Crete ; 
Where  the  god,  with  festal  play, 
Holds  eternal  holiday  ? 
Still  in  clusters,  still  remain 
Gades'  warm  desiring  train  ; 
Still  there  lies  a  myriad  more 
On  the  sable  India's  shore ; 
These,  and  many  far  removed, 
All  are  loving — all  are  loved ! 


ODE  XV. 

1  TELL  me  why,  my  sweetest  dove, 
Thus  your  humid  pinions  move, 
Shedding  through  air,  in  showers, 
Essence  of  the  balmiest  flowers  ? 
Tell  me  whither,  whence  you  rove, 
Tell  me  all,  my  sweetest  dove  ? 


Monsieur  de  Pauw,  the  author  of  Dissertations  upon  tta 
Greeks,  is  of  a  different  opinion;  he  thinks  that,  by  a  capri- 
cious partiality  of  nature,  the  other  sex  had  all  the  beauty, 
and  accounts  upon  this  supposition  for  a  very  singular  de- 
pravation of  instinct  among  them. 

GadesJ  warm  desiring  train.]  The  Gnditanian  girl* 
were  like  the  Baladieres  of  India,  whose  dances  arc  thus 
described  by  a  French  author:  "  Les  danses  sont  prcsquo 
toutes  des  pantomimes  d'amour;  le  plan,  le  dessin,  les  atti 
tudes,  les  mesures,  les  sons,  et  les  cadences  de  ces  ballets, 
tout  respire  cette  passion  et  en  exprime  les  voluptes  et  leu 
furcurs."  Histoire  du  Commerce  des  Europ.  dans  les  deux 
Indes. —  Raynal. 

The  music  of  the  Gaditanian  females  had  all  the  volup- 
tuous character  of  their  dancing,  as  appears  from  Martial: 
Cantica  qui  Nili,  qui  Gaditana  sns'.irrat. 

Lib.  iii.  epis.  63. 

Lodovico  Ariosto  had  this  ode  of  our  bard  in  his  mind, 
when  he  wrote  his  poem  "  De  divereis  amoribus."  See  the 
Anthologia  Ilalorum. 

1  The  dove  of  Anacreon,  bearing  a  letter  from  the  poet 
to  his  mistress,  is  met  by  a  stranger,  with  whom  this  dia- 
logue is  imagined. 

The  ancients  made  use  of  letter-carrying  pigeons,  when 
they  wnt  any  distance  from  home,  as  the  most  certain 
means  of  conveying  inti'Hisriire  bark.   That  tender  domes- 
tic attachment,  which  attracts  this  delicate  little  bird  through 
every  danger  and  difficulty,  till  it  settles  in   its  native  nest, 
affords  to  the  elegant  author  of  "  The  Pleasures  of  Memory" 
a  fine  and  interesting  exemplification  of  his  subject. 
Led  by  what  chart,  transports  the  timid  dove 
The  wreaths  of  conquest,  or  the  vows  of  love? 
See  the  poem.     Daniel  Hcinsius  has  a  similar  sentiment, 
speaking  of  Dousa,  who  adopted  this  method   at  the  siege 
of  Leyden : 

Quo  patrire  non  tendit  amor  ?  Mnndala  referre 
Postquam  hominem  nequiit  mitterc,  misit  avem. 

Fuller  tells  us  that,  at  the  siege  of  Jerusalem,  the  Chris- 
tians intercepted  a  letter  tied  to  tlie  legs  of  a  dove,  in  which 
the  Persian  Emperor  promised  assistance  to  the  besieged 
See  Fuller's  JJvly  War,  cap.  24,  book  i. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


243 


Curious  stranger!  I  belong 
To  the  bard  of  Teian  song; 
With  his  mandate  now  I  fly 
To  the  nymph  of  azure  eye ; 
Ah  !  that  eye  has  madden'd  many, 
But  the  poet  more  than  any  ! 
Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  love 
Warbled  in  her  votive  grove 
(*T  was,  in  sooth,  a  gentle  lay,) 
Gave  me  to  the  bard  away. 
See  me  now,  his  faithful  minion, 
Thus,  with  softly-gliding  pinion, 
To  his  lovely  girl  I  bear 
Songs  of  passion  through  the  air. 
Oft  he  blandly  whispers  me, 
"  Soon,  my  bird,  I'll  set  you  free." 
But  in  vain  he  '11  bid  me  fly, 
I  shall  serve  him  till  I  die. 
Never  could  my  plumes  sustain 
Ruffling  winds  and  chilling  rain, 
O'er  the  plains,  or  in  the  dell, 
On  the  mountain's  savage  swell ; 
Seeking  in  the  desert  wood 
Gloomy  shelter,  rustic  food. 
Now  I  lead  a  life  of  ease, 
Far  from  such  retreats  as  these  ; 
From  A  nacreon's  hand  I  eat 
Food  delicious,  viands  sweet ; 
Flutter  o'er  his  goblet's  brim, 
Sip  the  foamy  wine  with  him. 
Then  I  dance  and  wanton  round 
To  the  lyre's  beguiling  sound  ; 
Or  with  gently-fanning  wings 
Shade  the  minstrel  while  he  sings : 
On  his  harp  then  sink  in  slumbers, 
Dreaming  still  of  dulcet  numbers! 
This  is  all — away — away — 
You  have  made  me  waste  the  day. 
How  I've  chatter'd !  prating  crow 
Never  yet  did  chatter  so. 


ODE  XVI.' 

Tuou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 
Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse ; 


Jih  I  Hint  ci/e  has  madilcn'd  many,  etc.]  For  Tup«»vo»,  in 
tin:  original,  /eutie  and  Schneider  conjecture  that  we  should 
read  fvpawov,  in  allusion  to  the  strong  influence  which  this 
object  of  his  love  held  over  the  mind  of  Polycratea. — See 
Vcfftn. 

Venus,  for  a  hymn  of  lone 
U'urldcd  in  her  votive  grove,  etc.]  "  This  passage  is  in- 
valuable, and  I  do  not  think  that  any  thing  so  beautiful  or 
BO  delicate  has  ever  been  said.  What  an  idea  does  it  give 
of  the  poetry  of  the  man  from  whom  Venus  herself,  the 
mother  of  the  Graces  and  the  Pleasures,  purchases  a  little 
hymn  with  one  of  her  favourite  doves'." — I^nn^fpierre. 

De  Pauw  objects  to  the  authenticity  of  this  ode,  because 
it  makes  Anacreon  his  own  panegyrist;  but  poets  have  a 
license  for  praising  themselves,  which,  with  some  indeed, 
may  he  considered  as  comprised  under  their  general  privilege 
of  fiction. 

1  This  ode  and  the  next  may  bo  called  companion-pic- 
tures ;  they  are  highly  finished,  and  give  us  an  excellent  idea 
nl"  tin;  tiiste  of  the  ancients  in  beauty.  Franciscus  Junius 
quotes  them  in  his  third  book,  "  De  Pictura  Veterum." 

This  ode  has  been  imitated  by  Ronsanl,  Giuliann,  Goselini, 
etc.  etc.  Scaliger  alludes  to  it  thus  in  his  Anacreontica:  , 


Best  of  painters  !  come,  portray 
The  lovely  maid  that  's  far  away. 
Far  away,  my  soul !  thou  art, 
But  I  've  thy  beauties  all  by  heart. 
Paint  her  jetty  ringlets  straying, 
Silky  twine  in  tendrils  playing; 
And,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 
To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil, 
Let  every  little  lock  exhale 
A  sigh  of  perfume  on  the  gale. 
Where  her  tresses'  curly  flow 
Darkles  o'er  the  brow  of  snow, 
Let  her  forehead  beam  to  light, 
Burnish'd  as  the  ivory  bright.    • 
Let  her  eyebrows  sweetly  rise 
In  jetty  arches  o'er  her  eyes, 
Gently  in  a  crescent  gliding, 
Just  commingling,  just  dividing. 
But  hast  thou  any  sparkles  warm, 
The  lightning  of  her  eyes  to  form? 
Let  them  effuse  the  azure  ray 
With  which  Minerva's  glances  play, 


Olim  lepore  blanvio, 
Litis  versibug 
Candidug  Anacr  on 
Uuam  pingcret  Amicus 
Dcscripsil  v  enjiem  mum. 

The  Teian  bard,  of  former  days, 
Attuned  his  sweet  descriptive  lays, 
And  taught  the  painter's  hand  to  trace 
His  fait  beloved's  every  grace! 

n  the  dialogue  of  Caspar  Bnrlams,  entitled  "  An  formoea  nil 
ducenda,"  the  reader  will  find  many  curious  ideas  and  d«- 
gcriptions  of  beauty. 

Thou,  whose  soft  and  rosy  hues 

Mimic  form  and  soul  infuse.]  I  have  followed  the  rend- 
ng  of  the  Vatican  MS.  (tint.  Painting  is  called  "  the  rosy 
irt,"  either  in  reference  to  colouring,  or  as  an  indefinite 
pithet  of  excellence,  from  the  association  of  beauty  with 
hat  flower.  Salvini  has  adopted  this  reading  in  his  literal 
i an.-iat ion  : 

Delia  rosea  arte  signore. 

The  lovely  maid  that  '*  far  away.]     If  the  portrait  of 
his  beauty  be  not  merely  ideal,  the  omission  of  her  name  is 
null  to  be  regretted.  Meleager,  in  an  epigram  on  Anacreon, 
mentions  "  the  golden  Eurypyle"  as  his  mistress : 


Paint  her  jetty  ringlrts  straying, 

Silky  twine  in  tendrils  playing ;]  The  ancients  have 
een  very  enthusiastic  in  their  praise*  of  hair.  Apuleiu*,  in 
10  second  book  of  his  Milcsiacs,  says,  that  Venus  hrrsi  If, 
'  she  were  bald,  though  surrounded  by  the  Graces  and  the 
joven,  could  not  be  pleasing  even  to  her  husband  Vulcan. 

Stesichorusgavo  theopitlict  <»\Xiir\tiic»^o{  to  the  Graces, 
nd  Simonides  bestowed  the  game  upon  the  Muse*.  See 
fadrian  Junius' s  /iissrrtatiun  u/ion  Hair. 

To  this  passage  of  our  poet,  Selden  alluded  in  a  note  on 
10  Polyolbion  of  Drnyton,  song  the  second  ;  where,  oh- 
•rving  that  the  epithet  "  black-haired"  was  given  by  some 
f  the  ancients  to  the  goddess  Isis,  he  says,  "  Nor  will  I 
wear,  hut  that  Anacreon  (a  man  very  judicious  in  the  (Ho- 
oking motives  of  wanton  love,)  intending  to  bestow  on  his 
weet  mistress  that  one  of  the  titles  of  woman's  - 
rnament,  well-haired  (xaXXur>.ox»^os,)  thought  of  this 
hen  he  gave  his  painter  direction  to  make  her  liia'-k- 
aircd." 

.find,  if  painting  hath  the  skill 

To  make  the  spicy  balm  distil,  etc.]  Thus  Philostmtm, 
•caking  of  a  picture:  IJTXIKO  xxi  TO»  ivSfta-tr  T»»  ••«<•*, 
tt  c*ui  7'i^-p*c5*i  aura  fj-trx  re?  drfciif.  "  I  admire 
e  dewiness  of  these  roses,  and  could  suy  (hat  their  very 
icll  wus  painted." 


244 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


And  give  them  all  that  liquid  fire 
That  Venus'  languid  eyes  respire 
O'er  her  nose  and  cheek  be  shed 
flushing  white  and  mellow  red ; 
Gradual  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snowy  milk  the  bashful  rose. 
Then  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisses ' 
Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses ! 
Pouting  nest  of  bland  persuasion, 
Ripely  suing  Love's  invasion. 
Then  beneath  the  velvet  chin, 
Whose  dimple  shades  a  Love  within, 
Mould  her  neck  with  grace  descending, 
In  a  heaven  of  beauty  ending ; 
While  airy  charms,  above,  below, 
Sport  and  flutter  on  its  snow. 
Now  let  a  floating,  lucid  veil 
Shadow  her  limbs,  but  not  conceal ; 


.Ind  give  them  all  that  liquid  fire 
That  fen**'  languid  eyes  respire.}    Marchctti  explain 
thus  the  </}  f  o»  of  the  original : 

Dipingili  umidotti 
Tretuuli  e  lascivetti, 

Quni  gli  ha  Ciprigna  1'  alma  Dea <T  Ainore. 
Tasso  has  painted  in  the  same  manner  the  eyes  of  Armida 
W  La  Votte  remarks : 

Qua!  raggio  in  onda  1«  scintilla  un  riso 

Kegli  umidi  occhi  tremulo  e  lascivo. 

Within  her  humid,  melting  eyes 

A  brilliant  ray  of  laughter  lies, 

Sitt  as  the  broken  solar  beam 

That  trembles  in  the  azure  stream 

The  mingled  expression  of  dignity  and  tenderness,  whirl 

Anacreon  requires  the  painter  to  infuse  into  the  eyes  of  his 

mistress,  is  more  amply  described  in  the  subsequent  ode 

Both  description*  are  go  exquisitely  touched,  that  the  artis 

must  have  been  great  indeed,  if  he  did  not  yield  iu  painting 

to  the  poet : 

Gradual  tints,  as  when  there  glows 
In  snoicy  milk  the  bashful  ruse.]    Thus  Propertiui,  eleg, 
3.  lib.  ii. 

T'tque  rosse  puro  lacte  natant  folia. 
And  Davenant,  in  a  little  poem  called  "  The  Mistress," 
Catch,  as  it  falls,  the  Scythian  snow, 
Bring  blushing  roses  gteepM  iu  milk. 
Thai,  too,  Taygetus : 

Quo  lac  atque  rosas  vincis  candore  rubcnti. 

These  last  words  may  perhaps  defend  the  "  flushing  white" 
of  tin  translation. 

T*en  her  lip,  so  rich  in  blisae.il 

Sweet  petitioner  for  kisses!]  The  "lip,  provoking 
kis»e«,"  in  the  original,  is  a  strung  and  beautiful  expression. 
AcnilleiTatius  speaks  of  X'  '*•*  /<»*.ja*»  wpo;  r»  3ii.itftx.Tx, 
'  Lip*  soft  and  delicate  for  kissing."  A  grave  old  commen- 
tator, Dionysiu*  Lnmbinus,  in  run  notes  upon  Lucretius,  tells 
us,  with  all  the  authority  of  experience,  that  girls  who  have 
large  lips  kin  infinitely  sweeter  than  others!  "Suavius 
viros  oscul.mtnr  pm-lla-  laliioso;,  qnam  qua  sunt  brevibus 
labris."  And  JEnets  Sylvius,  in  hi«  teilioui  uninteresting 
story  of  the  adulterous  loves  of  Euryalus  and  Lucretia, 
where  he  particularizes  the  beuutiea  of  the  heroine  (in  a 
very  fal«e  and  Inboured  style  of  lutinity,)  describes  her  lips 
aiexqni-i'i-ly  <i<l;ipi.-,l  for  biting:  "  Oi  parvum  decensque, 
labia  coralhni  coloris  ad  moreum  aplisaima."  Epist  114' 
lib.  i. 

Tten  benrath  thr  vrlnrt  chin, 

Whene  dimple  shades  a   /.tree  within,  etc.]    Madame 
Dacier  h«»  quoted  here  two  pretty  lines  of  Varro  : 
BigilU  in  mento  impre»sa  Amnrisdigitulo 
Vraligio  demonstrant  mollituilinem. 
In  h-r  chin  in  a  delicate  dimple, 

R)  thcfinjnr  of  Cupid  imprest; 
Tlicre  Sof:niT-«,  bawitcbfofly  simple, 

Mas  cliown  her  innocent  liest. 
ffovt  let  aflontinf,  lurid  rril 
Skadox  her  limbs,  but  nut  conceal,  etc.]    This  dolicata 


A  charm  may  peep,  a  hue  may  beam, 
And  leave  the  rest  to  Fancy's  dream. 
Enough — 't  is  she !  't  is  all  I  seek; 
It  glows,  it  lives,  it  soon  will  speak  ' 


ODE  XVII.' 

AND  now,  with  all  thy  pencil's  truth, 
Portray  Bathyllus,  lovely  youth  ! 
Let  his  hair,  in  lapses  bright, 
Fall  like  streaming  rays  ot'light ; 
And  there  the  raven's  dye  confuse 
With  the  yellow  sunbeam's  hues. 
Let  not  the  braid,  with  artful  twine, 
The  flowing  of  his  locks  confine  ; 
But  loosen  every  golden  ring, 
To  float  upon  the  breeze's  wing. 
Beneath  the  front  of  polish'd  glow, 
Front  as  fair  as  mountain  snow, 
And  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn, 
Let  the  majestic  brows  be  drawn, 
Of  ebon  dyes,  enrich'd  by  gold, 
Such  as  the  scaly  snakes  unfold. 
Mingle  in  his  jetty  glances 
Power  that  awes,  and  love  that  trances  ; 


art  of  description,  which  leaves  imagination  to  complete  ilie 
licture,  bus  been  seldom  adopted  in  the  imitations  of  this 
eautiful  poem.  Ronsard  is  exceptionally  minute ;  ami 
'olitianus,  in  his  charming  portrait  of  a  girl,  full  of  rich  and 
xquisile  diction,  has  lifted  the  veil  rather  too  much.  Tha 
'  questo  che  tu  m'intendi"  should  be  always  left  to  fancy. 

1  The  reader  who  wishes  to  acquire  an  accurate  idea  of 
lie  judgment  of  the  ancients  in  beauty,  will  be  indulged  by 
onsulting  Junius  de  Pictura  Veterum,  ninth  chapter,  third 
ook,  where  he  will  find  a  very  curious  selection  of  desrrip- 
ions  and  epithets  of  personal  perfections  ;  he  compares  thi? 
de  with  a  description  of  Theodoric,  king  of  the  Goths,  in 
le  second  epistle,  first  book  of  Sidonius  Apollinaiis. 

Let  his  hair,  in  lapses  bright, 

Fall  like  streaming  rays  of  light;  etc.]  He  here  de- 
cribes  the  sunny  hair,  the  "flava  coma,"  which  the  ancienU 
o  much  admired.  The  Romans  gave  this  colour  artificially 
o  their  hair.  See  Stanisl.  Kobicnsyck  de  Luxu,  Human- 

•urn. 

Let  not.  the  braid,  with  artful  twine,  etc.]  If  the  original 
ere,  which  is  particularly  beautiful,  can  admit  of  any  ud- 
itional  value,  that  value  is  conferred  by  Gray'*  admiration 
fit.  See  his  Letters  to  West. 

Some  annotators  have  quoted  on  this  passage  the  descrip- 
on  of  I'liot  i-'s  hair  in  Apuleius  ;  but  nothing  can  be  more 
istant  from  the  simplicity  of  our  poet's  manner  than  thai 
tfectatioc  of  richness  which  distinguishes  the  style  of 

puleius. 

Front  as  fair  as  mountain- snow, 

rfnd  guileless  as  the  dews  of  dawn,  etc.]  Torrent}un, 
i)on  the  words  "  insignem  tenui  fronte,"  in  the  thirty-third 
le  of  the  first  book  of  Horace,  is  of  opinion  that"  lenui" 
ars  the  meaning  of  xjrxKtv  here;  but  he  is  certainly  in. 
orrect. 

Mingle  in  his  jetty  fiances 

Power  that  awes,  and  love  that  trances!  etc.]    T.issn 

ves  a  similar  character  to  tin:  eyes  of  Clorinda: 

Lampeggiar  gli  occhi,  e  folgorar  gli  eguardi 
Dolci  ne  1'  ira. 

Her  eyes  were  glowing  with  a  heavenly  heat, 
Emaning  fire,  and  e'en  in  anger  sweet! 

The  poetess  Veronica  Cambara  is  more  diffuse  upon  this 
arie'.y  of  expression: 

Occhi  lucenti  et  belli 

Come  esser  puo  ch'  in  un  merlesmo  istanta 

Nascan  de  voi  si  nove  forme  et  tante  1 

I.ieti,  mesti,  supcrbi,  humil'  altieri 

Vi  modtrate  in  un  punto,  ondi  di  spemo 

Et  di  timor  dc  empiote,  etc.  etc. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Steal  from  Venus  bland  desire, 
Steal  from  Mars  the  look  of  fire, 
Blend  them  in  such  expression  IKTP, 
That  wo,  by  turns,  may  hope  and  fear ! 
Now  from  the  sunny  apple  seek 
The  velvet  down  that  spreads  his  cheek! 
And  there  let  Beauty's  rosy  ray 
In  flying  blushes  richly  play ; — 
Blushes  of  that  celestial  (lame 
Which  lights  the  cheek  of  virgin  shame. 
Then  for  his  lips,  that  ripely  gem — 
But  let  thy  mind  imagine  them  ! 
Paint,  where  the  ruby  cell  uncloses, 
Persuasion  sleeping  upon  roses  ; 
And  give  his  lip  that  speaking  air, 
As  if  a  word  was  hovering  there  ! 
His  neck  of  ivory  splendour  trace, 
Moulded  with  soft  but  manly  grace ; 
Fair  as  the  ntck  of  Paphia's  boy, 
Where  Paphia  s  arms  have  hung  in  joy. 
Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand, 
With  which  he  waves  his  snaky  wand  j 
Let  Bacchus  then  the  breast  supply, 
And  Leda's  son  the  sinewy  thigh. 
But  oh !  suffuse  his  limbs  of  fire 
With  all  that  glow  of  young  desire 


Oh  !  tell  me,  brightly-beaming  eye, 
Whence  in  your  little  orbit  lie 
So  many  different  trails  of  Ire, 
F.xprc'ssing  each  a  new  desire? 
Now  with  angry  scorn  you  diirkle, 
Now  with  tender  arjuish  sparkle, 
And  we,  who  view  the  various  mirror, 
Feel  at  once  both  hope  and  terror. 

Monsieur  Chevrenu,  citing  the  lines  of  our  poet,  in  his 
Ciuirue  on  the  poems  of  Malherbi',  pro. luces  a  Latin  version 
of  thorn  from  a  manuscript  which  ho  hud  seen,  entitled 
"Joan  Falconis  Anacreontic!  Lusus." 

Persuasion  sleeping  upon  roses.]  Tt  was  worthy  of  the 
delicate  imagination  of  the.  Greeks  to  deify  Persuasion,  and 
give  her  the  lips  for  her  throne.  We  are  here  reminded  of 
a  very  interesting  fragment  of  Anacreon,  preserved  by  the 
scholiast  upon  Pindar  and  supposed  to  belong  to  a  poem 
reflecting  wuh  some  severity  on  Simonides,  who  was  the 
first,  we  are  told,  that  ever  made  a  hireling  of  his  muse. 

OuJ'    XfyVftq    XOT*    iXX.U'yl     IlllSal, 

Nor  yet  had  fair  Persuasion  shone 
In  silver  splendours,  not  her  own. 

Jlnd  give  his  lip  that  speaking  air, 

Jls  if  a  word  was  hovering  there!]  In  the  original 
Xox.«>  rtuflrif.  The  mistress  of  Petrarch  "  parla  con  silen- 
tiu,"  which  is  perhaps  the  best  method  of  female  eloquence. 

Give  him  the  winged  Hermes'  hand,  etc.]  In  Shak- 
•peare's  Cymbelino  there  is  a  similar  method  of  description  ; 

this  is  his  hand, 

His  font  Mercurial,  his  martial  thigh 
The  brawns  of  Hercules. 

We  find  it  likewise  in  Hamlet.  Longepierre  thinks  thnt 
the  hands  of  Mercury  are  selected  by  Anacreon,  on  account 
of  the  graceful  gestures  which  were  supposed  to  <-lmrnrt"r- 
I7.c  the  god  of  eloquence  ;  but  Mercury  was  also  the  patron 
of  thieves,  and  may  perhaps  be  praised  as  a  light-fingered 
deity. 

But.  oh!  suffuse,  his  limbs  of  fire 

With  all  that  fflma  nf  mninsr  fir  sir  f,  e.tr.]  I  have  taken 
the  liberty  here  of  somewhat  veiling  the  original.  Madame 
Dncier,  in  her  translation,  has  hung  out  lights  (as  Sterne 
would  cull  it)  at  this  passage.  It  is  very  much  to  be  re- 
gretted, that  this  substitution  of  asterisks  has  been  so  much 
adopted  in  the  popular  interpretations  of  the  Classics;  it 
serves  but  to  bring  whatever  is  eT<-entionable  into  notice, 
"  claramque  facem  praeferre  pudendis 


Which  kindles  when  the  wishful  sigh 
Steals  from  the  heart,  unconscious  why. 
Thy  pencil,  though  divinely  bright, 
Is  envious  of  the  eye's  delight, 
Or  its  enamour'd  touch  would  show 
His  shoulder,  fair  as  sunless  snow, 
Which  now  in  veiling  shadow  lies, 
Removed  from  all  but  Fancy's  eyes. 
Now,  for  his  feet — but,  hold — forbear — 
I  see  a  godlike  portrait  there ; 
So  like  Hathyllus! — sure  there's  none 
So  like  Bathyllus  but  the  Sim  ! 
Oh,  let  this  pictured  god  be  mine, 
And  keep  the  boy  for  Samos'  shrine ; 
Phffibus  shall  then  Buthyllus  be, 
Bathyllus  then  the  deity ! 


ODE  XVIII.' 

Now  the  star  of  day  is  high, 
Fly,  my  girls,  in  pity  fly, 
Bring  me  wine  in  brimming  urns, 
Cool  my  lip,  it  burns,  it  burns  ! 
Sunn'd  by  the  meridian  fire, 
Panting,  languid,  I  expire  ! 
Give  me  all  those  humid  flowers, 
Drop  them  o'er  my  brow  in  showers. 
Scarce  a  breathing  chaplet  now 
Lives  upon  my  feverish  brow ; 


-But,  hold — forbea 


tfui,  aoia — jorocar — 

I  see  a  godlike  portrait  there.]  This  i»  very  spirited,  but 
t  requires  explanation.  While  the  artist  is  pursuing  the 
Hirtrait  of  Bathyllus,  Anacreon,  we  must  suppose,  turni 
ound  and  sees  a  picture  of  Apollo,  which  was  intended  lor 
an  altar  at  Samos ;  he  instantly  tells  the  painter  to  cea-e  Ins 
vork  ;  that  this  picture  will  serve  for  Bathyllus;  and  tli.it, 
when  he  goes  to  Samos,  he  may  make  an  Apollo  of  the  por- 
i  ait  of  the  boy  which  he  had  begun. 

"Bathyllus  (says  Madame  Dacier)  could  not  be  more  cle- 
rantly  praised,  and  this  one  passage  dues  him  more  honour 
ban  the  statue,  however  beuuufi '  it  might  be,  which  Poly- 
rates  raised  to  him." 

1  "An  elegant  translation  o"  this  ode  may  be  found  in 
lamler's  Lyr.  Blumcnslese,  lib.  v.  p.  403." — Dcgcn. 

Itring  me  trine  in  brimming  urns,  etc.]  Grig,  win* 
xfiva-Ti.  "The  amystis  was  a  method  of  drinking  used 


Give  me  all  those  humid  Jiuterrs,  etc.]  By  the  original 
sading  of  this  line,  the  poet  says,  "  Give  mo  the  flower  of 
vine" — Date  flosculos  Lya-i,  as  it  is  in  the  version  of  Elia« 
Liidreus ;  and 

Deh  porgetimi  del  fioro 

Di  quel  almo  c  buon  liqnoro, 

s  Rpjrnior  has  it,  who  supports  the  reading.  Ai-Ss;  wonli' 
ndoutitedly  bear  this  application,  which  is  soniewhnt  -iiui- 
ar  to  its  import  in  the  epigram  of  Simunides  upon  tiupho- 
les: 


nd  flos,  in  the  Latin,  is  frequently  applied  in  this  manner 

us  fVihi-sud  is  culled  by  K.miiis,  Flos  illibatus  popnd, 
ladirque  medulla,  "  The  immaculate  (lower  of  tlie  |»  nple, 
nd  the  very  marrow  of  persuasion,"  in  those  verses  cilea 
y  Aulus  Gellius,  lib.  xii.  which  Cicero  praised,  and  Seneca 
iou_'ht  ridiculous. 

But  in  the  passage  before  tm,  if  we  admit  ixfiwr,  accord- 
ng  to  Faber's  corj.Ttnre,  tho  sense  is  sufficiently  c'sor,  ami 

e  need  nut  have  recourse  to  refinements. 


MOORE'S  WORK'S. 


KMTV  dewy  rose  I  wear 
Shuts  its  tears,  and  withers  there 
But  for  you,  my  burning  mind  ! 
Oh  !  what  shelter  shall  I  find  ? 
Can  the  bowl,  or  flow'ret's  dew, 
Cool  the  flame  that  scorches  you  ? 


ODE  XIX. 

'Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid, 
Sweet  is  this  imbowering  shade ; 
Sweet  the  young,  the  modest  trees, 
Ruffled  by  the  kissing  breeze ; 
Sweet  the  little  founts  that  weep, 
Lulling  bland  the  mind  to  sleep; 


Every  dewy  rote  I  wear 
Skcdi  it*  tears,  and  withers  there.}    There  are  gome 
bmiuuful  lines,  by  Atigeriatuus,  upon  a  garland,  which  ] 
eauuol  resist  quoting  here: 

Ante  forei  madidac  sic  sic  pendete  corollas, 

Mane  orto  imponet  Ctelia  vos  capiti ; 
At  cum  per  niveam  cervicem  inHuxeril  humor, 
Decile,  non  roris  led  pluvia  licec  lacr.inx. 

By  Celia's  arbour  all  the  night 

Hang,  humid  wreath,  the  lover's  TOW; 

And  haply,  at  the  morning  light, 

My  love  shall  twine  thee  round  her  brow. 

Then  if,  upon  her  bosom  bright 

Some  drops  of  dew  shall  fall  from  thee, 

Tell  her,  they  are  not  drops  of  night, 
But  tears  of  sorrow  shed  by  me! 

In  the  poem  of  Mr.  Sheridan,  "  Uncouth  is  this  moss- 
eover'd  grotto  of  stone,"  there  is  an  idea  very  singularly  co- 
incident with  this  of  Angerianus,  in  the  stanza  which  begins, 
And  thou,  stony  grot,  in  thy  arch  may'st  preserve. 

Rut  for  you  my  burning  mind!  etc.]  The  transition 
here  is  peculiarly  delicate  and  impassioned  ;  but  the  com- 
mentators have  jierplexed  the  sentiment  by  a  variety  of 
readings  and  conjectures. 

1  The  description  of  this  bower  is  so  natural  and  animated, 
that  we  cannot  help  feeling  a  degree  of  coolness  and  fresh- 
DCSS  while  we  read  it  Longepierre  has  quoted  from  the  first 
book  of  the  Anlhologia,  the  following  epigram,  as  some- 
what resembling  this  ode: 

EpXio,  xsi  X*T'  iftxr  i^iu  wiTvr,  it  TO  /uXixpoy 


Come,  til  by  the  shadowy  pine 

That  covers  my  sylvan  retreat, 
And  see  how  the  branches  incline 

The  breathing  of  Zephyr  to  meet. 

See  the  fountain,  that,  flowing,  diffuse! 

Around  me  a  glittering  spray; 
By  its  brink,  as  the  traveller  muse*, 

I  soothe  him  to  sleep  with  my  lay ! 

Here  recline  you,  gentle  maid,  etc.}  The  Vatican  MS. 
reads  fcmSv^x.eu,  which  renders  the  whole  poem  metnphori- 
sal.  Some  commentator  suggests  the  rending  of  £x$ux.x.ov 
which  makes  a  pun  upon  the  name;  a  grace  thnt  Plato  him- 
self has  condescended  to  in  writing  of  his  boy  Ao-Tup.  See 
the  epigram  of  this  philosopher,  which  I  quote  on  the  twen- 
friwrond  ode. 

There  is  another  epigram  by  this  philosopher,  preserved  in 
Laertius,  which  turns  upon  the  same  word: 

Ao-Tiip  vfir  pit  iKafnrlf  in  faeiirir  t»9{ 

M*     £ 
uf  Si  oavwv,  \xfnrti$  iryrtf9f  tv  ooiuiveic 

In  life  thou  wort  rny  morning-star, 
But  now  that  death  has  stolen  thy  light, 

Alas!  thou  shineM  dim  ind  far, 

Like  the  pale  beam  that  weeps  at  night, 

f«  the  Vencres  Blyenburgica,  under  the  head  of  "  allu- 


JI;irk  !  they  whispe"-,  as  they  roll, 
Calm  persuasion  to  the  soul ; 
Tell  me,  tell  me,  is  not  this 
All  a  stilly  scene  of  bliss? 
Who,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by  ? 
Surely  neither  you  nor  1 ! 


ODE  XX. 

"One  day  the  Muses,  twined  the  nanda 
Of  baby  Love,  with  flowery  bands ; 
And  to  celestial  Beauty  gave 
The  captive  infant  as  her  slave. 


siones,"  we  find  a  number  of  such  frigid  conceits  upon 
names,  selected  from  the  pouts  of  the  middle  ages. 

Who,  my  girl,  would  pass  it  by! 

Surely  neither  you.  nor  /.']  What  a  finish  he  gives  to  the 
picture  by  the  simple  exclamation  of  the  original !  In  theM 
It'licate  turns  he  is  inimitable;  and  yet,  hear  u  hat  a  French 
ranslator  says  on  the  passage:  "This  conclusion  appeared 
o  me  too  trilling  after  such  a  description,  and  I  thought  pro- 
>er  to  add  somewhat  to  the  strength  of  the  original." 

1  By  this  allegory  of  the  Muses  making  Cupid  the  pri- 
soner of  Beauty,  Anacreon  seems  to  insinuate  the  softening 
nfluence  which  a  cultivation  of  poetry  has  over  the  mind, 
n  making  it  peculiarly  susceptible  to  the  impressions  of 
>eauty. 

Though  in  the  following  epigram,  by  the  philosopher 
'Into,  which  is  found  in  the  third  book  of  Diogenes  Laer- 
ius,  the  muses  are  made  to  disavow  all  the  influence  of 
liove : 

A  Kturpif  Msu(r*i<ri,  xopan*  T«V  AefoJirav 

TifiatT*  n  TOv  Epu>T»  vftptv  i$C7r>*nrof*xt . 
A*  Motc~36i  TOT*  Kurrriv.    Apf i  T»  <TTw/«vXe*  ravT» 

H/41V    OU    VfTXTXI    TOUTO   TO    fJattS»ftOy. 

"  Yield  to  my  gentle  power,  Parnassian  maids  ;" 
Thus  to  the  Muses  spoke  the  Queen  of  Charms— 

"Or  Love  shall  flutter  in  your  classic  shades, 
And  make  your  grove  the  camp  of  Paphian  armi"* 

"No,"  said  the  virgins  of  the  tuneful  bower, 
"  We  scorn  thine  own  and  all  thy  urchin's  art ; 

Though  Mars  has  trembled  at  the  infant's  power, 
His  shaft  is  pointless  o'er  a  Muse's  heart !" 

There  is  a  sonnet  by  Benedetto  Guidi,  the  thought  ol 
which  was  suggested  by  this  ode. 

Scherznva  dentro  all*  anree  chiome  Amore 

Dell*  alma  donna  della  vita  mia: 
E  tanta  era  il  placer  ch'  ei  ne  senlia, 

Che  non  sapea,  ne  volea  uscirne  fore. 

Quando*cco  ivi  annodnr  si  sente  il  core, 
Si,  che  per  forza  ancor  convoin  che  stia: 

Tiii  lacci  alta  beltate  orditi  ;ivm 

Del  crespo  crin ;  per  farsi  eterno  onore 

Onde  offre  infin  dal  ciel  dagna  mercede, 

A  chi  scioglie  il  flgliuol  la  bella  dea 

Da  tanti  nodi,  in  ch'  ella  slretto  il  vede. 
Ma  ci  vinto  a  due  occhi  1'  arme  cede: 

Ett'  affiitichi  indarno,  Citerea; 

Che  s'  altri  '1  scioglie,  egli  a  Icgar  si  riede 

Love,  wandering  through  the  golden  maze 

Of  my  beloved's  hair, 
Truced  every  lock  with  fond  delays, 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 
And  soon  he  found  'twero  vain  1o  fly, 

His  heart  was  close  confined  ; 
And  every  curlet  was  a  tie, 

A  chain  by  Benuty  twined. 

Now  Venus  seeks  her  boy's  release, 

With  ransom  from  above  : 
Rut,  Venus  !  let  thy  efforts  ceaso, 

For  Love  "s  the  slave  of  love. 
And,  should  we  loose  his  golden  chain 
The  prisoner  would  return  again ! 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


His  mother  comes  with  many  a  toy, 
To  ransom  her  beloved  boy  ; 
His  mother  sues,  but  all  in  vain  ! 
lie  ne'er  will  leave  his  chains  again. 
Nay,  should  they  take  his  chains  away, 
The  litrie  captive  still  would  stay. 
"  I!' tliis,"  he  cries,  "  a  bondage  be, 
Who  could  wish  for  liberty?" 


ODE  XXI.1 

OBSERVE  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky  ; 


ffis  iiidlfier  comes,  with  many  a  toy, 

To  rannnm  her  brlomd  boy,  etc.]     Venus  thus  proclaims 
the  reward  lor  her  fugitive  child  in  the  first  idyl  of  Moschius  : 


M.o-53,- 
Oy  vvft 


O  ,ux 


OS,  IV 


On  him,  who  the  haunts  of  my  Cupid  can  show, 
A  kiss  of  the  tenderest  stamp  I  '11  bestow  ; 
But  he,  who  can  bring  me  the  wanderer  here, 
Shall  have  something  more  rapturous,  something  more 
dear. 

This  "  something  more"  ia  the  quidquid  post  oscula  dulce 
of  Secundus. 

After  this  ode,  there  follow  in  the  Vatican  MS.  these  ex- 
traordinary lines : 

HTu.uiM;  Avxxptaiv 


flOl    (tilXOf 


juoi  Jo 

l(T6X.5ui 


Ej><lf 


And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gwei 
To  every  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapours,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep  ; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 
He  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon,  too,  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence,  with  all  your  sober  thinking! 
Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking ; 
I'll  make  the  laws  of  Nature  mine, 
And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine  ! 


ODE  XXII.1 

THE  Phrygian  rock,  that  braves  the  storm, 
Was  once  a  weeping  matron's  form ; 
And  Progne,  hapless,  frantic  maid, 
Is  now  a  swallow  in  the  shade. 


These  lines,  which  appear  to  me  to  have  as  little  cense 
as  metre,  are  most  probably  the  interpolation  of  the  tran- 
scriber. 

1  The  commentators  who  have  endeavoured  to  throw  the 
chains  of  precision  over  the  spirit  of  this  beautiful  trifle,  re- 
quire too  much  fro'n  Anacreontic  philosophy.  Monsieur 
Gail  very  wisely  thinks  that  the  poet  uses  the  epithet  fi- 
Xxivi.,  because  black  earth  absorbs  moisture  more  quickly 
than  any  other;  and  accordin»ly  ho  indulges  us  with  an  ex- 
perimental disquisition  on  the  subj  rt.  See  Gail's  notes. 

One  of  the  Capilupi  has  imitated  this  ode,  in  an  epitaph  on 
a  drunkard. 

Dum  vixi  sine  fine  bibi,  sic  imbrifer  arcus, 

Sie  lellns  pliivia.s  sole  ponista  hihil. 
Sic  bibit  assidue  tomes  et  flnmina  Pontus, 

Sir-  s  -inpcr  sitiens  Sol  maris  haunt  aquas. 
Ne  te  igitur  ja'-tes  plus  mo,  Silene,  hihisse; 

Et  mihi  da  victas  tu  quoque,  Hacche,  manus. 

Ili/ipolytus  Capilupus. 

While  life  was  mine,  the  little  hour 

In  drinking  still  unvaried  tlew  ; 
J  ilrink  ns  earth  imbibes  the  shower, 

Or  as  the  rainbow  drinks  the  dew  ; 

As  ocean  quaffs  the  rivers  up, 

Or  flnshinsr  sun  inhales  the  sea; 
Sileni's  trembled  at  mv  run, 

And  Bacchus  was  outdone  by  me  ! 

I  cannot  omit  citing  these  remarkable  lines  of  Shakspeare, 
wh"re  the  thoughts  of  the  ode  before  us  are  preserved  with 
iuc.li  striking  similitude  : 

TIMOW,    ACT  IV. 

T'l!  example  you  with  thievery. 
The  sun  's  a  thief,  and  with  his  great  attraction 
Jlol..«  the  vast  sea.    The  moon  's  an  arrant  thief, 
And  her  p-ile  fire  she  snatches  from  the  sun. 
The  sea  's  a  thief,  whine  liquid  surge  resolves 
The  mounds  into  s:ilt  tears.     The  earth's  a  thief, 
That  feeds,  and  breeds  by  a  composture  stolen 
From  general  excrementa. 


1  Ogilvie,  in  big  Essay  on  the  Lyric  Poetry  of  the  An- 
cients, in  remarking  upon  the  Odes  of  Anacreon,  *ayi,  "  In 
some  of  his  pieces  there  is  exuberance  and  even  wildness  of 
imagination;  in  that  particularly  whirh  is  addressed  to  a 
young  girl,  where  he  wishes  alternately  to  be  traniformtxi 
to  a  mirror,  a  coat,  a  stream,  a  bracelet,  and  a  pair  of  slinvi, 
for  the  different  purposes  which  ho  recites  ;  thij  is  more 
sport  and  wantonness." 

It  is  the  wantonness,  however,  of  a  very  graceful  muse; 
ludit  amabiliter.  The  compliment  of  this  ode  is  exquisitely 
delicate,  and  so  singular  for  the  period  in  which  Anacroon 
lived,  when  the  scale  of  love  had  not  yet  been  graduated  into 
all  its  little  progressive  refinements,  that  if  we  were  inclined 
to  question  the  authenticity  of  the  poem,  we  should  find  ;• 
much  more  plausible  argument  in  the  features  of  modern 
gallantry  which  it  bears,  than  in  any  of  those  fastidious  con 
jectures  upon  which  some  commentators  have  presumed  to 
far.  Degen  thinks  it  spurious,  and  De  Puuw  pronounces  it 
to  be  miserable.  I/nngepierre  and  liarnes  refer  us  to  several 
imitations  of  this  ode,  from  which  I  shall  only  select  an  epi- 
gram of  Dionysius: 


Ei5i  psJoi-  yivoyuitv  uiroiroptupoi',  o«p»  fit  y.ifrtt 

Ap*/uivi|,  xo/uio-*<;  <TTi$to-<  %iovioi;. 
EJ$I  xpivon  y«vtju>iv  Mvxoxpoov,  oepx^i  xipiriy 

Ap»,uiv>i,  ^s«XXo»  o->if  JCf»T"!S  xopun-f. 

I  wish  I  could  like  zephyr  steal 

To  wanton  o'er  thy  mazy  vest; 
And  thou  wouldst  ope  thy  bosom  veil, 

And  take  me  panting  to  thy  breast  ! 

I  wish  I  might  a  rose-bud  irrovv, 

And  thou  wouldst  cull  me  from  the  bower, 

And  place  me  on  that  brc»»tof  snow, 
Where  I  should  bloom,  a  wintry  flower! 

I  wish  I  were  the  lily's  leaf, 

To  fade  ii|>on  thnt  bosom  warm; 
Them  I  should  wither,  pale  iiml  brief, 

The  trophy  of  thy  fairer  form  ! 

Allow  me  to  add,  that  Plato  has  expressed  as  fanciful  a 
wish  in  a  distich  preserved  by  Lacrtius: 


Oupa 


»V«,»«T> 

i>;  tjoXA.315 


>  •--,-.  nil 


TO   STELH. 

Whv  dost  thou  gaze  upon  the  city? 

Oh  '.  thnt  I  were  that  spangled  sphere, 
And  every  star  should  be  an  eve 

To  wonder  on  thy  beauties  here  ! 

Apuleins  qnotofi  this  epicram  of  (he  divine  philosopher,  to 
jiisti'y  himself  for  his  verses  on  Critias  and  OmrirjiH.  i5** 
his  Apoitiffv,  where  he  nl*o  addni-es  the  evnmple  ol  Ani- 
croon  ;  "  Fecere  tamen  et  alii  talia,  et  t\  vo§  ignoratij,  ajn*! 
Griecos  Teius  quidam,"  etc.  etc. 


K-1S 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Oh  !  that  a  mirror's  form  were  mine, 
To  sparkle  with  that  smile  divine ; 
And,  like  my  heart,  I  then  should  be 
Reflecting  thco,  and  only  thoe  ! 
Or  were  I,  love,  the  robe  which  flows 
O'er  every  charm  that  secret  glows, 
In  many  a  lucid  fold  to  swim, 
And  cling  and  grow  to  every  limb ! 
Oh  !  could  I,  as  the  streamlet's  wave, 
Thy  warmly-mellowing  beauties  lave, 
Or  float  as  perfume  on  thine  hair, 
And  breathe  my  soul  in  fragrance  there ' 
I  wish  I  were  the  zone  that  lies 
Warm  to  thy  breast,  and  feels  its  sighs  ! 
Or  like  those  envious  pearls  that  show 
So  faintly  round  that  neck  of  snow ; 
Yes,  I  would  be  a  happy  gem, 
Like  them  to  hang,  to  fade  like  them. 
What  more  would  thy  Anacreon  be  ? 
Oh !  any  thing  that  touches  thee. 
Nay,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet — 
Thus  to  be  press'd  by  thee,  were  sweet ! 


ODE  xxm.1 

I  OFTEN  wish  this  languid  lyre, 
This  warbler  of  my  soul's  desire, 


/  wi$k  I  were  the  zone  that  lief 

Warm  to  tky  breast,  and  frets  its  sighs  /]  This  Tai»<i| 
was  a  riband,  or  band,  called  by  the  Romans  fascia  ar.J 
•trophium,  which  the  women  ware  lor  the  purpose  of  rr> 
•I  raining  the  exuberance  of  the  bosom.  Vide  Politic.  Ono- 
mast.  Thus  Martial: 

Fascia  crescentes  doming;  compesce  papilla*. 

The  women  of  Greece  not  only  wore  this  zone,  but  con- 
demned themselves  to  tasting,  and  made  use  of  certain 
drags  and  powders  for  the  same  purpose.  To  these  expe- 
dient* they  were  compelled,  in  consequence  of  their  inele- 
gant fashion  of  compressing  the  waist  into  a  very  narrow 
compass,  which  necessarily  caused  an  excessive  tumidity 
in  the  bosom.  See  Diotco'rides,  lib.  v. 

Jfay,  sandals  for  those  airy  feet — 

Thus  ta  be  prest'd  by  Hue  were  sweet!]  The  sophist 
Philostralus,  in  one  of  his  love-letters,  has  borrowed  this 
thought:  •  dJlToi  •»«*!{.  a,  xaXX.0}  iXluSlpoj.  »  TSKTIU- 
t»ifu,r  tfm  *.*>  tix**ifu(  i»*  jr»Tiu-iTi  /*$.  "Oh  lovely 
fen:  oh  excellent  beauty!  oh!  thrice  happy  and  blessed 
should  I  be,  if  yon  would  but  tiead  on  me!"  In  Shakspeure 
Romeo  desires  to  be  a  glove : 

Oh  !  that  I  were  a  glove  upon  that  hand, 
That  I  might  kiss  that  cheek  ! 

And,  in  his  Passionate  Pilgrim,  we  meet  with  an  idea  some- 
what like  that  of  the  thirteenth  line : 

Ho.  urn-ins  h»r,  bounced  in,  where  as  he  stood, 
"  O  Jove !"  quoth  she,  "  why  was  not  I  a  Hood !" 
In  Burton's  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  that  whimsical  far- 
rag"  "fall  surh  reading  as  was  m-ver  rend,"  there  is  a 
translation  of  thi<  odo,  before  1632.     "  KiMished 
i.»  M'.  I!.  Holiday,  in  his  Technog.  act  1,  scene  7."  ° 

1  This  ode  is  first  jn  tne  g(,rjps  of  n)|  ,|)P  p,|j,j,,nSi  an(]  ig 
linuL'lit  to  be  p"ruliarlr  designed  as  nn  introduction  to  the 

•.I"  theTeian  but 

»rr>  inadequately,  a*  wine,  the  burden  of  his  lays,  is  not 
even  mentioned  in  it. 

mm  multo  Vpncrom  confundcre  mero 

Precepit  Lyrici  Teia  Musa  seuis.  Ovid. 

Th«  twenty-sixth  Ode.  <n  u,,  x,r,,f  T»  e*e»f,  miglit,  with 
as  much  propriety,  be  tne  harbinger  of  hU  songs. 

Hum  has  expressed   th'  s. •n-iMi-ntu  of  the  Uile  before  u« 
with  murh  simplicity  in  his   fourth  idvl.     I  have 
'nth."  paranhrasfically  ;  it  has  boon  so  frpquen'lv  tr.-nislntcd, 
Out  1  coul.l  not  otherwise  avoid  triteness  and  repetition 


Could  raise  the  breath  of  song  sublime, 
To  men  of  fame,  in  former  time. 
But  when  the  soaring  theme  I  try, 
Along  the  chords  my  numbers  die, 
And  whisper,  with  dissolving  tone, 
"  Our  sighs  are  given  to  Love  alone  !" 
Indignant  at  the  feeble  lay, 
I  tore  the  panting  chords  away, 
Attuned  them  to  a  nobler  swell, 
And  struck  again  the  breathing  shell ; 
In  all  the  glow  orepic  fire, 
To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre ! 
But  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 
"  The  tale  of  Love  alone  is  sweet !" 
Then  fare  thee  well,  seductive  drenm, 
That  mad'st  me  follow  Glory's  theme  ; 
For  thou,  my  lyre,  and  thou,  my  heart, 
Shall  never  more  in  spirit  part  ; 
And  thou  the  flame  shall  feel  as  well 
As  thou  the  flame  shall  sweetly  tell ! 


ODE  XXIV.1 

To  all  that  breathe  Ihe  airs  of  heaven, 
Some  boon  ofslrength  has  nature  given. 
When  the  majestic  bull  was  born, 
She  fenced  his  brow  with  wreathed  horn. 
She  arm'd  the  courser's  foot  of  air, 
And  wing'd  with  speed  the  panting  hare 
She  gave  the  lion  fangs  of  terror, 
And,  on  the  ocean's  crystal  mirror, 
Taught  the  unntimberd  scaly  throng 
To  trace  their  liquid  path  along ; 
While  for  the  umbrage  of  the  grove, 
She  plumed  the  warbling  world  of  love. 


Jn  all  the  glow  of  epic  fire, 

To  Hercules  I  wake  the  lyre!]  Madame  Dacier  gene- 
ally  translates  Xupn  into  a  lute,  which  I  believe  is  ratlier  in- 
accurate. "D'expliquer  la  lyre  des  anciens  (says  Monsieur 
Sorel)  par  un  luth,  c'esl  ignorer  la  difference  qii'il  y  a  entr« 
ces  deux  instrumens  de  mueique."  Bibliolheque  Ffancaue. 

Hut  still  its  fainting  sighs  repeat, 

"  The  tale  of  I.nvc  alone  is  sweet!"]     The  word  M»TI- 

»vf«,  in  the  original,  may  imply  that  kind  of  musical  dia- 
ogue  practised  by  the  ancients,  in  which  the  lyre  was  made 
o  respond  to  the  questions  proposed  by  the  singer.  This  wag 

method  which  Sappho  nsed,  as  we  are  told  bv  Hermo- 

1  Henri  Stephens  has  imitated  the  idea  of  this  ode  in  tbe 
olio  wing  lines  of  one  of  his  poems  : 

Provida  dat  cunclis  Natura  animantibns  arma, 

Et  sua  foBmineum  possidet  nrmn  genus, 
Uneulaque  ut  clefendit  equum,  atque  ut  cornua  tauruni, 

Armata  est  forma  fcemina  pulchra  sua. 

And  the  same  thought  occurs  in  those  lines,  spoken  by 
Oorigca  in  Pastor  Fido  : 

Cost  noi  la  belle/™ 

Che  V  veitn  no-ira  cosS  propria,  come 

T.a  for/a  del  leone 

E  P  ingegno  de  1'  huomo. 

The  lion  boas's  his  savage  powers, 
And  lordly  man  his  strength  of  mind; 

But  beauty's  charm  is  solely  ours, 
Peculiar  boon,  by  Heaven  asaign'd  ! 

"  An  rlegnnt  explication  of  the  beauties  of  this  ode  (nays 
lejen'  m.-iy  l.e  fn-md  in  Grimm  en  den  Anmerkk.  V'ber 
inige  Odcn  des  Anakr  " 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


249 


To  man  she  gave  the  flame  refined, 
The  spark  of  Heaven — a  thinking  mind  ! 
And  had  she  no  surpassing  treasure 
For  thee,  oh  woman  !  child  of  pleasure? 
She  gave  thee  beauty — shall  of 
That  every  shaft  of  war  outHies  ! 
She  gave  thee  beauty — blush  of  lire, 
That  bids  the  flames  of  war  retire  ! 
Woman  !  be  fair,  we  must  adore  thee ; 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  before  thee  ! 


ODE  XXV  ' 

ONTE  in  each  revolving  yoar, 
Gentle  bird  !  we  find  thee  here, 
When  nature  wears  her  summer-vest, 
Thou  com'st  to  weave  thy  simple  nest ; 
But  when  the  chilling  winter  lowers, 
Again  thou  seek'st  the  genial  bowers 
Of  Memphis,  or  the  shores  of  Nile, 
Where  sunny  hours  of  verdure  smile. 
And  thus  thy  wing  of  freedom  roves, 
Alas  !  unlike  the  plumed  loves, 
That  linger  in  this  hapless  breast, 
And  never,  never  change  their  nest ! 


To  man  she  gave  the  flame  rrjinn], 

The  spark  of  Heaven— a  thinking  mind!]  In  my  first 
Itteinpt  to  translate  this  ode,  1  had  interpreted  ffn/tift*,  with 
Baxter  and  Barnes,  as  implying  couiag>:  and  miiilary  virtue ; 
out  1  do  not  think  that  tbu  g.illantry  of  the  idea  suffers  by 
the  import  which  I  have  now  given  to  it.  For,  why  need 
we  consider  this  possession  of  wisdom  as  exclusive  1  and  in 
truth,  as  the  design  of  Anacreon  is  to  estimate  the  treasure 
of  beauty,  above  all  the  rest  which  Nature  lias  distributed, 
it  is  perhaps  even  refinin-;  upon  the  delicacy  of  the  compl; 
ment,  to  prefer  the  radiance  of  female  charms  to  UM  COM 
illumination  of  wisdom  and  prudence ;  and  to  think  that 
women's  eyes  are 

the  books,  the  academics, 

From  whence  doth  spring  the  true  Promethean  fire. 

She  gave  thee  beauty— shaft,  of  < 

That  rvn-y  shaft  uf  inir  ,,utflir.<  !}     Thus  Achilles   I  a- 

T.*«.   Tpavftar*.      "  lie  mtv  wounds   more  swiftly  than  the 
nrrow,  and  passes  through  the  eu-  to  ilie  very  soul;  fur  the 
eye  is  the  inlet  to  the  wounds  of  love." 
Woman!  be  fair,  we  must  adiire  Ihr.r  ; 
Smile,  and  a  world  is  weak  bcfxrr  thee .']    Loniepierre's 
remark  here  is  very  in-  niiMM!     "The  Romans,"  says  lie, 
•'  were  so  convinced  of  the  power  of  beauty,  that  they  UWd 
a  word  implying  slren-tii  in  the  place  of  llu;  epithet  beuuti- 
iul.     Thus  riauiiis,  act  2,  scent;  2,  Hacchid. 
Sed  Baccbis  cliam  fortis  tibi  visa. 
•  Fortis,  id  est  formosa,'  say  Pervius  and  Nonius." 
1  This  is  another  ode  addressed  to  tie  swallow.    Albert! 
has  imitated  both  in  one  poem,  beginning 
Perch'  io  pianja  al  tuo  canto 
Rondinclla  importuna,  etc. 
Mas!  inilikr  thf  /ilurar,!  I 
Tlnrt.  liiiL'rr  in  this  A.;;.'.  >.-•  l,na*t, 
.Ind  never,  neear  tkangt  tfnir  ,,,-nt!]    1  bu^    ; 
teprcsented  as  a  bird,  in  an  epigram  cited  by  Longepierre 
from  the  Antholoiria: 

AIM  juci  JUKI  ptv  iv  ou»<r«v  MX'?  i;«TO(, 
O.ujua  J(  «-!>•«  vo5 


, 

OlJ*T',  XVaKTVYXI    X'  OUJ'  OO-Ul-   IIT%«iTi. 

'Tis  Love  that  murmurs  in  my  b  -• 
And  makes  me  she.l  the  M'rrei  leaf) 

Nor  day  nor  night  my  heart  hap  r.--r, 
For  liigh'  Mid  day  his  voice  I  hear 
2  I 


Still  every  year,  and  all  the  yi  :ir, 

A  flight  of  loves  engender  here; 

And  some  their  infant  plumage  try, 

And  on  a  tender  winglet  fly  ; 

While  in  the  shell,  impregn'd  with  fires, 

Cluster  a  thousand  more  <i< 

Some  from  their  tiny  prisons  peeping, 

And  some  in  formless  embryo  sleeping 

My  bosom,  like  the  vernal  grn\ 

Resounds  with  little  warbling  loves; 

One  urchin  imps  the  other's  leather, 

Then  twin-desires  they  wing  together, 

And  still  as  they  have  learn'd  to  soar, 

The  wanton  babies  teem  with  more. 

But  is  there  then  no  kindly  art, 

To  chase  these  Cupids  from  my  heart? 

No,  no  !  I  fear,  alas  !  I  fear 

They  will  for  ever  nestle  here  ! 


ODE  XXVI.1 

THY  harp  may  sing  of  Troy's  alarms, 
Or  tell  the  tale  of  Theban  arms  ; 
'With  other  wars  my  song  shall  burn, 
For  other  wounds  my  harp  shall  mourn 
'T  was  not  the  crested  warrior's  d.irt 
Which  drank  the  current  of  my  heart ; 
Nor  naval  arms,  nor  mailed  steed, 
Have  made  this  vanquished  bosom  bleed 
No — from  an  eye  of  liquid  blue 
A  host  of  quiver'd  Cupids  flew  ; 
And  now  my  heart  all  bleeding 
Beneath  this  army  of  the  eyes  ! 


ODE  XXVII." 

WK  read  the  flying  courser's  name 
Upon  his  side,  in  marks  of  flame ; 


A  wound  within  my  heart  I  find, 

And  oh  !  'lis  plain  where  love  has  been; 
For  sliil  lie  leaves  a  wound  behind, 

Such  as  within  my  heart  i 
Oh  bird  of  Love!  with  SOML'  so  drenr, 

Make  m't  my  soul  the  m-t  of  pain; 
Oh  !   let  the  win^'  which  liioui-lit  tin  e  hero, 

III  pity  vsaft  thre.  l><  l|.-e  al'a.li! 

1  "  The  German  poet  Uz  bus  imiiated  this  ode.     Tom- 

h  m,     Lie.l.  r.    lib.   ill.   dur    Soldau" 
Gail,  IJe.''  a. 

JVo — from  an  cijr  of  liquid  /'/'"•, 

.1  hn*t  of  Hiiivcr'd  Cupitls/ric.]  Lonr-rpierre  baa  qnoteo 
part  of  no  epigram  from  iln-  s.  v, -inh  h..«.k  of  the  Aml.oUr 
gia,  which  ban  a  fancy  something  like  this: 

Ou  jui  \lXi'5tt;, 

Togorx,  Z>ti;o?iXx<  cpuxri  xpu?rTO/<iv»{. 
Archer  Love  !   thonL'h  s-!ilv  en  -.•pins, 
\V,    I  I  know  win  r.'  HMMI  dn.-!  lie; 
I  .-aw  'bee  ihroii^h  the  ror'nin  )ieeping, 

'J'hnt  friiijes  /i-nupheliM1 

The  poets  abound  with   roneeiis   on  the  a-chrry  of  tiia 
eves,  but  few  liave  turned  tlie  thought  so  naturally  as  A 
crcon.     Honsard  gives  to  the  eyes  of  hU  inistres*  "  un  pt-tit 
camp  d'amours." 

2  This  ode  forms  a  part  of  the  pri-redinc  in  the  Vatican 
MS.  but  I  have  conformed   to   the  editions  in  Iran*! 

rith  this  (saysIVffeiO   the  norm  of  Krirnlor 
Wahrzeicheu  der  Litbe,  in'Lyr.  Blumenie»o  lib.iv  y..(]. 


250 


MOORE'  6  WORKS. 


And,  by  their  turban'd  brows  alone, 

The  warriors  of  the  East  are  known 

But  in  the  lover's  glowing  eyes, 

The  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies  ; 

Through  them  we  see  the  small  faint  mark, 

Where  Love  has  dropp'd  his  burning  spark ! 


ODE  XXVIII.' 

As  in  the  Lemnian  caves  of  fire, 
The  mate  of  her  who  nursed  desire 
Moulded  the  glowing  steel,  to  form 
Arrows  for  Cupid,  thrilling  warm ; 
Wliile  Venus  every  barb  imbues 
With  droppings  of  her  honied  dews ; 
And  Love  (alas !  the  victim-heart) 
Tinges  with  gall  the  burning  dart ; 
Once,  to  this  Lemnian  cave  of  flame, 
The  crested  Lord  of  Battles  came ; 
"T  was  from  the  ranks  of  war  he  rush'd, 
His  spear  with  many  a  life-drop  blush'd ! 
He  saw  the  mystic  darts,  and  smiled 
Derision  on  the  archer-child. 
u  And  dost  thou  smile  ?"  said  little  Love ; 
"  Take  this  dart,  and  thou  may'st  prove, 


But  in  the  lover't  gloicing  eyes, 

The  inlet  to  his  bosom  lies.]     "  Wo  cannot  see  into  the 
heart,"  says  Madame  Dacier.    But  the  lover  answers — 

II  cor  oe  gli  occht  e  ne  la  (route  ho  scritto. 
Monsieur  La  Fosse  has  given  the  following  lines,  as  en- 
Urging  on  the  thought  of  Anacreon : 

Lorsque  je  vois  un  amant, 
11  cache  en  vain  son  tourment, 
A  le  trahir  tout  conspire, 
Sa  langueur,  son  embarras, 
Tout  ce  qu'il  peut  faire  ou  dire, 
Me  me  ce  qu'il  ne  dit  pag. 

In  vain  the  lover  tries  to  veil 

The  Dame  which  in  his  bosom  lies; 
Hiii  cheek's  confusion  tells  the  tale, 

We  read  it  in  his  languid  eyes . 
And  though  his  words  the  heart  betray, 
His  silence  speaks  e'en  more  than  they. 
1  This  ode  is  referred  to  by  La  Mothe  le  Vayer,  who,  I 
believe,  won  the  author  of  that  curious  little  work,  called 
"  Hexamcron  Rustique."     He  makes  use  of  this,  as  well  as 
the  thirty-fifth,  in  his  ingenious  but  indelicate  explanation  of 
Homer's  Care  of  the  Nymphs.    Journeu  Qualrieme. 
Jlnd  Love  (alas  1  the  victim  heart) 
Tinget  wiU  gall  the  burning  dart.]    Thus  Claudian — 
Labuntur  gemini  fontes,  hie  dulcis,  amarus 
Alter,  et  infusis  corrunipit  mclla  voncnis, 
Uncle  Cupidineas  armavit  fama  sagiuas. 

In  Cyprus'  isle  two  rippling  fountains  fall, 
And  one  with  honey  Mows,  and  one  with  gall; 
In  these,  if  we  may  take  the  tale  from  fame, 
Tha  son  of  Venus  dips  his  darts  of  flame. 
See  the  ninety-first  emblem  of  Alciatus,  on  tlie  clo=«  con- 

pexion  which  sulisUts  between  sweets  and  bitterness.  "  Apes 

idoo  piingunt  (says  Petronius)  quia  ubi  dulce,  ibi  et  acidurn 

invenies. 
The  allegorical  description  of  Cupid's  employment,  in 

!'          .  may  vie  with  this  before  us  in  fancy,  though  not 

M  delicacy : 

fenis  et  Cupido 

••r  ardentes  acuens  sagittas 
Cote  cruenta. 

And  Cupid,  sharpening  all  his  fiery  darti 
Upon  a  wheUlone  stain'd  with  blood  of  hearts. 
Socundus  has  borrowed  this,  but  has  somewhat  softened 
%>c  image  by  the  omission  of  the  epithet  "crucnt.i." 
Pallor  an  ardontos  acucbat  cote  sagittas.     Eleg.  1. 


That  though  they  pass  the  breeze's  flight, 
My  bolts  are  not  so  feathery  light." 
He  took  the  shafi — and,  oh !  thy  look, 
Sweet  Venus  !  when  the  shaft  he  look- 
He  sigh'd,  and  felt  the  urchin's  art ; 
He  sigh'd,  in  agony  of  heart, 
"  It  is  not  light — I  dre  with  pain  ! 
Take — take  thy  arrow  back  again." 
"  No,"  said  the  child,  "  it  must  not  be, 
That  little  dart  was  made  for  thee  !" 


ODE  XXIX. 

YES — loving  is  a  painful  thrill, 
And  not  to  love,  more  painful  still ; 


Yes  —  loving  is  a  painful  tnrill, 

•fliid  not  to  loos  mure  painful  still,  rtc.]  Monsieur 
Menage,  in  the  following  Anacreontic,  enforces  the  nrce»- 
say  ot  loving: 

ITifi  TOU  J»iv  $iM<r*'. 
IIpo;  ITlTfOv  AaviqXa  TITTOIT.  ' 
M:y»  5*\iu»  T<OV  s>9i£«y 
XxfiTa.*  3-*Xc;   TITTI, 

C'./.i  -i-.U:'.  ,   JO    ET**pf. 


Ti  J'  »v« 

Axovn  ft; 


f.  (a) 


cuv,  TETTE, 

,   »   (TXIfl. 


Ayiouj  if  UTXI; 


TO  PETER  DANIEL  Hl'ETT. 

Thou  !  of  tuneful  bards  the  first, 
Thou  !  by  all  the  Graces  nursed  ; 
Friend  !  each  other  friend  above, 
Come  with  me,  and  learn  to  love. 
Loving  is  a  simple  lore, 
Graver  men  have  learn'd  before; 
Nay,  the  boast  of  former  ages, 
Wisest  of  the  wisest  sages 
Soplironiscus'  prudent  son, 
Was  by  Love's  illusion  won. 
Oh  !  how  heavy  life  would  move, 
It"  we  knew  not  how  to  love ! 
Love  'a  a  whetstone  to  the  mind  ; 
Thus  'tis  pointed,  thus  refined. 
When  the  soul  dejected  lies, 
Love  can  waft  it  to  the  skies ; 
When  in  languor  sleeps  the  iieart, 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark, 
Love  can  light  it  with  his  spurk  ! 
Come,  oh !  come  then,  let  us  haste 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day, 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away  ! 
And  when  hearts,  from  loving  free 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
Frown  upon  our  gentle  flame, 
And  the  sweet  delusion  blame  ; 

.  i)  This  line  is  borrowed  from  an  epigram  by  Atyheuu 
of  Mitylene. 

'yuxi?  IO-TJV  Epcof  oxovi). 

Menage,  I  think,  says  somewhere,  that  he  was  the  first  who 
produced  this  epigram  to  the  world 


ODES  OF  ANACREOX. 


to! 


But  surely  'tis  the  worst  of  pain, 
To  love  and  not  be  loved  again  ! 
A  flection  now  has  fled  from  earth, 
Nor  fire  of  genius,  light  of  birth, 
Nor  heavenly  virtue,  can  beguile 
From  Beauty's  cheek  one  favouring  smile 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  theme, 
Gold  is  the  woman's  only  dream. 
Oh  !  never  be  that  wretch  forgiven — 
Forgive  him  not,  indignant  Heaven  ! — 
Whose  grovelling  eyes  could  first  adore, 
Whose  heart  could  pant  for  sordid  ore. 
Since  that  devoted  thirst  began, 
Man  has  forgot  to  feel  for  man  ; 
The  pulse  of  social  life  is  dead, 
And  all  its  fonder  feelings  fled  ! 
War  too  has  sullied  Nature's  charms, 
For  gold  provokes  the  world  to  arms ! 
And  oh !  the  worst  of  all  its  art, 
1  feel  it  breaks  the  lover's  heart ! 


ODE  XXX.1 

'Twas  in  an  airy  dream  of  night, 

I  fancied  that  I  wing'd  my  flight 

On  pinions  fleeter  than  the  wind, 

While  little  Love,  whose  feet  were  twined 

(I  know  not  why)  with  chains  of  leao, 

Pursued  me  as  I  trembling  fled  ; 

Pursued — and  could  1  e'er  have  thought? — 

Swift  as  the  moment  I  was  caught ! 

What  does  the  wanton  Fancy  mean 

By  such  a  strange,  illusive  scene  ? 

I  fear  she  whispers  to  my  breast, 

That  you,  my  girl,  have  stolen  my  rest  ; 

That  though  my  fancy,  for  a  while, 

Has  hung  on  many  a  woman's  smile, 

I  soon  dissolved  the  passing  vow, 

And  ne'er  was  caught  by  Love  till  now ! 


ODE  XXXI.» 

ARM'D  with  hyacinthine  rod 
(Arms  enough  for  such  a  god,) 


This  shall  be  my  only  curse, 
(Could  I,  could  I  wish  them  worse?) 
May  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove, 
Of  the  smile  from  lips  wo  love ! 

1  Barnes  imagines  from  this  allegory,  lhat  our  poet  mar- 
rim!  very  late  in  life.    I  do  not  perceive  any  thing  in  the  odf 
which  si-ems  to  allude  to  matrimony,  except  it  he  the  lead 
upon  the  feet  of  Cupid  :  and  I  must  confess  that  I  nyree  in 
the  opinion  of  M;id,mie  1  lacier,  in  her  life  of  the  poet,  that 
he  was  always  too  fond  of  pleasure  to  marry. 

2  The  design  of  this  little  fiction  is  1o  intimate,  that  much 
pri-iiter  pain   attends  insensibility  than  can  ever  result  froir 
the  teinlerest  impressions  of  love,     Longepicrre  has  quoted 
in  ancient  epigram   (I  do  not  know  where  he  found  it,) 
which  has  some  similitude  to  this  ode: 

Lecto  composilus,  vix  prima  silentia  noctis 

Carpeliam,  et  somno  lumina  victa  dabarn; 
Cum  me  stevus  Amur  prensiim,  sursumque  capillis 

Kvcitat,  et  Incerum  pervigilare  jubet. 
Tu  famulus  meus,  inquit,  ames  cum  millo  puellas, 

Solus  Io,  Holns.  dnrejacere  pOtMl 
Exilioet  pcdihus  nudis.  tnnicaque  soluta, 

Omne  iter  impcdio,  nullum  iter  expedio. 


Cupid  bade  me  wing  my  puce, 
And  try  with  him  the  rapid  race. 
O'er  the  wild  torrent,  rude  and  deep 
By  tangled  brake  and  pendent  steep, 
With  we.iry  foot  I  panting  flew, 
My  brow  was  chill  with  drops  of  daw 
And  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying, 
To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying; 
And  now  I  thought  the  spark  had  il< •(!, 
When  Cupid  hover'd  o'er  my  hrad, 
And,  fanning  light  his  breezy  plume, 
Recall'd  me  from  my  languid  gloom  ; 
Then  said,  in  accents  half-reproving, 
"  Why  hast  thou  been  a  foe  to  loving  ?' 


ODE  XXXII.1 

STREW  me  a  breathing  bed  of  leaves 
Where  lotus  with  the  myrtle  weaves ; 


Nunc  propero,  nunc  ire  piget;  rursumque  redira 

I'iriiitet ;  et  pudor  esl  stare  via  media. 
Ecce  tacent  voces  hominum,  strepitusque  ferarum, 

Et  volucrum  cantus,  turbaque  lida  canum. 
Solus  ego  ex  cunclis  paveo  somnumque  toiunnjuc, 

Kt  sequor  imperium,  sieve  Cupido,  tuum. 

U|x>n  my  couch  I  lay,  at  night  profound, 
Mv  languid  eyes  in  magic  slumber  bound, 
When  Cupid  came  and  snatch'd  me  from  my  bed, 
And  forced  me  many  a  weary  way  to  tread. 
'•What !  (said  the  god)  shall  you,  whose  vow  s  are  known, 
Who  love  so  many  nymphs,  thus  sleep  alone?" 
I  rise  and  follow;  all  the  night  1  stray, 
Unshelter'd,  trembling,  doubtful  of  my  way. 
Tracing  with  naked  loot  the  painfu!  track, 
Loth  to  proceed,  yet  fearful  to  go  btck. 
Yes,  at  that  hour,  when  Nature  seems  interr'd, 
Nor  warbling  birds,  nor  lowing  flocks  are  heard; 
I,  I  alone,  a  fugitive  from  rest, 
Passion  my  guide,  and  madness  in  my  breast, 
Wander  the  world  around,  unknowing  where, 
The  slave  of  love,  the  victim  of  despair! 
My  brow  was  chill  with  drops  of  dew.]    I  have  followed 
those  who  read  ritpi*  ijp*{  for  srnpiv  «Jpo« ;  the  former  u 
partly  authorized  by  the  MS.  which  reads  mpir  iJp<«f. 

Jlnd  now  my  soul,  exhausted,  dying, 

To  my  lip  was  faintly  flying,  etc.]  In  the  original,  ha 
says  his  heart  flew  to  his  nose;  but  our  manner  more  natu 
riilly  transfers  it  to  the  lips.  Such  is  the  effect  that  Pluto 
tells  us  he  felt  from  a  kiss,  in  a  diitich,  quoted  by  Aulm 
Gellius: 


Whene'er  thy  nectar'd  kiss  I  sip, 
And  drink  thy  breath,  in  melting  twine, 

Mv  soul  then  flutters  to  my  lip, 
Ready  to  fly  and  mix  with  thine. 

Aulus  Gellius  subjoins  a  paraphrase  of  this  epigram,  in 
which  we  find  many  of  those  mignardises  of  expression, 
which  mark  the  ctfemination  of  the  Latiu  language. 

Jnd,  fannitip  tizht  Art  brrc-.y  plume, 

KtcaiCd  me  from  my  languid  gloom.]  "The  fanlitv 
with  which  Cupid  recovers  him,  signifies  that  the  sweets  of 
love  make  us  easily  forget  any  solicitudes  which  he  may  oc- 
casion."— I. a  Fosse. 

1  We  here  have  the  poet,  in  his  true  attributes,  reclining 
upon  myrtles,  with  Cupid  fnr  hi-  ciip-b-nr.-r.  S.K.H-  inter- 
preters have  mined  the  picture  by  nuking  Ep»«  the  nnme 
of  his  slave.  None  but  Love  should  fill  the  goblet  of  An»- 
creon.  Snppho  has  assigned  this  otlice  to  Venus,  in  a  fr»g- 
„„.„!.  F.X5.,  Kurrp,,  %pu<r,.».<r.»  IV  «»Mx.<r.  .»  »'f"'(  TV*. 
fiipiypivov  $»>.i«i<r>  vixrap  civo%oou<r«  T<  TO«.- 

iTsiif'.if  tjuoi;  y-i  x»'  (roi{. 

Which  may  be  thus  paraphrased: 

Hither.  Venus!  queen  of  kiwe*, 
This  shall  be  the  night  of  bliisa*' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And,  while  in  luxury's  dream  1  sink, 

Let  me  the  balm  of  Bacchus  drink ! 

In  this  delicious  hour  of  joy 

Young  Love  shall  be  my  goblet-boy; 

Folding  his  little  golden  vest, 

With  cinctures,  round  his  snowy  breast, 

Himself  shall  hover  by  my  side, 

And  minister  the  racy  tide  ! 

Swift  as  the  wheels  that  kindling  roll, 

Our  life  is  hurrying  to  the  goal : 

A  scanty  dust  to  feed  the  wind, 

Is  all  the  trace  "t  will  leave  behind. 

Why  do  we  shed  the  rose's  bloom 

Upon  the  cold,  insensate  tomb ! 

Can  flowery  breeze,  or  odour's  breath, 

Affect  the  slumbering  chill  of  death  ? 

No,  no ;  I  ask  no  balm  to  steep 

With  fragrant  tears  my  bed  of  sleep : 

But  now,  while  every  pulse  is  glowing, 

Now  let  me  breathe  the  balsam  flowing ; 

Now  let  the  rose  with  blush  of  fire, 

Upon  my  brow  its  scent  expire ; 

And  bring  the  nymph  with  floating  eye, 

Oh !  she  will  teach  me  how  to  die  ! 

Yes,  Cupid  !  ere  my  soul  retire, 

To  join  the  blest  Elysian  choir, 

With  wine,  and  love,  and  blisses  dear, 

I'll  make  my  own  Elysium  here ! 


ODE  XXXIII.1 

*T  WAS  noon  of  night,  when  round  the  pole 
The  sullen  Bear  is  seen  to  roll ; 
And  mortals,  wearied  with  the  day, 
Are  slumbering  all  their  cares  away: 
An  infant,  at  that  dreary  hour, 
Came  weeping  to  my  silent  bower, 
And  waked  me  with  a  piteous  prayer, 
To  save  him  from  the  midnight  air ! 
u  And  who  art  thou,"  I  waking  cry, 
u  That  bid'st  my  blissful  visions  fly  ?" 


Thii  the  night,  to  friendship  dear, 
Thou  shall  be  our  Hebe  here. 
Fill  the  gulden  brimmer  high, 
Let  it  sparkle  like  thine  eye ! 
Bid  the  rosy  current  gush, 
Lei  it  mantle  like  thy  blush! 
Venui!  hast  thou  e'er  abore 
Seen  a  fea»t  so  rich  in  love  7 
Not  a  soul  that  is  not  mine ! 
Not  a  soul  that  U  not  thine ! 

"Compare  with  this  ode  (says  the  German  commentator) 
the  beautiful  poem  in  Raculer's  Lyr.  Blumenlese,  lib.  iv.  p. 
896.  Amor  aU  Diener." 

1  M  itisieur  Bcrnarde,  the  author  of  1'Art  d'aimer,  has 
written  a  ballet  called  "  Lei  Surprises  de  PAmour,"  in 
which  the  subject  of  the  third  entree  is  Anacreon,  and  the 
itory  of  this  ode  suggeats  one  of  the  scenes.  CEurres  de 
Bernard,  Anac.  scene  4th. 

The  German  annotator  refers  us  here  to  an  imitation  by 
I'z,  lib.  lii.  "  Atnor  un<l  sein  Bruder,"  and  a  poem  of  Kleis't 
1115.  La  Fontaine  has  translated,  or  rallier  imitated, 
this  ode. 

"Ami  teke  art  He*,"  J  waltinf  cry, 

"Tkat  Hd'»t  my  tlittftU  ritiant  Jiy  7]  Anacreon  ap- 
pears to  have  bf*n  a  voluptuary  even  in  dreaming,  by  the 
Im-lv  rp;r.-t  «  hirh  ho  exprewo  at  being  -listurhod  from  his 
visionary  enjuymunU.  Sea  the  odes  x.  and  x.xxvii. 


"O  gentle  sire!"  the  infant  said, 

In  pity  take  me  to  thy  shed  ; 

Nor  fear  deceit :  a  lonely  child 

I  wander  o'er  the  gloomy  wild. 

Chill  drops  the  rain,  and  not  a  ray 

Illumes  the  drear  and  misty  way!" 

I  hear  the  baby's  tale  of  woe ; 

I  hear  the  bitter  night-winds  blow ; 

And,  sighing  for  his  piteous  fate, 

I  trimm'd  my  lamp,  and  oped  the  gate. 

*T  was  Love  !  the  little  wandering  sprin, 

His  pinion  sparkled  through  the  night ! 

I  knew  him  by  his  bow  and  dart ; 

I  knew  him  by  my  fluttering  heart ! 

I  take  him  in,  and  fondly  raise 

The  dying  embers'  cheering  blaze  ; 

Press  from  his  dank  and  clinging  hair 

The  crystals  of  the  freezing  air, 

And  in  my  hand  and  bosom  hold 

His  little  fingers  thrilling  cold. 

And  now  the  embers'  genial  ray 

Had  warm'd  his  anxious  fears  away; 

"I  pray  thee,"  said  the  wanton  child 

(My  bosom  trembled  as  he  smiled,) 

"  I  pray  thee  let  me  try  my  bow, 

For  through  the  rain  I've  wander'd  so, 

That  much  I  fear  the  ceaseless  shower 

Has  injured  its  elastic  power." 

The  fatal  bow  the  urchin  drew ; 

Swift  from  the  string  the  arrow  flew ; 

Oh !  swift  it  flew  as  glancing  flame, 

And  to  my  very  soul  it  came  ! 

"  Fare  thee  well,"  1  heard  him  say, 

As  laughing  wild  he  wing'd  away ; 

"  Fare  thee  well,  for  now  1  know 

The  rain  has  not  relax'd  my  bow  ; 

It  still  can  send  a  maddening  dart, 

As  thou  shall  own  with  all  thy  heart ! 


ODE  XXXTvV 

OH  thou,  of  all  creation  blest, 
Sweet  insect !  that  delight'st  to  rest 
Upon  the  wild  wood's  leafy  tops, 
To  drink  the  dew  that  morning  drops, 
And  chirp  thy  song  with  such  a  glee, 
That  happiest  kings  may  envy  thee ! 


'Twos  Love!  the  little  w-anderina  sprite,  ftc.]    See  the 
leautit'ul  description  of  Cupid,  by  Muschus,  in  his  first  idyi. 

1  Father  Rapin,  in  a  Latin  ode  addressed  to  the  erasshop- 
ier,  has  preserved  gome  of  the  thoughts  of  our  author. 
O  qua?  virenti  graminis  in  toro, 
Cicada,  blande  sidis,  et  herbitloj 
Saltus  oberras,  otiosos 
Ingeinosa  ciere  canlus. 
Sea  forte  adultis  floribus  incubas, 
Cceli  caducis  ebria,fletibus,  etc 

Oh  thou,  that  on  the  grassy  bed 
Which  Nature's  vernal  hand  has  spread, 
Reclinest  soft,  and  tunest  thy  song, 
The  dewy  herbs  and  leaves  among  ! 
Whether  thou  liest  on  springing  flowers, 
Drunk  with  the  baliny  morning-showers, 
Or,  etc. 

See  what  Licetus  says  about  grasshoppers,  cap.  93  and  185 

And  rhirp  thiisnn?  trith  anch  agltf,ttc.]  "Some  million 
have  affirmed  ('says  Madame  Dacier,)  that  it  is  only  mala 


ODES  OF  ANACREOX. 


2SJ 


Whatever  decks  the  velvet  liulil, 
Wliatc'er  the  circling  seasons  yield, 
Whatever  buds,  whatever  blows, 
For  thee  it  buds,  for  thee  it  gro\\  s. 
Nor  yet  art  thou  the  peasant's  fear, 
To  him  thy  friendly  notes  are  dear; 
For  thou  art  mild  as  matin  dew, 
And  still,  when  summer's  flowery  hue 
Begins  to  paint  the  bloomy  plain, 
We  hear  thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  ; 
Thy  sweet  prophetic  strain  we  hear, 
And  bless  the  notes  and  thee  revere! 
The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone ; 
Apollo  calls  thee  all  his  own  ; 
*T  was  he  who  gave  that  voice  to  thee, 
*T  is  he  who  tunes  thy  minstrelsy. 
Unworn  by  age's  dim  decline, 
The  fadeless  blooms  of  youth  are  thine. 
Melodious  insect !  child  of  earth  ! 
In  wisdom  mirthful,  wise  in  mirth  ; 
Exempt  from  every  weak  decay, 
That  withers  vulgar  frames  away ; 
With  not  a  drop  of  blood  to  stain 
The  current  of  thy  purer  vein  ; 
So  blest  an  age  is  pass'd  by  thee, 
Thou  scem'st  a  little  deity  ! 


ODE  XXXV.1 

Crrio  once  upon  a  bed 

Of  roses  laid  his  weary  head  ; 


prasshoppers  which  sins,  and  tliat  the  females  are  silent; 
and  on  this  circumstance  is  t'utiinl«l  a  bun-mot  of  Xenarchus, 
the  comic  poet,  who  says  I«T*  HO-IK  o<  TITTIJ-IS  oux  wSai- 
ptzvtfj  tav  TX<£  vuvtftgiy  cu£'  OT i  ouy  $ujvif  £  svi  j  *;ire  not  the 
grasshoppers  happy  in  having  dumb  wives?'"  This  note  is 
originally  Henry  Stephen's;  hut  I  chose  rather  to  make 
Madame  D  ICHT  my  authority  for  it. 

The  Muses  love  thy  shrilly  tone,  etc.]  Phile,  dc  Animal. 
Proprielat.  calls  thismsoct  MOUO-XIJ  <r»xo$,  the  darling  of  the 
Muses;  and  Mrj«-»y  opuy,  the  bird  of  the  Muses;  and  we 
find  Pluto  compared  for  his  eloquence  to  the  grasshopper,  in 
the  following  punning  lines  of  Timon,  preserved  by  Diojje- 
nea  Laertius : 

Tav  vctrrtav  J'  H^IITO  •o-XctTuirraTOf,   «XX'  aeyopiiTiif 
H$u«*r>!{  TiTTi&iy    ic-oypxsoj,  0<  5'  lx»J>|/«ov 
AfyJpia  iqn^o^ivoi  03T*  Xfipioi<r<r«y  tun. 

This  last  line  is  borrowed  from  Homer's  Iliad,  X.  where 
there  occurs  the  very  same  simile. 

Melodious  insect !  child  of  earth !]  Lon?epierre  has 
quoted  the  two  first  lines  of  an  enijjrnm  of  Antiputer,  from 
the  first  book  of  the  Anthologia,  where  he  prefers  the 
grasshopper  to  the  swan : 

Jpoo-oc,  «XX«  •BiotiTig 
iyiuroi  ifOi. 

In  dew,  that  drops  from  morning's  wings, 

The  gay  Cicnda  sipping  floats; 
And,  drunk  with  dew,  his  matin  sings 

Sweeter  than  any  cygnet's  notes. 

1  Theocritus  has  imitnteiUlhis  beautiful  ode  in  his  nine- 
teenth idyl,  but  is  very  inferior,  I  think,  to  his  original,  in 
dclicary  of  point,  and  naivete  of  expression.  Spi -user  i'i 
ono  of  his  smaller  compositions,  has  sported  more  diffusely 
on  the  same  subject.  The  poem  to  which  I  allude  begins 
thus: 

Upon  a  day,  as  Lovo  lay  sweetly  slumbering 

All  in  his  mother's  lap; 

A  gentle  bee,  with  his  loud  trumpet  murmuring, 
About  him  flew  by  hap,  etc. 

Tn  Almeloveen's  collection  of  epigrams,  there  is  one  by 
Luxorius,  correspondent  somewhat  with  the  turn  of  Ana- 


Luckless  urchin  not  to  see 

Within  the  leaves  a  slumbering  hoe  ! 

The  bee  awaked — with  anger  wild 

The  bee  awaked  and  stung  the  ch.ld. 

Loud  and  piteous  are  his  > 

To  Venus  quick  he  runs,  he  ti 

"  Oh  mother ! — I  am  wounded  througli— 

I  die  with  pain — in  sooth  1  do  ! 

Stung  by  some  little  angry  thing, 

Some  serpent  on  a  tiny  wing — 

A  bee  it  was — for  once,  I  know, 

I  heard  a  rustic  call  it  so." 

Thus  he  spoke,  and  she  the  while 

Heard  him  w  ith  a  soothing  smile ; 

Then  said,  "  My  infant,  if  so  much 

Thou  feel  the  little  wild  bee's  touch, 

How  must  the  heart,  ah,  Cupid  !  be, 

The  hapless  heart  that 's  stung  by  thee  !' 


ODE  XXXVI. 

IF  hoarded  gold  possess'd  a  power 
To  lengthen  life's  too  fleeting  hour, 


creon,  where  Love  complains  to  his  mother  of  being  wound- 
ed by  a  rose. 

The  ode  before  us  is  the  very  flower  of  simplicity.  The 
infantine  complainings  of  the  little  god,  and  the  natural  and 
impressive  reuVctions  which  they  draw  from  Venus,  are 
beauties  of  inimitable  grace.  I  hope  I  shall  bo  pardoned  for 
introducing  another  Greek  Anacreontic  of  Monsieur  Men- 
age, not  for  its  similitude  to  the  subject  of  thin  cule,  but  for 
some  fuint  traces  of  this  natural  simplicity  which  it  appeais 
to  me  to  have  preserved: 


Ep-sf   TJOT' 
TV  ,uoi   ?i 

Clf     llJlK,    ie 


uTOf   Si 


>i»  Kop 

Vfif 


Mi) 


e«  v>;ix<rT« 


Kopi 
x  i%cv 


oju 


An  dancing  o'er  the  enamell'd  plain, 
The  flow'ret  of  the  virgin  train, 
My  soul's  C'orinna,  lightly  play'd, 
Young  Cupid  saw  the  graceful  uiaid  , 
He  sa^,  and  in  a  moment  ftVw, 
And  round  her  neck  his  arms  he  throw; 
And  said,  with  smiles  of  infant  joy, 
"  Oh  !  kiss  me,  moihcr,  kiu  thy  boy  '" 
Unconscious  of  a  mother's  name, 
Tin'  modest  virgin  blush'd  with  thame  ! 
And  sultry  Cupid,  scarce  behi-vu;^' 
Thnt  vision  could  bo  so  dcr. 
Thus  to  mistake  his  Cyprian  dam*-, 
The  little  infant  blushM  with  sli.iini-. 
"  Be  not  aghamril,  my  boy,"  I  fin  d, 
For  I  was  lin^-i-rins  liy  I.  is  side; 
"Corinna  and  thy  Invely  mother, 
Helirve  me,  are  so  like  each  other, 
Thnt  clearest  eyes  are  oft  betrny'H, 
And  lake  thy  Venus  for  the  maid." 

Zitto,  in  his  Cappriciosi  Pension,  has  translated  this  ode 
of  Anacreon. 

1  Monsieur  Fontenelle  has  translated  this  ode,  in  his  -lia 
ngue  between  Annrreon  and  Aristotle  in  the  shades,  whwf 
ie  bestows  the  prize  of  wisdom  upon  th«  poet 


2.M 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  purchase  from  the  hand  of  death 

A  little  span,  a  moment's  breath, 

How  I  would  love  the  precious  ore  ! 

And  every  day  should  swell  my  store ; 

Tiiat  when  the  Fates  would  send  their  minion, 

To  waft  me  off  on  shadowy  pinion, 

I  might  some  hours  of  life  obtain, 

And  bribe  him  back  to  hell  again. 

But,  since  we  ne'er  can  charm  away 

The  mandate  of  that  awful  day, 

Why  do  we  vainly  weep  at  fate, 

And  sigh  for  life's ^ncertain  date  ? 

The  light  of  gold  can  ne'er  illume 

The  dreary  midnight  of  the  tomb  ! 

And  why  should  I  then  pant  for  treasures  ? 

Mine  be  the  brilliant  round  of  pleasures ; 

The  goblet  rich,  the  board  of  friends, 

Whose  flowing  souls  the  goblet  blends  ! 

Mine  be  the  nymph  whose  form  reposes 

Seductive  on  that  bed  of  roses  ; 

And  oh !  be  mine  the  soul's  excess, 

Expiring  in  her  warm  caress ! 


ODE  XXXVII.' 

*T  WAS  night,  and  many  a  circling  bowl 
Had  deeply  warm'd  my  swimming  soul ; 


"The  German  imitators  of  it  are,  Leasing,  in  his  poem 
Uentnrn  Briider,  etc.'  Gleim,  in  the  ode  '  An  den  Tod," 
und  Schmidt  in  der  Poet.  Blumenl.  Gulling.  1783,  p.  7." — 
Degen, 

That  Kken  tke  Fate*  would  tend  tkeir  ntininn, 
To  ma.fl  me  off  on  skadotey  pinion,  etc.]  The  commen- 
tators, who  are  to  fond  of  disputing  "delanacaprina,"  have 
been  very  busy  on  the  authority  of  the  phrase  ••'  »  Sxvtiv 
13-ixSii.  The  reading  of  <»'  «v  6svxTo;  origin,  which  I)e 
Medenbarh  proposes  in  his  Amcenitates  Liiteraria>,  was 
already  hinted  by  Le  Fevre,  who  seldom  suggests  any  tiling 
worth  notice. 

The  goblet  rich,  tlte  board  of  friends, 

Whose  Jlotcing  lovh  the  goblet  blends!]  This  commu- 
nion of  friendship,  which  sweetened  the  bowl  of  Anacrcon, 
has  not  been  forgotten  by  the  author  of  the  following  >ch<>- 
lium,  where  the  blessings  of  life  are  enumerated  with  pro- 
verbial simplicity.  Tyi«i»i«»  pi*  ttpia-Tov  «»Jp«  JVHT». 
Aiunpor  Si,  «»Xo»  9«»v  yimri*!.  To  Tpirov  Ji,  jrAcvTiiy 

•  ioX«(.       Kxl    TO    TITBpTOV,  ITV»>lI»»  /1IT«  Ta»»  $lX«r. 

Of  mortal  blessings  here,  the  Gratis  health, 

And  next,  those  charms  by  which  the  eye  we  move  ; 

The  third  is  wealth,  unwounding,  guiltless  wealth, 
And  then,  an  intercourse  with  those  we  love! 

1  "Compare  with  this  ode  the  beautiful  poem,  'der 
Trail m  ofUz.'  "—Degfn. 

Moniicur  Le  Fnvre,  in  a  note  upon  this  ode,  enters  into 
•n  elaborate  and  learned  justification  of  drunkenness;  and 
thi*  i<  probably  the  cnu*e  of  the  severe  reprehension  which 
I  believe  he  suffered  for  his  Anacreon.  "  Fuit  olim  fateor 
(says  he,  in  a  note  upon  Longinus,)  cum  Sapphonem  ama- 
bam.  Bed  rxquo  ilia  me  pftrditissima  fnemina  pene  miserum 
perdidit  cum  scelejatisaimo  suo  congerrone  (Anacrcontem 
dico,  >i  ne»cis  lector,)  noli  sperare,"  etc.  etc.  He  adduces 
on  thin  ode  the  authority  of  Plato,  who  allowed  ebriety,  at 
the  Hionv-ian  festivals,  to  men  arrived  at  their  fortieth  year. 
He  likewise  quotes  the  following  line  from  Alexis,  which  he 
says  no  one,  who  is  not  totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  can 
hesitate  to  confess  the  truth  of: 


"  No  lover  of  drinking  was  ever  a  vicious  man.** 

»A'n  nil  my  dream  of  joys, 
Dimpled  firlf  atid  ruddy  boys, 

Jill  uere  pone!}    Nonnus  says  of  Bacchus,  almost  in  the 
une  words  that  Anacteon  uses, 


As  lull'd  in  slumber  I  was  laid, 
Bright  visions  o'er  my  fancy  play' J  ! 
With  virgins,  blooming  as  the  dawn, 
I  seem'd  to  trace  the  opening  lawn  ; 
Light,  on  tiptoe  bathed  in  dew, 
We  flew,  and  sported  as  we  flew  ! 
Some  ruddy  striplings,  young  and  sleek. 
With  blush  of  Bacchus  on  their  cheek, 
Saw  me  trip  the  flowery  wild 
With  dimpled  girls,  and  slyly  smiled — 
Smiled  indeed  with  wanton  glee ; 
But  ah  !  't  was  plain  they  envied  nr.3. 
And  still  I  flew— and  now  I  caught 
The  panting  nymphs,  and  fondly  thought 
To  kiss — when  all  my  dream  of  joys, 
Dimpled  girls  and  ruddy  boys, 
All  were  gone  !  "  Alas  !"  I  said, 
Sighing  for  the  illusions  fled, 
"  Sleep  !  again  my  joys  restore, 
Oh!  let  me  dream  them  o'er  and  o'er!" 


ODE  XXXVIII.1 

LET  us  drain  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
Let  us  raise  the  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  god  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ! 
Him,  who  instructs  the  sons  of  earth 
To  thrid  the  tangled  dance  of  mirth  ; 
Him,  who  was  nursed  with  infant  Love, 
And  cradled  in  the  Paphian  grove  , 
Him,  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 
Has  fondled  in  her  twining  arms. 
From  him  that  dream  of  transport  flows, 
Which  sweet  intoxication  knows; 
With  him  the  brow  forgets  to  darkle, 
And  brilliant  graces  learn  to  sparkle. 
Behold  !  my  boys  a  goblet  bear, 
Whose  sunny  foam  bedews  the  air. 
Where  are  now  the  tear,  the  sigh  ? 
To  the  winds  they  fly,  they  fly  ! 
Grasp  the  bowl ;  in  nectar  sinking, 
Man  of  sorrow,  drown  thy  thinking ! 


Waking,  he  lost  the  phantom's  charms, 

He  found  no  beauty  in  his  arms; 

Again  to  slumber  he  essay'd, 

Again  to  clasp  the  shadowy  maid  !     Longcpierrt. 

"  Sleep!  again  my  joys  restore, 

Oil!  let  me  dream  them  o'er  and  o'er!]  Doctor  Johnson, 
n  his  preface  to  Sliakspeare,  animadverting  upon  the  com- 
mentators of  that  poet,  who  pi.  tended,  in  every  little  coinci 
lence  of  thought,  to  detect  an  imitation  of  some  ancient 
>oet,  alludes  in  the  following  words  to  the  line  of  Anacreon 
>efore  us:  "  I  have  been  told  that  when  Caliban,  after  a 
leasing  dream,  says,  '  I  tried  to  sleep  asam,'  the  author 
mitates  Anacreon,  who  had,  like  any  other  man,  the  same 
wish  on  the  same  occasion." 

1  "  Compare  with  this  beautiful  ode  the  verses  of  Hage- 
dorn,  lib.  v.  das  Gcsellschaftliche  ;  and  of  Burger,  p.  51," 
etc.  ete.—Dcgen. 

Him,  that  the  snowy  Queen  of  Charms 

Has  fondled  in  her  twining  arms.]  Robertellus,  upon 
he  epitlmlamium  of  Catullus,  mentions  an  ingenious  neriva- 
ion  of  Cythcrza,  the  name  of  Venus,  trap*  TO  *iujn»  TOUJ 
P-»T»;,  which  seems  to  hint  that  "  Love's  fairy  favours  tue 
ost,  when  not  concealed." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Oh  !  can  the  tears  we  lend  to  thought 
In  life's  account  avail  us  aught  ? 
Can  we  discern,  with  all  our  lore, 
The  path  we're  yet  to  journey  o'er? 
No,  no,  the  walk  of  life  is  dark, 
T  is  wine  alone  can  strike  a  spark! 
Then  let  me  quaff  the  foamy  tide, 
And  through  the  dance  meandering  glide; 
Let  me  imbibe  the  spicy  breath 
Of  odours  chafed  to  fragrant  death  ; 
Or  from  the  kiss  of  love  inhale 
A  more  voluptuous,  richer  gale  ! 
To  souls  that  court  the  phantom  Care, 
Let  him  retire  and  shroud  him  there; 
While  we  exhaust  the  nectar'd  bowl, 
And  swell  the  choral  song  of  soul 
To  him,  the  God  who  loves  so  well 
The  nectar'd  bowl,  the  choral  swell ! 


ODE  XXXIX. 

How  I  love  the  festive  boy, 
Tripping  with  the  dance  of  joy! 
How  I  love  the  mellow  sage, 
Smiling  through  the  veil  of  age  ! 
And  whene'er  this  man  of  years 
In  the  dance  of  joy  appears, 
Age  is  on  his  temples  hung, 
But  his  heart — his  heart  is  young  ! 


J\'o,  no,  the  walk  of  life  is  dark, 

'Tis  tcine  alone  can  strike  a  spark!]  The  brevity  of 
life  allows  ar^imn'iits  for  the  voluptuary  as  well  as  the 
moralist.  Among  many  parallel  pa.-sages  winch  Loimepierre 
lias  adduced,  I  shall  content  myself  with  this  epigram  from 
the  Anlhologia : 


XfXTt 


Of  which  the  following  is  a  loose  paraphrase : 

Fiv,  my  Moved,  to  yonder  stream, 

We  'II  plunge  us  from  tin:  noontide  beam  ! 

Thru  cull  the  rose's  humid  bud, 

And  dip  it  in  our  goblet's  flood. 

Our  age  of  bliss,  my  nrmph,  shall  fly 

A*  sweet,  though  passing,  as  that  suli 

Which  seems  to  whisper  o'er  ymir  lip, 

"Cumis,  while  yon  imy,  of  rapture  sip." 

Fur  use  will  steal  the  rosy  form, 

And  chili  the  pulse,  which  tremble*  warm ! 

And  death — alas!  that  hearts,  which  thrill 

Like  yours  und  mine, should  e'er  be  still! 

Jlgt  is  on  his  tcmplr.t  hunt?, 

But  his  hrurt — hi.i  heart  i&yownff  ']   Saint  Pavin  makes 
the  same  distinction  in  a  sonnet  to  a  young  girl. 

Jc  MIS  bien  quo  les  destinees 
Ont  mnl  compasse  nos  annees; 
>'«  P-giiidez  c|tie  mon  urnonr. 
Pen:-A're  en  serez  vous  emue: 
II  est  j'-iKie,  et  n'est  quo  (In  jour, 
Hi  lie  Iris,  que  je  vous  ai  vue. 

Fair  ann  voting,  thou  bloomest  now, 

And  I  fti'l  manv  a  year  have  tulil  ; 
But  p-ad  lh"  he  .rt  and  not  the  brow, 

Thuu  shall  not  find  my  love  is  old. 

My  love  's  n  child  ;  and  thou  canst  eay 

llow  much  his  little  a»e  may  be, 
For  he  was  born  the  very  day 

That  first  1  set  my  eyes  on  thee ! 


ODE  XL. 

I  KNOW  that  Heaven  ordains  me  here 
To  run  this  mortal  life's  career ; 
The  scenes  which  I  have  journey'd  o'er 
Return  no  more — alas  !  no  more ; 
And  all  the  path  I  've  yet  to  go 
I  neither  know  nor  ask  to  know. 
Then  surely,  Care,  thou  canst  not  twine 
Thy  fetters  round  a  soul  like  mine ; 
No,  no,  the  heart  that  feels  with  me 
Can  never  be  a  slave  to  thee ! 
And  oh  !  before  the  vital  thrill, 
Which  trembles  at  my  heart,  is  still, 
I'll  gather  joy's  luxurious  flowers, 
And  gild  with  bliss  my  fading  hours ; 
Bacchus  shall  bid  my  winter  bloom, 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  the  tomb ! 


ODE  XLI. 

WHEN  Spring  begems  the  dewy  scene, 
How  sweet  to  walk  the  velvet  green, 
And  hear  the  Zephyr's  languid  sighs, 
As  o'er  the  scented  mead  he  flies  ! 
How  sweet  to  mark  the  pouting  vine, 
Ready  to  fall  in  tears  of  wine  ; 
And  with  the  maid  whose  every  sigh 
Is  love  and  bliss,  entranced  to  lie 
Where  the  embowering  branches  meet — 
Oh !  is  not  this  divinely  sweet  ? 


JVo,  no,  the  heart  that  feels  icith  me, 

Can  never  be  a  slave  to  thee!]    Longepierre  qnote*  an 

isruiu  here  from  the  Anthologia,  on  account  of  the  limi- 

Innty  nf  11  pirti'-ular  phrase;  it  is  by  no  means  anacreontic, 
but  has  an  interesting  simplicity  which  induced  me  lo  para 
iihasc  it,  and  m.iy  atone  tor  its  intrusion. 


OuJ. 


%'  v,/ii 


lf.1. 


At  length  lo  Fortune,  and  to  you, 
Delusive  Hope!  a  last  adieu. 
The  charm  that  once  bogn'led  is  o'er, 
And  I  have  rcach'd  my  destined  shore! 
Away,  away,  your  flattering  art* 
May  now  betray  some  simpler  hearts, 
And  you  will  smile  at  their  bcheung, 
And  they  shall  weep  at  your  deceiving  ! 

Bar.rhus  shall  bid  my  winter  blanm, 
And  Venus  dance  me  to  the  tumb  .']     The  «amn  common- 
ator  has  quoted  an  epitaph,  written  upon  our  poet  by  Julian 
where  he  makes  him  give  the  preccuU  of  good-feliowghip 
even  from  the  tomb. 


This  lesson  oft  in  life  I  «unj, 

And  from  my  -.'rave  I  still  shall  cry, 

"Drink,  mortal!  drink,  while  !ir^  is  young 
Ere  death  bus  made  thee  cold  as  1." 

Jnd  with  the  maid,  whose  evert/  iriVA 
Is  love  and  bliss,  etc.]    Thus  Horace: 

Quid  hnhri  illins,  illiui 
Qua!  spirabat  amorcs, 
QU:B  me  suipuerat  niihi. 

And  does  there  then  remnin  but  tins, 
And  haft  thou  lost  each  rosy  rav 

Of  her,  who  breathed  thf  soul  of  bliss, 
And  stole  me  from  myself  away  '.' 


206 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  XLIL1 

TKS,  be  the  glorious  revel  mine, 

Where  humour  sparkles  from  the  wine ! 

Around  me  let  the  youthful  choir 

Respond  to  my  beguiling  lyre  ; 

And  while  the  red  cup  circles  round, 

Mingle  in  soul  as  well  as  sound  ! 

Let  the  bright  nymph,  with  trembling  eye, 

Beside  me  all  in  blushes  lie ; 

And,  while  she  weaves  a  frontlet  fair 

Of  hyacinth  to  deck  my  hair, 

Oh  !  let  me  snatch  her  sidelong  kisses, 

And  that  shall  be  my  bliss  of  blisses  1 

My  soul,  to  festive  feeling  true, 

One  pang  of  envy  never  knew; 

And  little  has  it  learn'd  to  dread 

The  gall  that  Envy's  tongue  can  shed. 

Away — I  hate  the  slanderous  dart, 

Which  steals  to  wound  the  unwary  heart ; 

And  oh !  I  hate,  with  all  my  soul, 

Discordant  clamours  o'er  the  bowl, 

Where  every  cordial  heart  should  be 

Attuned  to  peace  and  harmony. 

Come,  let  us  hear  the  soul  of  song 

Expire  the  silver  harp  along : 

And  through  the  dance's  ringlet  move, 

With  maidens  meUowing  into  love ; 

Thus  simply  happy,  thus  at  peace, 

Sure  such  a  life  should  never  cease ! 


ODE  XLffl. 

WHILE  our  rosy  fillets  shed 
Blushes  o'er  each  fervid  head, 
With  many  a  cup  and  many  a  smile 
The  festal  moments  we  beguile. 
And  while  the  harp,  impassion'd,  flings 
Tuneful  rapture  from  the  strings, 


1  The  character  of  Anacreon  is  here  very  strikingly  de- 
picted. Hi*  love  of  social,  harmonized  pleasures  is  express- 
ed with  a  warmth,  amiable  and  endearing.  Among  the 
•I'ijrams  imputed  to  Anacreon  a  the  following;  it  is  the 
only  one  worth  translation,  and  it  breathes  the  same  senti- 
ments with  this  ode: 

Ou    C'XOJ,    Of  Xp>|Tltpl    TUft*    Vi.t»    OIVOjrOTK^WV, 

Nnxix  xxi  SOX.IPOV  Jxxpuo«vT«  Xiyn. 

AX>.'  00-TIJ   Mou8-«»»  Tl,  XXI   »5-X»X   J«>»   AlpjJiTIIf 

Euppio-^av,  ifXTnj  /<vito-xiTX<  iviffonvm. 

When  to  the  lip  the  brimming  cup  is  presg'd, 
Ami  hearts  are  all  afloat  upon  the  stream, 

Then  banish  from  my  board  the  unimlieh'd  guest 
Who  makes  the  feats  of  war  his  barbarous  theme. 

But  bring  the  man,  who  o'er  his  goblet  wreathe* 
The  Mn-e's  hiiirei  with  the  Cyprian  flower: 

Oh  I  give  me  him  whose  heart  cxpnimive  breathe! 
All  the  refinements  of  the  social  hour. 

r 

Jl*d  while  Ike  harp,  iwpassion'd,  Jli*ff* 

Tuneful  rapture  from,  the  strings,  etc.]  On  the  barbiton 
a  hn«t  of  authorities  maybe  collected,  which,  after  till,  leave 
tii  irnorant  of  the  nature  of  the  instrument.  There  is 
•rarccly  any  point  upon  which  we  are  so  totally  uninform- 
ed u  the  music  of  the  ancient*.  The  authors  (a)  extant 
upon  the  subject  ore,  I  imagine,  little  understood  ;  but  cer- 
tainly if  one  of  their  moods  was  a  progression  by  quarter- 
tones,  which  we  are  told  was  the  nature  of  the  enharmonic 
•rale,  simplicity  was  by  no  means  the  characteristic  of  their 

(a\  Collected  by  Meibomius. 


Some  airy  nymph,  with  fluent  limbs. 
Through  the  dance  luxuriant  swims, 
Waving,  in  hor  snowy  hand. 
The  leafy  Bacchanalian  wand, 
Which,  as  the  tripping  wanton  flies, 
Shakes  its  tresses  to  her  sighs  ! 
A  youth,  the  while,  with  loosen'd  hair 
Floating  on  the  listless  air, 
Sings,  to  the  wild  harp's  tender  tone, 
A  tale  of  woes,  alas !  his  own ; 
Andnhen,  what  nectar  in  his  sigK. 
As  o'er  his  lip  the  murmurs  die 
Surely  never  yet  has  been 
So  divine,  so  blest  a  scene  ! 
Has  Cupid  left  the  starry  sphere, 
To  wave  his  golden  tresses  here  ? 
Oh  yes !  and  Venus,  queen  of  wiles, 
And  Bacchus,  shedding  rosy  smiles, 
All,  all  are  here,  to  hail  with  me 
The  Genius  of  Festivity ! 


ODE  XLJV.' 

BUDS  of  roses,  virgin  flowers, 
Cull'd  from  Cupid's  balmy  bowers, 
In  the  bowl  of  Bacchus  steep, 
Till  with  crimson  drops  they  weep ! 
Twine  the  rose,  the  garland  twine, 
Every  leaf  distilling  wine ; 


melody ;  for  this  is  a  nicety  of  progression  of  which  modern 
music  is  not  susceptible. 

The  invention  of  the  barbiton  is,  by  Athenxus,  attributed 
to  Anacreon.  See  his  fourth  book,  where  it  is  called  TO 
tup>;yux  TOU  Avxr.piOnTOs.  Xeanthes  of  Cyzicus,  as  quoted 
by  Gyraldus,  asserts  the  same.  Vide  Chabot.  in  Uorat  oc 
the  words  "Lesboum  barbiton,"  in  the  first  ode. 

Jlnd  then,  what  nectar  in  his  sigh, 

jis  o'er  his  lip  the  murmurs  die!]  Longepierre  has 
quoted  here  an  epigram  from  the  Anthologia: 


Xoupl) 


•  f*  x>'**'<r> 


Of  which  the  following  may  give  some  idea: 
The  kiss  that  she  left  on  my  lip 

Like  a  dew-drop  shall  lingering  lie; 
•Twos  nectar  she  gave  me  to  sip, 

Twos  nectar  I  drank  in  her  sigh ! 

The  dew  that  distill'd  in  that  kiss, 
To  my  soul  was  voluptuous  wine; 

Ever  since  it  is  drunk  with  the  bliss, 
And  feels  a  delirium  divine  ! 

Has  Cupid  left  the  starry  sphere, 

To  wave  his  golden  tresses  here?]  The  introduction  cf 
these  deities  to  the  festival  is  merely  allegorical.  Madame 
Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet  describes  a  masquerade,  where 
these  deities  were  personated  by  the  company  in  uiitiki. 
The  translation  will  conform  with  either  idea. 

Jllli  all  here,  to  hail  Kith  me 

Th>  Genius  of  Festivity!]  K*/«»f,  the  deity  or  ffnniu* 
of  mirth.  Philostratus,  in  the  third  of  his  pictures  (as  all 
the  annotators  have  observed)  gives  a  very  beautiful  de- 
scription of  this  god. 

1  This  spirited  poem  is  an  eulogy  on  the  rose  ;  and  again, 
in  the  fifty-fifth  ode,  we  shall  find  our  author  rich  in  the 
praises  of  that  flower.  In  a  fragment  of  Sappho,  in  the 
romance  of  Achilles  Tatius,  to  which  Barnes  refers  us,  the 
rose  is  very  elegancy  s'yled  "  the  eye  of  flowers;"  and  the 
same  poetess,  in  another  fragment,  calls  the  favours  of  the 
Muse  "  the  roses  of  Pieria."  See  the  notes  on  the  filly- 
fifth  ode. 

"  Compare  with  this  forty-fourth  ode  (says  the  German 
annoUtor)  the  beautiful  ode  of  Uz.  die  Ko»e." 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Drink  and  smile,  and  learn  to  think 
That  we  were  born  to  smile  and  drink. 
Rose !  thou  art  the  sweetest  flower 
That  ever  drank  the  amber  shower; 
Rose  !  thou  art  the  fondest  child 
Of  dimpled  Spring,  the  wood-nymph  wild  ! 
Even  the  gods,  who  wi!k  the  sky, 
Are  amorous  of  thy  scented  sigh. 
Cupid  too,  in  Paphian  shades, 
His  hair  with  rosy  fillet  braids, 
When,  with  the  blushing  naked  Graces, 
The  wanton  winding  dance  he  traces. 
Then  bring  me  showers  of  roses,  bring, 
And  shed  them  round  me  while  I  sing; 
Great  Bacchus  !  in  thy  hallow'd  shade, 
With  some  celestial,  glowing  maid, 
While  gales  of  roses  round  me  rise, 
In  perfume  sweeten'd  by  her  sighs, 
I  'II  bill  and  twine  in  early  dance, 
Commingling  soul  with  every  glance ! 


ODE  XLV. 

WITHIN  this  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

I  cradle  all  my  woes  to  sleep. 

Why  should  we  breathe  the  sigh  of  fear, 

Or  pour  the  unavailing  tear  ? 

For  Death  will  never  heed  the  sigh, 

Nor  soften  at  the  tearful  eye ; 

And  eyes  that  sparkle,  eyes  that  weep, 

Must  all  alike  be  seal'd  in  sleep ; 

Then  let  us  never  vainly  stray, 

In  search  of  thorns,  from  pleasure's  way; 

Oh  !  let  us  quaff'  the  rosy  wave 

ll--'vich  Bacchus  loves,  which  Bacchus  gave ; 

Ana  m  the  goblet,  rich  and  deep, 

Cradle  our  crying  woes  to  sleep  ! 


ODE  XLVI.' 

SEE,  the  young,  the  rosy  Spring, 
Gives  to  the  breeze  her  spangled  wing ; 


When  with  the  blushing,  naked  Graces, 
The  ictmtun  winding  dance  he  traces.}     "This  sweet 
iilca  of  l.ove  dancing  \viili  the  Graces,  is  almost  peculiar  to 
Anaereoii."— />A"  "• 

With  some  celestial,  gltiwinfr  maid,  etc.]  The  epithet 
fi*5u«: ».-•>?,  which  lit;  gives  U>  the  nymph,  is  literally  "full- 
bnKomed:"  if  'li'iN  was  really  Anncreoii's  taste,  the  heaven 
of  Mahomet  would  suit  him  iu  every  particular.  See  the 
Koran,  cap.  72. 

Then  l<  t  a?  never  vainly  stray, 

In  ariirc.lt  of  < hums  from  Measure's  wail,  etc.]    I  have 
Clms  endeavoured  I"  convey  tlie  inclining  of  n  Si  T«»  £(•• 
ranarujuxi  ;  according  to  Regnier'*  paraphrase  ol'llio  lino: 
K  chc  vnl,  fuor  clelln  stt.ula 
Del  piaeere.  nlina  e  gradifn, 
Vai.o<:<:iiire  i"  nut;  ta  vital 

J  The  fii"tidious  aftectfi'ion  of  some  commentators  lins 
denonnro.l  lira  o.Io  -is  spurious.  I)e»on  pronounces  tin- 
four  lasi  lines  tn  ho  the  paieh-worl  of  some  miserable  ver- 
sitinitor:  ar  J  Hriinck  com'omiH  the  whole  ode.  It  appears 
to  mi-  10  Id'  elegantly  qr,i|il'ical ;  full  of  elejrant  expressions 
•ltd  luxurious  imagery.  The  abruptness  of  Ui  «<•«  '*r>< 
eauvro;  iy  striking  and  spirited,  iitul  hag  been  imitated 
rather  languidly  liy  Horace: 

Vides  ut  a't.i  stet  nive  candidum 

Soracte 

2  K 


While  virgin  Graces,  warm  with  May, 
Fling  roses  o'er  her  dewy  way  ! 
The  murmuring  billows  of  the  deep 
Have  languished  into  silent  sleep; 
And  mark  !  the  flitting  sea-birds  lave 
Their  plumes  in  the  reflecting  wave ; 
While  cranes  from  hoary  winter  fly 
To  flutter  in  a  kinder  sky. 
Now  the  genial  star  of  day 
Dissolves  the  murky  clouds  away ; 
And  cultured  field,  and  winding  stream 
Are  sweetly  tissued  by  his  beam. 
Now  the  earth  prolific  swells 
With  leafy  buds  and  floweVy  bells ; 
Gemming  shoots  the  olive  twine, 
Clusters  ripe  festoon  the  vine ; 
All  along  the  branches  creeping, 
Through  the  velvet  foliage  peeping, 
Little  infant  fruits  we  see 
Nursing  into  luxury ! 


ODE  XLVII. 

'T  is  true,  my  fading  years  decline, 

Yet  I  can  quaff  the  brimming  wine 

As  deep  as  any  stripling  fair 

Whose  cheeks  the  flush  of  morning  wea*; 

And  if,  amidst  the  wanton  crew, 

1  "in  call'd  to  wind  the  dance's  clue, 

Thou  shalt  behold  this  vigorous  hand, 

Not  faltering  on  the  bacchant's  wand. 

But  brandishing  a  rosy  flask, 

The  only  thyrsaf  e'er  1  '11  ask ! 


The  imperative  <£<  is  infinitely  more  impressive,  a*  in 

Shukspeare, 

But  look,  the  morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill. 

There  is  a  simple  and  poetical  description  of  Spring,  !• 
Catullus'*  beainiful  farewell  to  Ilithynia.  Ciirm.  44. 

Bnrm-8  conjectures,  in  his  life  of  our  port,  that  tlin  odo 
was  written  after  he  had  returned  from  Athens,  to  nettle  in 
his  paternal  scat  at'lVos;  there,  in  a  little  villa  at  Home  dis- 
tance from  the  rity,  which  Commanded  a  view  of  tlin  dSgean 
Sea  and  the  island*,  he  contemplated  the  beaulie*  ofnaluie, 
and  enjoyed  the  felicities  of  retnemenl.  Vide  Humes,  in 
An.-ic.  vita.  $  xxxv.  This  supposition,  however  uniiulhen- 
ticated,  forms  a  pleasant  association,  which  makes  Uio  |K>uro 
more  interesting. 

Monsieur  C'lievrrnu  says,  that  Crepory  Nn/ianzenus  ha* 
paraphrased  uoni'-wiiere  this  ileyciipiion  of  8p:ing.  I  can- 
not find  it.  See  Chevfeau, O3n vrei  \i 

"  Compare  with  ihisoilr  (n;us  Ki-^eii)  the  ve.ses  ofllnqo- 
dorn,  book  fourth,  der  Frultling,  and  book  fifth,  der  Mai." 

While,  virgin  Graces,  warm  tcith  May, 

h'lini'  r  isi  .1  n'cr  her  drwij  trui/  /J  He  I'anw  rend",  X*pi- 
ra?  foi»  tpjtwif,  "  the  roses  di^-hy  th--ir  srariv."  This 
is  not  uirn^enious;  but  we  lose  by  it  the  beauty  of  the  per- 
sonification, to  the  boldness  of  wiiich  Kegmer  ha*  objected 
•cry  frivolously. 

The  murmuring  billiilcs  of  the  drrp 

Jttirr  lurtfitix/i'il  into  silent  slrrp,  rtr.]  It  has  been 
jn-^lly  remarked  that  the  liquid  llow  of  tin-  line  »5raA.-/nr»« 
y»x.>.»ii  i*  perfectly  expressive  of  the  Lanquillity  which  it 
describes. 

Jtitd  ciillurnt  fiiltl,  anil  winding  slrrnm,  etc.]  By  £p»- 
T«»  tfy»,  "the  works  of  inn:,"  ,s-iys  I'.nxt.T,)  ho  moan* 
( jiies,  temple",  and  towns,  which  an:  then  illuminated  by 
ihe  heams  of  the  sun. 

nut  liranili.iliintr  a  roty  flask,  rtr..]  ATXSJ  was  a  kind 
of  leathern  vessel  for  wine,  very  miieh  in  nue,  ns  nh.nild 
seem  by  the  proverb  *rx<>(  xx.  cri.\i«->.:,  whicli  wn-i  ap|il  cd 
to  tlioso  who  were  intemueiale  in  eating  and  drinkm*.  Tin* 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Let  those  who  pant  for  glory's  charms 
Embrace  her  in  the  field  of  arms ; 
While  my  inglorious,  placid  soul 
Breathes  not  a  wish  beyond  the  bowl 
Then  fill  it  high,  ray  ruddy  slave, 
And  bathe  me  in  its  honied  wave  ! 
For,  though  my  fading  years  decay, 
And  though  my  bloom  has  pass'd  away, 
Like  old  Silenus,  sire  divine, 
With  blushes  borrow'd  from  my  wine, 
I  '11  wanton  'mid  the  dancing  train, 
And  live  my  follies  all  again ! 


ODE  XLVIII. 

WHEN  my  thirsty  soul  I  steep, 
Every  sorrow  's  lull'd  to  sleep. 
Talk  of  monarchs !  I  am  then 
Richest,  happiest,  first  of  men ; 
Careless  o'er  my  cup  I  sing, 
Fancy  makes  me  more  than  king ; 
Gives  me  wealthy  Croesus'  store, 
Can  I,  can  I  wish  for  more  ? 
On  my  velvet  couch  reclining, 
Ivy  leaves  my  brow  entwining, 
While  my  soul  dilates  with  glee, 
What  are  kings  and  crowns  to  me  ? 
If  before  my  feet  they  lay, 
1  would  spurn  them  all  away ! 
Arm  you,  arm  you,  men  of  might, 
Hasten  to  the  sanguine  fight — 
Let  me,  oh,  my  budding  vine  ! 
Spill  no  other  blood  than  thine. 
Yonder  brimming  goblet  see, 
That  alone  shall  vanquish  me ; 
Oh  !  I  think  it  sweeter  far 
To  fall  in  banquet  than  in  war ! 


ODE  XLJX.1 

WHEN  Bacchus,  Jove's  immortal  boy, 
The  rosy  harbinger  of  joy, 


proverb  ii  mentioned  in  some  verses  quoted  by  Athenians, 
*um  the  Hesiooe  of  Alexis. 

The  only  thyrivt  e'er  I'll  ask!]  Phomutui  assigns  as  a 
leason  for  the  consecration  of  the  thyrsus  to  Bacchus,  (hat 
inebriety  often  renders  the  support  of  a  stick  very  necessary. 

Ivy  leave*  my  broto  entwining,  etc.]  "  The  ivy  was  con- 
secrated to  Bacchus  (says  Montfaucon,)  because  he  formerly 
lay  hid  under  that  tree,  or,  as  others  will  have  it,  because 
its  leaves  resemble  those  of  the  vine.  Other  reasons  for  its 
consecration,  and  the  use  of  it  in  garlands  at  banquets,  may 
be  found  in  Longepierre,  Barnes,  etc.  etc. 

Arm  you,  am  you,  mm  ef  might, 

Hatten  to  Uu  tanguincj\gkt.\  1  have  adopted  the  inter- 
pretation of  Kegmer  and  others : 

Allri  sBgna  Mnrte  fero  ; 

Che  sol  Bncco  e  'I  mio  conforto. 

1  This,  the  preceding  ode,  and  a  few  more  of  the  same 
character,  are  merely  chansons  a  boire.  Most  likely  they 
were  the  effusions  of  the  moment  of  conviviality,  and  were 
suny,  we  imagine,  with  rapture  in  Greece ;  but  that  interest- 
ing association,  by  which  they  always  recalled  the  convivial 
emotions  thnt  produced  Iheni,  can  be  very  little  felt  by  the 
most  enthusiastic  reader;  and  much  less  by  a  phlegmatic 
grammarian,  who  sees  nothing  in  them  but  dialects  and 
' 


Who,  with  the  sunshine  of  the  bowl, 
Thaws  the  winter  of  our  soul ; 
When  to  my  inmost  core  he  glides, 
And  bathes  it  with  his  rub\ 
A  flow  of  joy,  a  lively  heat, 
Fires  my  brain,  and  wings  my  feet ! 
'T  is  surely  something  sweet,  I  think, 
Nay,  something  heavenly  sweet,  to  drink  * 
Sing,  sing  of  love,  let  Music's  breath 
Softly  beguile  our  rapturous  death, 
While,  my  young  Venus,  thou  and  I 
To  the  voluptuous  cadence  die  ! 
Then,  waking  from  our  languid  trance, 
Again  we  '11  sport,  again  we  'U  dance. 


ODE  L.1 

WHEN  I  drink,  I  feel,  I  feel 

Visions  of  poetic  zeal ! 

Warm  with  the  goblet's  freshening  dews, 

My  heart  invokes  the  heavenly  Muse. 

When  I  drink,  my  sorrow 's  o'er ; 

I  think  of  doubts  and  fears  no  more ; 

But  scatter  to  the  railing  wind 

Each  gloomy  phantom  of  the  mind  I 

When  I  drink,  the  jesting  boy, 

Bacchus  himself,  partakes  my  joy ; 

And,  while  we  dance  through  breathing  bowers, 

Whose  every  gale  is  rich  with  flowers, 


H'/io,  ifith  the  sunshine  of  the  boicl, 

T/iatrs  the  winter  of  our  soul.]  Aunt;  is  the  title  whicll 
he  gives  to  Bacchus  in  the  original.  It  is  a  curious  circum- 
stance, that  Plutarch  mistook  the  name  of  Levi  among  th« 
Jews  for  Afv>  (one  of  the  bacchanal  cries,)  and  accordingly 
supposed  they  worshipped  Bacchus. 

1  Faber  thinks  this  spurious;  but,  I  believe,  he  is  singular 
in  his  opinion.  It  has  all  the  ,-pirit  of  our  author.  Like  the 
wreath  which  he  presented  in  the  dream,  "  it  smells  of  Ana- 
crenn." 

The  form  of  this  ode,  in  the  original,  is  remarkable.  Il 
is  a  kind  of  song  of  seven  quatrain  stanzas,  each  beginning 
with  the  line 

Or'  if*  via  TOV  ot»o», 

The  first  stanza  alone  is  incomplete,  consisting  but  of 
three  lines. 

"  Compare  with  this  poem  (says  Degen)  the  vcr-es  of 
Hagedorn,  lib.  v.  der  Wein,  where  that  divine  pout  hue 
wantoned  in  the  praises  of  uinu." 

Wkrn  I  drink,  I  feel,  [feel 

Visions  of  poetic  zeal!]  "  Anacreon  is  not  the  only  one 
(says  Longppierrc)  whom  wmn  lia<  ii.sjnn  •<[  inih  poetry. 
There  is  an  epigram  in  the  first  book  uf  the  Amholugia, 
which  begins  thus: 

O.v»«  TCI  x*pn»Ti  fu-yxt  r-iX-n   is-rros  aoif-., 
' 


If  with  water  you  fill  up  your  glasses, 

You'll  never  write  any  thin. 
For  wine  is  the  horse  of  P.ir 

Which  hurries  a  bard  to  the  skies  I 

And,  rhile  ice  dance  through  lirrathins  Imirrrs.  rtc.\  If 
some  of  the  translators  had  observed  Doctor  Tiapp'?  cau- 
tion, with  regard  to  r:Xusi»5»o-i»  A"  •»  """r*1*.  "Cnve  ne  CCB- 
luni  intelligas,"  they  would  not  have  spoiled  the  simplicity 
of  Anacreon's  fancy,  by  such  extravagant  conceptions  of 
the  passage.  Could  our  poet  imagine  such  bombast  as  the 
following  : 

Qnand  je  bois,  mon  rpil  s'imagine 
(in.-,  dans  un  tonrbillnn  plein  de  parfums  divert, 

Itacrhus  m'emporle  dans  les  airs, 

Rempli  de  sa  liqueur  divine. 


ODES  OF  ANACREOX. 


In  bowls  he  makes  my  senses  swim, 
Till  the  gale  breathes  of  nought  but  him  ! 
When  I  drink,  I  deftly  twine 
Flowers,  begemm'd  with  tears  of  wine  ; 
And,  while  with  festive  hand  I  spread 
The  smiling  garland  round  my  head, 
Something  whispers  in  my  breast, 
How  sweet  it  is  to  live  at  rest ! 
When  1  drink,  and  perfume  stills 
Around  me  all  in  balmy  rills, 
Then  as  some  beauty,  smiling  roses, 
In  languor  on  my  breast  reposes, 
Venus  !  I  breathe  my  vows  to  thee, 
In  many  a  sigh  of  luxury ! 
When  I  drink,  my  heart  refines, 
And  rises  as  the  cup  declines,— 
Rises  in  the  genial  flow 
That  none  but  social  spirits  know, 
When  youthful  revellers,  round  the  bow 
Dilating,  mingle  soul  with  soul ! 
When  I  drink,  the  bliss  is  mice, — 
There  's  bliss  in  every  drop  of  rrine  ! 
All  other  joys  that  I  ho.7e  known, 
I  've  scarcely  dared  to  call  my  <Jwn  ; 
But  this  the  Fates  can  ne'er  destroy, 
rill  Death  o'ersh.idows  all  my  joy  ! 


ODE  LI.1 

FLY  not  thus,  my  brow  of  snow, 
Lovely  wanton  !  fly  not  so. 
Though  the  wane  of  age  is  mine, 
Though  the  brilliant  flush  is  thine, 
Still  I'm  doom'd  to  sigh  for  thee, 
Blest,  if  thou  couldst  sigh  for  me  ! 


O  this: 

Tndi  mi  mena 
Mentre  lietro  ebro  deliro 
Baccho  in  giro 
Per  la  vaga  aura  sercna. 

When  youthful  revellers,  round  the  buitl, 

Dilating,  mingle  soul  with  soul!]  Sulijoin«*d  to  Gail's 
edition  of  Anaoreon,  there  are  some  curious  Ittters  upon  the 
BISITOI  of  the  ancients,  which  appeared  in  the  French  Jour- 
nals. At  the  opening  of  thuOdeon,  in  Paris,  the  managers  of 
the  spectacle  requested  Professor  Gail  to  give  them  some  un- 
common name  for  the  teles  of  this  institution.  He  suggest- 
ed the  word  "  Thiase,"  which  was  adopted  ;  but  the  literati 
of  Paris  questioned  the  propriety  of  it,  and  addressed  their 
criticuins  to  Gail,  through  the  medium  of  the  public  prints. 
Two  or  throe  of  the  letters  he  has  inserted  in  his  edition, 
and  they  have  elicited  from  him  some  learned  research  on 
the  subject. 

1  Albert!  has  imitated  this  ode  ;  and  Capilupus,  in  the 
following  epigram,  has  given  a  version  of  it: 

Cur,  Lal»ge,  mea  vita,  meos  contemnis  amorest 
Cur  fugis  e  nostra  pulchra  puella  sinu  1 

Ne  fugias,  sint  sparsa  licet  mea  tempora  canis, 
Inque  tun  rosetis  fulgeal  ore  color. 

Aspice  ut  inte.xta-i  deneant  quoque  (lore  corollas 
Candida  purpureis  lilia  mixta  rosis. 

Oh  !  why  repel  my  soul's  impssnion'd  vow, 
And  fly,  beloved  maid,  these  longing  firms  1 

Is  it,  that  wintry  time  lias  strew'd  my  brow, 
And  thine  are  all  the  summer's  roseate  charms  1 

See  the  rich  garland,  cull'd  in  verntil  weather, 
Where  the  young  rosebud  with  the  lily  glows  ; 

In  wreaths  of  love  we  thin  may  twine  together, 
And  I  will  be  the  lily,  thou  the  rose  ! 


See,  in  yonder  flowery  braid, 
Cull'd  for  thee,  my  blushing  maid. 
How  the  rose,  of  orient  glow, 
Mingles  with  the  lily's  snow ; 
Mark,  how  sweet  their  tints  agree, 
Just,  my  girl,  like  thee  and  me  ! 


ODE  LII.1 

AWAY,  away,  you  men  of  rules, 
What  have  I  to  do  with  schools  ? 
They  'd  make  me  learn,  they  'd  make  me  think. 
But  would  they  make  me  love  and  drink  7 
Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  swim 
My  soul  upon  the  goblet's  brim ; 
Teach  me  this,  and  let  me  twine 
My  arms  around  the  nymph  divine ! 
Age  begins  to  blanch  my  brow, 
I  've  time  for  nought  but  pleasure  now. 
Fly,  and  cool  my  goblet's  glojv 
At  yonder  fountain's  gelid  flow ; 
I  '11  quaff,  my  boy,  and  caimy  sink 
This  soul  to  slumber  as  1  drink  ! 
Soon,  too  soon,  my  jocund  slave, 
You  '11  deck  your  master's  grassy  grave  , 
And  there 's  an  end — for  ah !  you  know 
They  drink  but  little  wine  below ! 


ODE  LIIL 

WHEN  I  behold  the  festive  train 
Of  dancing  youth,  I  'm  young  again ! 


See  in  yondnr  fluioery  braid, 

Cull'd  for  tkrc,  my  blushing  maid!]  "  In  the  same  man- 
ner that  Anacreon  pleads  for  the  whiteness  of  his  .ocks,  from 
the  beauty  of  the  colour  in  garlands,  a  shepherd,  in  Theocri- 
tus, endeavours  to  recommend  his  black  hair : 

K*i  TO  ion  fti\xv  ITTI,  xxi  x  ypaTTx  uxxivSir 
AXX1  tftfuf  i»  roif  rrifxvoic  TX  •apar*  Xiyovrai." 
Longepierre,  Barnes  etc. 

1  This  is  doubtless  the  work  of  a  more  modern  poet  than 
Anacreon;  for  at  the  period  when  lie  lived,  rhetoricians 
were  not  known." — Degen. 

Though  the  antiquity  of  this  ode  is  confirmed  by  the  Va- 
tican manuscript,  I  am  very  much  inclined  to  '  jre«  ,n  this 
argument  against  its  authenticity ;  foi,  though  the  dawningt 
of  rhetoric  might  already  have  appeared,  the  first  who  gave 
it  any  celebrity  was  Corax  of  Syracuse,  and  he  flourished  in 
the  century  after  Anacreon. 

Our  poet  anticipated  the  ideas  of  Ep'curus,  in  hi*  Aver- 
sion to  the  labours  of  learning,  as  well  a»  li.s  nevohun  to 
voluptuousness.  II*(r*v  vsMMMW  /uxuxpioi  CIV^ITI,  said 
the  philosopher  of  the  garden  in  a  letter  to  Pythocloi 

Teach  me  thi.t,  aid  let  me  t  trine 

My  arms  around  the  nymjih  dtrinr .']  By  Xf>u<ntf  A-^o. 
*IT>.{  here,  I  understand  some  beau'ifiil  eirl ;  in  the  same 
manner  that  Au»io;  is  often  used  for  wine.  "  Golden"  is 
frequently  an  epithet  of  beaii'v.  Thus  in  Virgil,  "  Venus 
aurca ;"  and  in  Propertius,  "Cynthia  aurea."  Tibullus, 
however,  calls  an  old  woman  "  golden." 

The  tninilntion  d'Autori  Anonimi,  ai  usual,  wanton* 
on  this  passage  of  Anacreon: 

E  m'  insegni  con  p^i  rtre 
Forme  accorte  d'  involare 
Ad  nmnbile  belinde 
II  bel  cinto  d'  nucstade. 

Jlnd  thrre '»  an  end — for  ah. !  you  know, 
Tfiry  drink   but  little   wine  teloic !]     Thui   the    witty 
Mainard : 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Memory  wakes  her  tragic  trance, 

And  wings  me  lightly  through  the  dance. 

Come,  Cybeba,  smiling  maid  ! 

Cull  the  flower  and  twine  the  braid  ; 

Bid  the  blush  of  summer's  rose 

Burn  upon  my  brow  of  snows; 

And  let  me,  while  the  wild  and  young 

Trip  the  mazy  dance  along, 

Fling  my  heap  of  years  away, 

And  be  as  wild,  as  young  as  they. 

Hither  haste,  some  cordial  soul ! 

Give  my  lips  the  brimming  bowl ; 

Oh  !  you  will  see  this  hoary  sage 

Forget  his  locks,  forget  his  age. 

He  still  can  chaunt  the  festive  hymn, 

He  still  can  kiss  the  goblet's  brim ; 

He  still  can  act  the  mellow  raver, 

And  play  the  fool  as  sweet  as  ever ' 


ODE  LIV.' 

MKTHINKS,  the  pictured  bull  we  see 
Is  amorous  Jove — it  must  be  he  ! 
How  fonr!  y  blest  he  seems  to  bear 
That  fairest  of  Phoenician  fair ! 
How  proud  he  breasts  the  foamy  tide, 
And  spurns  the  billowy  surge  aside ! 
Could  any  beast  of  vulgar  vein 
Undaunted  thus  defy  the  main  ? 


La  Mori  nous  guette;  et  quand  sei  loii 
Nous  out  enferines  une  tois 
Au  i.oin  d'  une  fosse  profonde, 
Adieu  botis  v  ins  et  bons  repas, 
Ma  science  ne  trouve  pas 
Dei  cabarets  en  I'aulre  mondo. 

From  Mainard,  Gombauld,  and  De  Cailly,  old  French 
ooets,  tome  of  the  best  epigrams  of  the  English  language 
are  borrowed. 

B,d  the  blush  of  rummer's  rose 

Jlurn  upon  my  brom  of  snows,  etc.]  Licetus,  in  hisHie- 
roglyphicu,  quoting  two  of  our  poet's  odes,  whore  ho  calls 
for  garlands,  remarks,  "  Constal  igitur  floreas  coronas  poetis 
ct  polantibus  in  symposio  convenire,  non  autem  sapienlibus 
et  pl'ilosophiatn  arTeclanti'jus."  "It  appears  that  wreaths 
of  flowers  were  adapted  for  poets  and  revellers  at  banquets, 
but  by  no  moans  becarr?  those  who  had  pretensions  to 
wudom  and  philosophy."  On  this  principle,  in  his  152d 
chapter,  he  discovers  a  refinement  in  Virgil,  describing  the 
garland  of  th-  poet  Sil"mis  as  fallen  off;  which  distin- 
guifhcs,  he  thinks,  the  divine  intoxication  (if  Silcnus  from 
that  of  common  drunkards,  who  always  wear  their  crowns 
while  they  drink.  This,  indeed,  is  the  "  labor  iaeptiarum" 
of  commentators. 

fft  still  can.  kist  the  goblet'*  brim,  etc.]     Wine  is  pre- 
scribed  by  Galen  as  an  excellent  medicine  for  old   men: 
"  tin  id   frigidos  et   humoribus  explotog  calefuciat,"  etc. 
but  Nature  was  Anncruou's  physician. 

There  is  a  proverb  in  Eriphus,  as  quoted  by  Alhenxus, 
winch  suy*,  "  that  wioe  makes  an  old  man  dunce,  whcthei 
bo  will  or  not." 


II.. Jin.  XV""  »•  Ji*.»»r»,- 

I  "Thin  o<le  i*  wriiicn  u|mn  a  picture  which  represented 
the  r.i|M!  of  Kiirup;!."— M  iihun,>  D.icier. 

It  may  |M>rli.i|M  b«  ri.ii-nl.rrnl  tu  a  description  of  one  of 
HKMO  coins,  w!i  ch  the  3. .Ionium  struck  off  in  honour  of 
F.uropa,  reprn,«nt:ii«  .1  wuman  carried  across  Ihn  sen  by 
b  ill.  Tim*  NuMlis  (  .rii,-,  |,l,.  viii.  r.np.  2:|.  "  Sulonii  nu 
n>i- int  i  r.mi  fiHiiiii-  nun  ilorxo  irijulnic  ac  mure  trims 
nin-  i'i  m  is  hnnii  cm."  In  ilio  liitle  treatis 
uyon  Ihr  goddess  of  tyria,  attributed  very  falsely  to  Luciai 


No  :  he  descends  from  climes  above, 
He  looks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove  ! 


ODE  LV.« 

WHILE  we  invoke  the  wreathed  spring, 
Resplendent  rose  !  to  thee  we  '11  sing ; 
Resplendent  rose  !  the  flower  of  flowers, 
Whose  breath  perfumes  Olympus'  bovvurs ; 
Whose  virgin  blush,  of  chasten'd  dye, 
Enchants  so  much  our  mortal  eye. 
When  Pleasure's  bloomy  season  glows, 
The  Graces  love  to  twitie  the  rose  ; 
The  rose  is  warm  Dione's  bliss, 
And  flushes  like  Dione's  kiss  ! 
Oft  has  the  poet's  magic  tongue 
The  rose's  fair  luxuriance  sung ; 


here  is  mention  of  this  coin,  and  of  a  temple  dedicated  bj 
he  Sidonians  to  Astarte,  whom  some,  it  appears,  confound- 
ed with  Europa. 

Moschus  has  written  a  very  beautiful  idyl  on  the  story  of 
Suropa. 

JVo  ;  he  descends  from  climes  above, 

lie  louks  the  God,  he  breathes  of  Jove.]  Thus  Moschus 

The  God  forgot  himself,  his  heaven  for  love, 
And  a  bull's  form  belied  the  almighty  Jove. 

1  This  ode  is  a  brilliant  panegyric  on  the  rose.  "  All  an- 
iquity  (says  Barnes)  has  produced  nothing  more  beautiful." 

From  the  idea  of  peculiar  excellence  which  the  ancients 
attached  to  this  rlower,  arose  a  pretty  proverbial  expression, 
used  by  Aristophanes,  according  to  Suidas,  fcSx  it'  i.puxsej 

You  have  spoken  roses,"  a  phrase  somewhat  similar  to 
the  "  dire  des  fleurettes"  of  the  French.  In  the  same  idea 
of  excellence  originated,  I  doubt  not,  a  very  curious  appli- 
cation of  the  word  poJo»,  for  which  the  inquisitive  reudot 
may  consult  Gaulminus  upon  the  epithalamium  of  our  poet, 
where  it  is  introduced  in  the  romance  of  Theodorus.  Mure- 
tua,  in  one  of  his  elegies,  calls  his  mistress  his  rose: 

Jam  le  igitur  rursus  teneo,  formosula,  jam  te 
(Quid  trepidaa  ?)  teneo ;  jam,  rosa,  te  teneo. 

Eleg.  8. 

Now  I  again  embrace  thee,  dearest, 

(Tell  me,  wanton,  why  thou  fearesl?) 

Again  my -longing  amis  infold  thee, 

Again,  my  rose,  again  1  hold  thee. 

This,  like  most  of  the  terms  of  endearment  in  the  moderx 
Latin  poets,  is  taken  from  1'lautus;  they  were  vulgar  and 
colloquial  in  his  time,  and  they  are  among  the  elegancies, 
of  the  modern  LatinilUk  ^ 

tius  alludes  to  the  ode  before  us,  in  the  beginning 
of  his  poem  on  the  Rose: 

Carmine  digna  rosa  est;  vellem  canpretur  ut  illam 
Teius  arguta  cecinit  tesludme  vutes. 

Resplendent  rose!  to  thee  we'll  sing.]  I  have  passnd 
over  the  line  ru»  trupii  *u-;i  /uix.:r>!»  ;  it  is  corrupt  in  this 
original  reading,  and  ha*  been  very  little  improved  by  the 
annotators.  I  should  suppose  it  to  be  an  interpolation,  if  it 
were  not  for  a  line  which  occurs  afterwards.  ?if«  Si  fvn» 

The  rose  is  warm  Dione's  bliss,  etc.]  Bellcau,  in  n  note 
upon  un  old  French  pout,  quoting  the  original  hero  »;p:5i- 
o-iuiv  T'  njup.u*,  translates  it,  "  comme  les  del  ices  ul  taigas*' 
discs  de  Venus." 

Oft  has  the  port's  magic  tongue 

The  rose's  fair  liiiuri.ini-e  suntr,  etc.]  The  following  i. 
a  fragment  of  the  Lesbian  poetess.  It  is  cited  in  the  ro- 
mani'i;  of  Achilles  Tatiu*,  who  appears  (o  have  rc-olvrd 
the  numbers  into  prose.  E.  TO. 5  XOITIV  >|J.'».<»  »  Ztvt 


Eporot 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


261 


And  long  the  Muses,  heavenly  maids, 
Have  rear'd  it  in  their  tuneful  shades. 
When,  at  the  early  glance  of  morn, 
It  sleeps  upon  the  glittering  thorn, 
'Tis  sweet  to  dare  the  tangled  fence, 
To  cull  the  timid  flow'ret  thence, 
And  wipe,  with  tender  hand,  away 
The  tear  that  (in  its  blushes  lay  ! 
'Tis  sweet  to  hold  the  infant  stems, 
Yet  dropping  with  Aurora's  gems, 
And  fresh  inhale  the  spicy  sighs 
That  from  the  weeping  buds  arise. 
When  revel  reigns,  when  mirth  is  high, 
And  Bacchus  beams  in  every  eye, 
Our  rosy  h'llels  scent  exhale, 
And  fill  with  halm  the  fainting  gale  ! 
Oh,  there  is  nought  in  nature  bright, 
Where  roses  do  not  shed  their  light ! 
When  morning  paints  the  orient  skies, 
Her  fingers  burn  with  roseate  dyes ; 
The  nymphs  display  the  rose's  charms, 
It  mantles  o'er  their  graceful  arms  ; 
Through  Cytherea's  form  it  glows, 
And  mingles  with  the  living  snows. 
The  rose  distils  a  healing  balm, 
The  beating  pulse  of  pain  to  calm ; 
Preserves  the  cold  inurned  clay, 
And  mocks  the  vestige  of  decay: 


If  Jove  would  give  the  leafy  bowers 
A  queen  for  all  their  world  of  flowers, 
The  roge  would  be  the  choice  of  Jove 
And  blush  the  queen  of  every  grove. 
Sweetest  child  of  weeping  morning, 
Gem,  the  vest  of  earth  adorning, 
Eye  of  flow'rets,  glow  of  lawns, 
Bud  of  beauty  nursed  by  dawns: 
Soft  the  soul  of  love  it  breathes, 
Cypria's  brow  with  magic  wreathes, 
And,  to  the  Zephyr's  warm  caresses, 
Diffuses  all  its  verdant  tress*  K, 
Till,  glowing  with  the  wanton's  play, 
It  blushes  a  diviner  ray! 
When  morning'  paints  the  orient  .ifiirit, 
Her  fingers  burn  witli  reseat  dyes,  etc.]     In  the  original 
here,  he  enumerates  the  many  epithets  of  beauty,  borrowed 
from  roses,  which  were  used  by  the  poets,  vap*  ruin  o-o^aiv. 
We  see  that  poets  were  dignified  in  Greece  with  the  titlo  of 
lages ;  even  the  careless  Anucreon,  who  lived  but  for  love 
and  voluptuousness,  was  called  by  Plato  the  wise  Auucreon. 
Fuit  hucc  sapicntia  quondam. 

Preserves  the  cold  inurnfd  clay,  etc.]  He  here  alludes 
to  the  use  of  the  rose  in  embalming;  and,  perhaps  (us  Barnes 
thinks,)  to  the  rosy  unguent  with  which  Venus  anointed  the 
corpse  of  Hector.  Homer's  Iliod.  \}<.  It  may  likewise 
regard  the  ancient  practice  of  putting  garlands  of  roses  on 
the  dead,  as  in  Statius,  Thcb.  lib.  x.  782. 

— — ^^—  hi  sertis,  hi  veris  honore  soluto 
Accunmlant  artus  patriaque  in  sedo  reponunt 
Corpus  odoratum. 

Whore  "  veris  honor,"  though  it  moan  every  kind  of  flow- 
ers, may  seem  more  particularly  to  refer  to  the  'ose,  which 
our  poet,  in  another  ode,  calls  <*f>o;  /u<\v/*x.  We  T.-I .!,  i:> 
the  Hieroglyphics  of  Pierius,  lib.  Iv.  that  some  of  the  an- 
cients used  to  order  in  their  wills,  thai  rosi-i  should  lie  an- 
nually scattered  on  their  tombs;  and  he  has  adduced  some 
sepulchral  inscriptions  to  this  purpose. 

.And  mocks  the.  vest/ye  of  rfrrnj/.J  When  ho  pays  that 
this  flower  prevails  over  time  itsell,  he  still  alludes  to  its 
efficacy  in  embalment  (tencra  poneret  ossn  rosa.  Pronerl. 
lib.  i.  cleg.  17,)  or  perhaps  to  the  subsequent  idea  of  its 
fragrance  surviving  ils  beauty;  for  he  can  scarcely  mean  to 
praise  for  duration  the  "nimium  breves  (lores"  of  the  rose. 
Philostratus  compares  this  flower  with  love,  and  says,  that 
they  both  defv  ihe  influence  of  time;  %poi>ov  J»  »«TI  Ep*>{, 
•un  pcJ.t  oijif.  Unfortunately  the  similitude  lies  not  in 
their  duration,  hr.:  their  transience. 


And  when,  at  length,  in  pale  decline, 
Its  florid  beauties  inae  and  pine, 
Sweet  as  in  youth,  us  balmy  breath 
Diffuses  odour  e'en  in  deal  )> ! 
Oh!  whence  could  such  a  plant  have  spring?  • 
Attend — for  thus  the  tale  is  sung. 
When,  humid,  from  the  silvery  stream, 
Effusing  beauty's  warmest  beam, 
Venus  appear'd,  in  flushing  hues, 
Mellow'd  by  Ocean's  briny  dews ; 
When,  in  the  starry  courts  above, 
The  pregnant  brain  of  mighty  Jove 
Disclosed  the  nymph  of  azure  glanro, 
The  nymph  who  shakes  the  martial  lance  ! 
Then,  then,  in  strange  eventful  hour, 
The  earth  produced  an  infant  flower, 
Which  sprung,  with  blushing  tinctures  drcss'd, 
And  wanton'd  o'er  its  parent  breast. 
The  gods  beheld  this  brilliant  birth, 
And  hail'd  the  Rose,  the  boon  of  earth ! 
With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide, 
The  sweetly  orient  buds  they  dyed, 
And  bade  them  bloom,  the  flowers  divine 
Of  him  who  sheds  the  teeming  vine ; 
And  bade  them  on  the  spangled  thorn 
Expand  their  bosoms  to  the  morn. 


ODE  LVI.' 

HE,  who  instructs  the  youthful  crew 
To  bathe  them  in  the  brimmer's  dew, 


Siceet  as  in  youth,  its  balmy  breath. 
Diffuses  odour  e\n  in  death.]    Thus  Caspar  Barleu  i,  in 
lib  Rilus  Nuptiiirum: 

Ambrosium  late  rosa  tune  quoquc  spargit  odorem, 
Cum  lluit,  aut  multo  languida  sole  jact-t. 

Nor  then  the  rose  its  odour  loses, 
When  all  its  flushing  beauties  die; 

Nor  luss  ambrosial  bahn  dir 

When  wither'd  by  the  solar  eye! 

With  nectar  drops,  a  ruby  tide. 

The  sweetly  orimt  burls  t/ity  dyed,  etc.]  The  author  of 
:he  "Pervigilium  Vencris"  (a  poem  attributed  to  Cntuhtw, 
liu  style  nt  which  appears  to  me  to  have  all  the  laboured 
uxuriance  of  a  much  later  period)  ascribes  the  tincture  uf 
the  rose  to  the  blood  from  the  wound  of  Adonis — 


Fusao  apriiiu  de  cruore— 

according  to  thn  emendation  of  T,i[>sius.     In  the  following 
epigram  this  hue  is  differently  accounted  for: 

Ilia  qnidem  studiosa  suum  defendere  Adonim, 
Giadivus  stricto  qnem  petit  ensc  fcrox, 

Aflixit  duris  vestigia  on  ea  rosetis, 
Albaquc  divino  picta  cruore  roM  esL 

While  the  cnamour'd  queen  of  joy 
Flics  to  protect  her  lovely  boy, 

On  whom  the  jealous  war-god  rushes; 
Phe  treads  upon  a  tlutrned  rOM, 
And  while  the  wound  with  crimson  flows, 

The  snowy  flowrct  feels  her  blood,  arid  blushex! 

1  "  Compare  with  this  elegant  ode  tho  verses  of  Uz,  lib 
.  die.  Weinlese." — Degen. 

This  appears  to  he  one  uf  the  hymns  whieh  «  ore  nms  ai 
he  anniversary  f-stiuil  of  the  v  in"  :>::«• ;  one  of  the  or«M»ioi 
pvii,  as  our  poet  himself  terms  them  in  the  fifiy-ninlli  <><!« 
>Ve  cannot  help  feeling  a  peculiar  veneration  for  these  rnhe» 
nf  the  religion  of  antiquity.  Horace  may  he  supposed  !•> 
lave  written  the  nineteenth  ode  of  his  second  book,  and  th«- 
wenty  fifth  of  the  third,  for  some  bacchanalian  celebratior 
I'  this  ki.i'1. 


H 

J 


862 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  taste,  uncloy  d  by  rich  excesses, 
All  the  bliss  that  wine  possesses  ! 
He,  who  inspires  the  youth  to  glance 
In  winged  circlets  through  the^dance  ! 
Bacchus,  the  god,  again  is  here, 
And  leads  along  the  blushing  year ; 
The  blushing  year  with  rapture  teems, 
Ready  to  shed  those  cordial  streams 
Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 
Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth  ; 
And  when  the  ripe  and  vermil  wine, 
Sweet  infant  of  the  pregnant  vine, 
Which  now  in  mellow  clusters  swells, 
Oh  !  when  it  bursts  its  rosy  cells, 
The  heavenly  stream  shall  mantling  flow, 
To  balsam  every  mortal  woe ! 
No  youth  shall  then  be  wan  or  weak, 
For  dimpling  health  shall  light  the  cheek; 
No  heart  shall  then  desponding  sigh, 
For  wine  shall  bid  despondence  fly ! 
Thus — till  another  autumn's  glow 
Shall  bid  another  vintage  flow ! 


ODE  LVII.1 

AND  whose  immortal  hand  could  shed 
Upon  this  disk  the  ocean's  bed  ? 
And,  in  a  frenzied  flight  of  soul, 
Sublime  as  Heaven's  eternal  pole, 
Imagine  thus,  in  semblance  warm, 
The  Queen  of  Love's  voluptuous  form, 
Floating  along  the  silvery  sea 
In  beauty's  naked  majesty  ? 
Oh !  he  has  given  the  raptured  sight 
A  witching  banquet  of  delighi ; 
And  all  those  sacred  scenes  of  Love, 
Where  only  hallowed  eyes  may  rove, 


Which,  sparkling  in  the  cup  of  mirth, 

Illuminate  the  sons  of  earth!]  In  the  original  -B-OTO 
•«-TOVO»  xopiguv.  Madame  Dacier  thinks  that  the  poet 
here  had  the  nepenthe  of  Homer  in  his  mind.  Odyssey, 
,ib.  it.  This  nepenthe  was  a  something  of  exquisite  charm, 
infused  by  Helen  into  the  wine  of  her  guests,  which  had  the 
power  of  dispelling  every  anxiety.  A  French  writer,  with 
very  elegant  gallantry,  conjectures  that  this  s|>ell,  which 
made  the  bowl  so  beguiling,  was  the  charm  of  Helen's  con- 
versation. See  de  Mere,  quoted  by  Bayle,  art  Helene. 

1  This  ode  is  a  very  animated  description  of  a  picture  of 
Venus  on  a  discus,  which  presented  the  goddess  in  her  first 
emergence  from  the  waves.  About  two  centuries  after  our 
poet  wrote,  the  pencil  of  the  artist  Apellcs  embellished  this 
subject,  in  his  famous  painting  of  the  Venus  Anadyomene 
the  model  of  which,  as  Pliny  informs  us,  wag  the  beautiful 
tampaspe,  jiven  to  him  by  Alexander ;  thoii'.'ii,  nccordin"- 
to  Natalis  Comes,  lib.  vii.  cap.  16,  it  was  Phryne  who  sat  to 
Applies  for  the  face  and  breast  of  this  Venus. 

There  are  a  few  blemishes  in  the  reading  of  the  ode  be- 
fore us,  which  have  influenced  Faber,  Hevnn,  Rrunck,  etc. 
in  il.'iKMiiiiv  thf  whole  |w>pm  as  spurious.  '  Non  e~o  paucis 
orTcndar  maculis.  I  think  it  is  beautiful  enou»h  to  be  au- 
thentic. 

J)i>d  whose  immortal  hand  could  shed 

Upun  thit  ditlc  the  ocean'*  brd  ?]  The  abruptness  of 
>p»  TIC  TO?««O-I  _«»«•«.,  n  finely  expressive  of  sudden 
admiration,  and  is  one  of  those  bcn.it. .-s  which  we  cannot 
but  admire  in  their  source,  ihoujh,  by  IY.-,|ii,;i,t  imitation 
they  ar<)  now  become  languid  and  unimpressive. 

jfnd  all  those  sacred  scenes  of  love, 

Whert  only  hallow  d  eye*  may  rare.,  etc.]     The   pirtnre 

here  has  all  the  d-l.r-ate  character  of  th,-  ,-i-mi-rrclucta  Ve- 

m,  and  is  the  sweetest  emblem  of  what  the  poetry  of  pas- 


Lie  faintly  glowing,  half-conceal'd, 
Within  the  lucid  billows  veil'd. 
Light  as  the  leaf  that  summer's  breeze 
Has  wafted  o'er  the  glassy  seas, 
She  floats  upon  the  ocean's  breast, 
Which  undulates  in  sleepy  rest, 
And  stealing  on,  she  gently  pillows 
Her  bosom  on  the  amorous  billows. 
Her  bosom,  like  the  humid  rose, 
Her  neck,  like  dewy-sparkling  snows, 
Illume  the  liquid  path  she  traces, 
And  burn  within  the  stream's  embraces! 
In  languid  luxury  soft  she  glides, 
Encircled  by  the  azure  tides, 
Like  some  fair  lily,  faint  with  weeping, 
Upon  a  bed  of  violets  sleeping ! 
Beneath  their  queen's  inspiring  glance, 
The  dolphins  o'er  the  green  sea  dance, 
Bearing  in  triumph  young  Desire, 
And  baby  Love  with  smiles  of  fire ! 
While,  sparkling  on  the  silver  waves, 
The  tenants  of  the  briny  caves 
Around  the  pomp  in  eddies  play, 
And  gleam  along  the  watery  way. 


ODE  LVIII.1 

WHEN  gold,  as  fleet  as  Zephyr's  pinion, 
Escapes  like  any  faithless  minion, 
And  flies  me  (as  he  flies  me  ever,) 
Do  I  pursue  him  ?  never,  never ! 


on  ought  to  bu;  glowing  but  through  a  veil,  and  stealing 
|K>n  the  heart  from  concealment.  Few  of  the  ancients 
ave  attained  this  modesty  of  description,  which  is  like  the 

lden  cloud  that  hung  over  Jupiter  and  Juno,  impervious 

every  beam  but  that  of  fancy. 

Her  bosom,  like  the  humid  rose,  etc.]  "  P-uJnov  (says  an 
ii  my  minis  annotator)  is  a  whimsical  epithet  for  the  bosorn." 
'either  Catullus  nor  Gray  have  been  of  his  opinion.  The 
jriner  has  the  expression, 

En  hie  in  roseis  latet  papillia. 
And  the  latter, 

Lo!  where  the  rosy-bosom'd  hours,  etc. 
Crottns,  a  modern  Latinist,  might  indeed  be  censured  foi 
o  vague  an  use  of  the  epithet  "rosy,"  when  he  appiien  i] 
the  eyes:  "e  roseis  oculis." 

young  Desire,  etc.]     In   the  original   '•I^ipoj, 

ho  was  the  same  deity  with  MCM  among  "the  Humans, 
urelius  Augurellus  has  a  poem  beginning 

Invitat  olini  Bacchus  ad  ccenam  suos 
Conion,  Jocum,  Cupid  mum. 

Which  Parnell  has  closely  imitated : 

Gay  Bacchus,  liking  Estcourt  s  wine, 

A  noble  meal  bespoke  us; 
And,  for  the  guests  that  were  to  dine, 

Brought  Comus,  Love,  and  Jocus,  etc. 

1 1  have  followed  Barnes's  arrangement  of  this  ode ;  it  de- 
'•wliat  from  the  Vatican  MS.  but  it  appeared  to 
e  the  more  natural  order. 

When  gold,  as  fleet  as  7.ephyr's  pinion. 
Escapes  like  any  failhli'im,  minion,  etc.]  In  the  original 
Jp*jr«T«;  o  j^puiroj.  There  is  a  kind  of  pun  in  these 
iriis,  as  Madame  Dacier  has  already  remarked  ;  for  C'hrv- 
•-,  which  signifies  <rnlil,  was  also  a  frequent  name  for  a 
_ye.  In  om;  of  Lucian's  dialogues,  there  is,  1  think,  a 
nilar  piny  upon  the  word,  where  the  followers  of  Chry 
>pu»  are  called  Bullion  fishes.  The  puns  of  the  ancients 
<-',  in  general,  even  inure  vapid  than  our  own  some  ol 
e  best  are  those  recorded  of  Diogenes. 

JMfu**t(ag  ke  fittmt  ever,}  etc.]     An   S',  nti  pt 

•       i      This  grace  of  iteration  has  already  been  lakort 


O  JES  OF  ANACREON. 


2»>2 


No,  let  the  false  deserter  go, 
For  who  would  court  his  direst  foe? 
But,  when  I  feel  my  Jighten'd  mind 
Ko  more  by  ties  of  gold  confined, 
I  loosen  all  my  clinging  cares, 
And  cast  them  to  the  vagraju  airs. 
Then,  then  I  feel  the  Muse's  spell, 
And  wake  to  life  the  dulcet  shell ; 
The  dulcet  shell  to  beauty  sings, 
And  love  dissolves  along  the  strings  ! 
Thus,  when  my  heart  is  sweetly  taught 
How  little  gold  deserves  a  thought, 
The  winged  slave  returns  once  more, 
And  with  him  wafts  delicious  store 
Of  racy  wine,  whose  balmy  ait 
In  slumber  seals  the  anxious  heart ! 
Again  he  tries  my  soul  to  sever 
From  love  and  song,  perhaps  for  ever  ! 
Away,  deceiver !  why  pursuing 
Ceaseless  thus  my  heart's  undoing? 
Sweet  is  the  song  of  amorous  fire  ; 
Sweet  are  the  sighs  that  thrill  the  lyre ; 
Oh !  sweeter  far  than  all  the  gold 
The  waftage  of  thy  wings  can  hold. 
I  well  remember  all  thy  wiles  ; 
Thy  wither' d  Cupid's  flowery  smiles, 
And  o'er  his  harp  such  garbage  shed, 
I  thought  its  angel  breath  was  fled  ! 
They  tainted  all  his  bowl  of  blisses, 
His  bland  desires  and  hallow'd  kisses. 
Oh !  fly  to  haunts  of  sordid  men, 
But  rove  not  near  the  bard  again ; 
Thy  glitter  in  the  Muse's  shade 
Scares  from  her  bower  the  tuneful  maid ; 
And  not  for  worlds  would  I  forego 
That  moment  of  poetic  glow, 
When  my  full  soul,  in  Fancy's  stream, 
Pours  o'er  the  lyre  its  swelling  theme. 
Away,  away  !  to  worldlings  hence, 
Who  feel  not  this  diviner  sense, 
And,  with  thy  gay  fallacious  blaze, 
Dazzle  their  unrefined  gaze. 


notice  of.  Though  sometimes  merely  a  playful  beauty,  it  is 
peculiarly  expressive  of  impassioned  sentiment,  and  we  may 
easily  believe  that  it  WHS  one  of  the  many  sources  of  that 
•inergetic  sensibility  which  breathed  through  the  style  of 
Sappno.  See  Gyrald.  Vet.  Poet.  Dial.  9.  It  will  liot  be 
•aid  that  this  is  a  mechanical  ornament  by  any  one  who  can 
t'eei  its  charm  in  those  lines  of  Catullus,  where  he  complains 
of  the  intidelity  of  his  mistress,  Lesbia. 

Crel'i,  Lesbia  nostra,  Lesbia  ilia, 

Ilia  Lesbia,  quam  Catullus  unam, 

Plus  quam  se  atque  HUOS  amavit  otnnes, 

Nunc,  etc. 
Si  sic  onnia  dixisset!  but  the  rest  does  not  bear  citation. 

They  tainted  all  his  boifl  of  blisses, 

His  bland  desires  and  halluui'd  kisses.]    Original : 

Horace  has  "  Dcsiderique  temperare  poculum,"  not  figu 
ratively,  however,  like  Anacreon,  but  importing  the  love- 
philtres  of  the  witches.     By  "  cups  of  kisses"  our  poet  may 
allude  to  a  favourite  gallantry  among  the  ancients,  of  drink- 
ing when  the  lips  of  (heir  mistresses  had  touched  the  brim: 
"  Or  leave  a  kiss  within  the  cup, 
And  I  'II  not  ask  for  wine," 

as  in  Ben  Jonson's  translation  from  Philostratus;  and  Lucian 
baa  a  conceit  upon  the  same  idea,  "  Iv»  x*i  TIV»;  *n*  xx< 
f  «Mi«  "  "  that  you  may  at  once  both  drink  and  kiss." 


ODE  LIX.« 

SABLED  by  the  solar  beam, 

Now  the  fiery  clusters  teem, 

In  osier  baskets,  borne  along 

By  all  the  festal  vintage  throng 

Of  rosy  youths  and  virgins  fair, 

Ripe  as  the  melting  fruits  they  bear. 

Now,  now  they  press  the  pregnant  grapei 

And  now  the  captive  stream  escapes, 

In  fervid  tide  of  nectar  gushing, 

And  for  Its  bondage  proudly  blushing! 

While,  round  the  vat's  impurpled  bnm, 

The  choral  song,  the  vintage  hymn 

Of  rosy  youths,  and  virgins  lair, 

Steals  on  the  cloy'd  and  panting  air. 

Mark,  how  they  drink,  with  all  their  eyes, 

The  orient  tide  that  sparkling  flies ; 

The  infant  balm  of  all  their  fears, 

The  infant  Bacchus,  born  in  tears ! 

When  he,  whose  verging  years  decline 

As  deep  into  the  vale  as  mine, 

When  he  inhales  the  vintage-spring, 

His  heart  is  fire,  his  foot 's  a  wing  ; 

And,  as  he  flies,  his  hoary  hair 

Plays  truant  with  the  wanton  air ! 

While  the  warm  youth,  whose  wishing  soul 

Has  kindled  o'er  the  inspiring  bowl, 

Impassion'd  seeks  the  shadowy  grove, 

Where,  in  the  tempting  guise  of  love, 

Reclining  sleeps  some  witching  maid, 

Whose  sunny  charms,  but  half  display'd, 

Blush  through  the  bower,  that,  closely  twined, 

Excludes  the  kisses  of  the  wind  ! 

The  virgin  wakes,  the  glowing  boy 

Allures  her  to  the  embrace  of  joy ; 

Swears  that  the  herbage  Heaven  had  spread 

Was  sacred  as  the  nuptial  bed ; 

That  laws  should  never  bind  desire, 

And  love  was  nature's  holiest  fire ! 

The  virgin  weeps,  the  virgin  sighs ; 

He  kiss'd  her  lips,  he  kiss'd  her  eyes ; 

The  sigh  was  balm,  the  tear  was  dew, 

They  only  raised  his  flame  anew. 

And,  oh !  he  stole  the  sweetest  flower 

That  ever  bloom'd  in  any  bower ! 

Such  is  the  madness  wine  imparts, 
Whene'er  it  steals  on  youthful  hearts. 


1  The  title  EmXi-vns  vpnf,  which  Borne*  has  ? 
liia  ode,  in  by  no  means  appropriate.     We  have  nlread* 
ad  one  of  those  hymns  (ode  56,;  but  this  in  a  description  u> 
tie  vintage;  anil  the  title  u;  oi»o»,  which  it  heart  in  the  Va'.i- 

n  MS.,  is  more  correct  than  any  that  have  been  sti. 

.  MI  the  true  spirit  of  literary  «ci  p'icism,  doubts  thai 
iis  ode  in  genuine,  without  assigning  any  reason  for  *uch  n 
uspirion.  "  N"ii  amo  le,  Sabidi,  nee  possum  dicere  quart:," 
ut  I  his  is  far  from  satisfactory  criticism. 

Sirtars  that  the  herbage  ffrarrn  had  spread, 

H  as  sacred  as  the  nuptial  beii,  rte.]     The  original  her* 
as  liei'ii  variously  interpreted,     i^oiiie,  in  their  y.eal  for  our 
uthor's  purity,  have  supposed  that  the  youth 
er  to  a  premature  marriage.     Others  understand   from  tlir 
words  TfoSaitr  j-a.u»v  y -ivirjxi,  llur  ''r  In  « 

iolation  of  the  nuptial  vow.    The  turn  which  I  Inv 

is  somewhat  like  the  sentiment  •><'  HI  '  i-  i.  "  nmoretn  roi; 
1210,  liliertatem  vinrnlo  pr;eferre."  (See  her  or:em:il  I.--I 
ers.)  The  Italian  translations  have  almost  nil  waitlo-ud 
pon  this  description  :  but  that  of  Marchelti  is  indeed  "  n< 
lium  lubricus  asnici." 


264 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ODE  LX.' 

AWAKE  to  life,  my  dulcet  shell, 
To  Phojbus  all  thy  sighs  shall  swell ; 
And  though  no  glorious  prize  be  thine, 
No  Pythian  wreath  around  thee  twine, 
Yet  every  hour  is  glory's  hour, 
To  him  who  gathers  wisdom's  flower  i 
Then  wake  thee  from  thy  magic  slumbers, 
Breathe  to  the  soft  and  Phrygian  numbers, 
Which,  as  my  trembling  lips  repeat, 
Thy  chords  shall  echo  back  as  sweet. 
The  cygnet  thus,  with  fading  notes, 
As  down  Cayster's  tide  he  floats, 
Plays  with  his  snowy  plumage  fair 
Upon  the  wanton  murmuring  air, 
Which  amorously  lingers  round, 
And  sighs  responsive  sound  for  sound ! 
Muse  of  the  Lyre  !  illume  my  dream, 
Thy  Phffibus  is  my  fancy's  theme ; 
And  hallow'd  is  the  harp  I  bear, 
And  hallow'd  is  the  wreath  I  wear, 
Hallow'd  by  him,  the  god  of  lays, 
Who  modulates  the  choral  maze ! 
I  sing  the  love  which  Daphne  twined 
Around  the  godhead's  yielding  mind  ; 
I  sing  the  blushing  Daphne's  flight 
From  this  aethereal  youth  of  light ; 
And  how  the  tender,  timid  maid 
Flew  panting  to  the  kindly  shade, 
Rcsign'd  a  form,  too  tempting  fair, 
And  grew  a  verdant  laurel  there  ; 
Whose  leaves,  in  sympathetic  thrill, 
In  terror  seem'd  to  tremble  still ! 
Th$  god  pursued,  with  wing'd  desire  ; 
And  when  his  hopes  were  all  on  fire, 
And  when  he  thought  to  hear  the  sigh 
With  which  enamour'd  virgins  die, 
He  only  heard  the  pensive  air 
Whispering  amid  her  leafy  hair ! 
But  oh,  my  soul !  no  more — no  more  ! 
Enthusiast,  whither  do  I  soar  ? 
This  sweetly  maddening  dream  of  soul 
Has  hurried  me  beyond  the  goal. 
Why  should  I  sing  the  mighty  darts 
Which  fly  to  wound  celestial  hearts, 


1  This  hymn  to  Apollo  is  supposed  not  to  have  been 
written  by  Anacreon,  and  it  certainly  is  rather  a  sublimer 
flight  than  the  Teian  wing  is  accustomed  to  soar.  But  we 
aught  not  to  judge  from  this  diversity  of  style,  in  a  poet  of 
whom  time  has  preserved  such  partial  relics.  If  we  knew 
Horace  but  as  a  satirist,  should  we  easily  believe  there  could 
men  animation  in  his  lyre"!  Suidas  says  that  our 
poet  wrote  hymn.,  and  this  perhaps  is  one  of  them.  We 
can  perceive  in  wnat  an  altered  and  imperfect  state  his 
works  are  at  present,  when  we  find  a  scholiast  upon  Horace 
Siting  an  odo  from  the  third  book  of  Anacreon. 

Jlnd  heie  the  tender,  timid  maid 

View  putting  to  the  kindly  shade,  etc.]    Original : 

I  find  the  word  xivrpo.  here  has  a  double  force,  an  it  also 
•lenities  that  "omnium  parentern,  quam  sanctus  Numa," 
etc.  etc.  (Sen  Martial.)  In  order  u.  confirm  this  import  of 
he  word  here,  those  who  are  curious  in  new  readin-s  may 
place  tue  stop  after  ?v<ri»«  thus: 

T»  lilt  ixrri»tu}-i  mvrpor 


When  sure  the  lay,  with  sweeter  tone, 
Can  tell  the  darts  that  wound  my  own  ? 
Still  be  Anacreon,  still  inspire 
The  descant  of  the  Teian  lyre : 
Still  let  the  nectar'd  numbers  float, 
Distilling  love  in  every  note ! 
And  when  the  jfJuth,  whose  burning  soul 
Has  felt  the  Paphian  star's  control, 
When  he  the  liquid  lays  shall  hear, 
His  heart  will  flutter  to  his  ear, 
And  drinking  there  of  song  divine, 
Banquet  on  intellectual  wine  ! 


ODE  LXI.1 

GOLDEN  hues  of  youth  are  fled  ; 
Hoary  locks  deform  my  head. 
Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
All  the  flowers  of  life  decay 


Still  be  J3nacrcon,  still  inspire 

The  descant  of  the  Teian  lyre.]  The  original  is  Toy  Am- 
pfovra  /ji/iou.  I  have  translated  it  under  the  supposition 
.hat  the  hymn  is  by  Anacreon  ;  though  I  fear,  from  this  very 
'ine,  that  his  claim  to  it  can  scarce  be  supported. 

Tov   Avaxpiovr*   /uipou,  "  Imitate  Anacreon."     Such  ii 
he  lesson  given  us  by  the  lyrist;  and  if,  in  poetry,  a  simple 
;legance  of  sentiment,  enriched  by  the  must  playful  felicitiei 
of  fancy,  be  a  charm  which  invites  or  deserves  imitation, 
where  shall  we  find  such  a  guide  as  Anacreon  ?  In  morality, 
oo,  with  some  little  reserve,  I  think  we  m  ght  not  blush  to 
bllow  in  his  footsteps.     For  if  his  song  be  the  language  ol 
)is  heart,  though  luxurious  and  relaxed,  he  was  artless  and 
>enevoler>t;  and  who  would  not  forgive  a  few  irregularities, 
when  atoned  for  by  virtues  so  rare  and  so  endearing  ?  When 
we  think  of  the  sentiment  in  those  lines. 
Away  !  I  hate  the  slanderous  dart, 
Which  steals  to  wound  the  unwary  heart, 
how  many  are  there  in  the  world  to  whom  we  would  wish 
o  say,  Tov  Avxxpiovra  uiftov  ! 

Here  ends  the  last  of  the  odes  in  the  Vatican  MS.  whose 
authority  confirms  Ihe  genuine  antiquity  of  them  all,  though 
-i  lew  have  stolen  among  the  number  which  we  may  liesi- 
ate  in  attributing  to  Anacreon.  In  the  little  essay  prefixed 
o  this  translation,  I  observed  that  Barnes  had  quoted  this 
manuscript  incorrectly,  relying  upon  an  impelled  copy  of  it; 
A'hich  Isaac  Vossius  had  taken  ;  I  shall  just  mention  two  or 
hree  instances  of  this  inaccuracy,  the  first  which  occur  to  me. 
n  Ihe  ode  of  the  Dove,  on  the  words  Ilrfpoio-i  o-uj.xxxutj.ai, 
ie  says,  "  Vatican  MS.  o-uo-x.jt£>»,  etiam  I'resi-iaiio  invito," 
IxiUL'h  the  MS.  reads  o-uvxaXti-^iu,  with  o-urxixo-oo  interlined. 
>egen,  too,  on  the  same  line,  is  somewhat  in  error.  In  the 
wenty-second  ode  of  this  series,  line  thirteenth,  the  MS  hni 
•""I  with  »i  interlined,  and  Barnes  imputes  to  it  the  read- 
ng  of  TivSti.  In  the  fifty-seventh,  line  twelfth,  he  proteases 
o  have  preserved  UMMMIBg  of  the  MS.  AXxX^snt  *'  i*-' 
uTi),  while  the  latter  has  aXaXituevoj  $'  ITT'  xvrx.  Almost 
II  Ihe  other  anriotators  have  transplanted  these  errors  from 
Jarnes. 

1  The  intrusion  of  this  melancholy  ode  among  Ihe  care- 
ess  levities  of  our  poet,  has  always  reminded  me  of  the 
keletons  which  the  Egyptians  used  to  hang  up  in  their 
innquet-rooms,  to  inculcate  a  thought  of  mortnliry  even 
midst  the  dissipations  of  mirth.  If  it  were  not  Tor  the  beauty 
f  its  numbers,  the  Teinn  Muso  should  disown  this  ode. 
luid  babel  illius,  illius  qiim  spirahat  amorcs  1 

To  Stobaeus  we  nre  indebted  for  it. 

Plnnmy  pracm,  dalliance  gay, 

Jill  tkejuieert  of  life  tlrrny.}  Horace  often,  with  feeling 
tul  elr^nncc,  deplores  the  fngacity  of  human  enjoyments 
:ce  book  ii.  ode  II  ;  and  thus  in  the  second  epistle,  book  ii. 

Pingula  de  nobi*  anni  piwi/antur  euntes, 
Eripuere  jocos,  venercm,  couvivia,  lutlum. 

The  win^ot'ever)  p.nssingday 
Withers  some  hloomiii::  joy  nw«y  , 
And  w;ifts  from  our  enamour'd  arms 
The  banquet's  mirth,  the  virgin's  cnarnis. 


ODES  OF  ANACREON. 


Mfi 


Withering  age  begins  to  trace 
Sad  memorials  o'er  my  face ; 
Time  has  shed  its  sweetest  bloom, 
All  the  future  must  be  gloom! 
This  awakes  my  hourly  sighing; 
Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying  ! 
Pluto's  is  a  dark  abode, 
Sad  the  journey,  sad  the  road : 
And,  the  gloomy  travel  o'er, 
Ah  !  we  can  return  no  more ! 


ODE  LXII.1 

FILL  me,  boy,  as  deep  a  draught 

As  e'er  w;is  filled,  as  e'er  was  quafT'd; 

But  let  the  water  amply  flow, 

To  cool  the  grape's  intemperate  glow  ; 

Let  not  the  fiery  god  be  single, 

But  with  the  nymphs  in  union  mingle  ; 

For,  though  the  bowl's  the  grave  of  sadness, 

Oh  !  be  it  ne'er  the  birth  of  madness  ! 

No,  banish  from  our  board  to-night 

The  revelries  of  rude  delight ! 

To  Scythians  leave  these  wild  excesses, 

Ours  be  the  joy  that  soothes  and  blesses  ! 

And  while  the  temperate  bowl  we  wreathe, 

Our  choral  hymns  shall  sweetly  breathe, 

Beguiling  every  hour  along 

With  harmony  of  soul  and  song ! 


Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying,  etc.]  Regnier,  a  liber- 
tino  French  poet,  has  written  some  sonnets  on  the  approach 
of  death,  full  of  gloomy  and  trembling  repentance.  Chau- 
lieu,  however,  gupporls  more  consistently  the  spirit  of  the 
Epicurean  philosopher.  See  his  poem,  addres*ed  to  the 
Marquis  La  Furre. 

Plus  j1  approche  du  terme  et  moins  je  le  redoute,  etc. 

I  shall  leave  it  to  the  moralist  to  make  his  reflections  here : 
it  is  impossible  to  be  very  anacreontic  on  such  a  subject. 

Jlnd,  the  gloomy  travel  o'er, 

Jih !  t?f-  can  return  no  more!]  Scaliger,  upon  Catullus's 
well-known  lines,  "Qui  mine  it  per  iter,"  etc.  remarks,  that 
Acheron,  with  the  same  idea,  is  called  «nj-o£o{,  by  Theo 
critus,  and  twi*tf*ftt(  by  Nicander. 

1  This  ode  consists  of  two  fragments,  which  are  to  be 
found  in  Athenoeus,  book  x.  and  which  Names,  from  the 
similarity  of  their  tendency,  has  combined  into  one.  I 
think  this  a  very  justifiable  liberty,  and  have  adopted  it  in 
tome  other  fragments  of  our  poet. 

Degeu  refers  us  here  to  verses  of  Uz,  lib.  iv.  der  Trinkcr. 

But  let  the  water  amply  flow, 

7'o  coitl  the  grape's  intemperate  glow,  etc.]  It  was 
Amphictyon  who  lirst  taught  the  Greeks  to  mix  water  wish 
their  wine  ;  in  commemoration  of  which  circumstance  they 
erected  altars  to  Hacchua  and  the  nymphs.  On  this  mytho- 
logical allegory  the  following  epigram  is  founded: 

Ardentemex  uteroSemeloslavere  Lyreura 
Naiades,  extincto  fulininis  iirno  sacri ; 

Cumnymiihis  igitut  tractabilis,  at  sine  nymphii 
Caiidenti  rursus  fulmino  curripitnr. 

I'itrius  Valerianus. 

Which  is,  non  verbum  verbo, 

While  heavenly  fire  consumed  nis  Thchan  dame, 
A  Naiad  caught  young  Bacchus  from  the  (Inm-, 

And  dipp'd  him  burning  in  her  purest  lymph: 
Still,  still  he  loves  the  sea-maid's  crystal  urn, 
And  when  his  native  fiies  infuriate  burn, 

He  bathes  him  in  *'ne  fountain  of  the  nymph. 
2L 


ODE  LXIII.1 

To  Love,  the  soft  and  blooming  child 

I  touch  the  harp  in  descent  wild  ; 

To  Love,  the  babe  of  Cyprian  bowers. 

The  boy,  who  breathes  and  blushes  llowers ' 

To  Love,  for  heaven  and  earth  adore  him, 

And  gods  and  mortals  bow  before  him  ! 


ODE  LXIV.» 

HASTE  thee,  nymph,  whose  winged  spear 
Wounds  the  fleeting  mountain-deer ! 
Dian,  Jove's  immortal  child, 
Huntress  of  the  savage  wild  ! 
Goddess  with  the  sun-bright  hair  ! 
Listen  to  a  people's  prayer. 
Turn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 
There  thy  vanquish'd  people  mourn  ! 
Come  to  Lethe's  wavy  shore, 
There  thy  people's  peace  restore. 
Thine  their  hearts,  their  altars  thine  ; 
Dian !  must  they — must  they  pine  '/ 


ODE  LXV.1 

LIKE  some  wanton  filly  sporting, 

Maid  of  Thrace  !  thou  fly'st  my  courting. 

Wanton  filly  !  tell  me  why 

Thou  trip'st  away,  with  scornful  eye, 

And  seem'st  to  think  my  doting  heart 

Is  novice  in  the  bridling  art  ? 

Believe  me,  girl,  it  is  not  so ; 

Thou' It  find  this  skilful  hand  can  throw 

The  reins  upon  that  tender  form, 

However  wild,  however  warm  ! 


1  "This  fragment  is  preserved  in  Clemens  Alexandrinui, 
Strom,  lib-  vi.  and  in  AIK-.-IHIIS,  Collect.  (;.;ec." — /;,.•//,.  i, 

It  appears  to  have  been  thu  ojieijiu,;  of  a  hymn  in  prt '16 
of  Love. 

2  This  hymn  to  Diana  ia  extant  in  Hepha-stion.    Them  ii 
an  anecdote  of  our  |>oet,  which  has  led  to  some  doubt  whe- 
ther he  ever  wrote  any  odea  of  this  kind.     It  is  r<  dated  hy 
the  Scholiast  u|>on  Pindar  (Istlimionic.  od.  ii.  v.  1.  aa  cued 
by  Barrieg.)     Anacrcon  being  naked,  why  he  addi. 

his  hvmiis  to  women,  and  mine  to  the  deities  1  answeruJ 
"Because  women  are  my  deities." 

I  have  assumed  the  same  liberty  in  reporting  this  anecdote 
which  I  have  done  in  tran-l.:'  .M|.»;  and  it 

were  to  be  wished  that  these  lntle  it 

considered  pardonable  in  the  interpretation  of  the  iiiicieun; 
thus,  when  nature  is  forgotten  HI  the  oiigmul,  ill  the  tiunt- 
lation,  "  tanien  usque  recurrel." 

Turn,  to  Lethe's  river  turn, 

']',',<  r<:  thy  vaii'/uish'J  pruplr  mourn.']  Lethe,  a  i.Ver 
of  Ionia,  according  to  Strabo,  falling  into  the  Meander; 
near  to  it  was  situated  the  town  Mnirncsia,  in  favour  of 
whose  inhabitants  our  poet  is  supposed  to  have  .didit-ssed 
this  supplication  to  Diana.  It  was  vui'.ten  (II.H  M.idamtt 
Dacier  conjectures)  on  the  occasion  of  some  battle,  in  which 
the  Ma^in  Man-i  had  been  defeated. 

:t  This  ode,  which  is  addressed  to  some  Thrarian  CM.. 
exi-ts   in    llcraclid.'S.  and  lias  been  in, Mated  very  I. 
by  llor-ice,  as  all  the  annotates  have  remarked.     Madame 
liari-r  rejects  the  allegory,  which  runs  .-o  obviously  through 

out  it,  and  supposes  it    to  have  I n  addr d   lo  a  yomifc 

mare  belonging  to  Polycrates  :  there  is  more  modesty  than 
ingenuity  in  the  lady's  conjecture. 

Pierius,  in  the  fourth  bonk  of  his  B'WOflyphio,  cites  thil 
ode,  and  informs  us,  that  the  hur>c  was  the  hicH.^yplnca 
emblem  of  pride. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Thou'lt  own  that  I  can  tame  thy  force, 
And  turn  and  wind  thee  in  the  course. 
Though  wasting  now  thy  careless  hours, 
Thou  sport'st  amid  the  herbs  and  flowers, 
Thou  soon  shall  feel  the  rein's  control, 
And  tremble  at  the  wish'd-for  goal! 


ODE  LXVI.1 

To  thee,  the  Queen  of  nymphs  divine, 
Fairest  of  all  that  fairest  shine ; 
To  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire, 
Who  rulest  the  world  with  darts  of  fire ! 
And  oh!  thou  nuptial  Power,  to  thee 
Who  bear'st  of  life  the  guardian  key  ; 
Breathing  my  soul  in  fragrant  praise, 
And  weaving  wild  my  votive  lays, 
For  thee,  O  Queen!  I  wake  the  lyre, 
For  thee,  thou  blushing  young  Desire  ! 
And  oh  !  for  thee,  thou  nuptial  Power, 
Come,  and  illume  this  genial  hour. 
Look  on  thy  bride,  luxuriant  boy  ! 
And  while  thy  lambent  glance  of  joy 
Plays  over  all  her  blushing  charms, 
Delay  not,  snatch  her  to  thine  arms, 
Before  the  lovely,  trembling  prey, 
Like  a  young  birdling,  wing  away ! 
Ori '  Stratocles,  impassion'd  youth ! 
Dear  to  the  Queen  of  amorous  truth, 
And  dear  to  her,  whose  yielding  zone 
Will  soon  resign  her  all  thine  own; 
Turn  to  Myrilla,  turn  thine  eye, 
Breathe  to  Myrilla,  breathe  thy  sigh  ! 
To  those  bewitching  beauties  turn  ; 
For  thee  they  mantle,  flush,  and  burn  ! 
Not  more  the  rose,  the  queen  of  flowers, 
Outblushes  all  the  glow  of  bowers, 
Than  she  unrivall'd  bloom  discloses, 
The  sweetest  rose,  where  all  are  roses  ! 
Oh  !  may  the  sun,  benignant,  shed 
His  blandest  influence  o'er  thy  bed ; 
And  foster  there  an  infant  tree, 
To  blush  like  her,  and  bloom  like  thee ! 


1  Thii  ode  is  introduced  in  the  Romance  of  Tlieodorus 
Pro  Iromiu,  and  is  that  kind  of  epUhulainium  which  wag 
lung  like  a  scholium  at  the  nuptial  banquet. 

Among  the  many  works  of  the  impassioned  Sappho,  of 
which  lime  and  ignorant  superstition  have  deprived  us,  the 
knsof  her  epithalamiums  is  not  one  of  the  leant  that  we  de- 
plore. A  subject  so  interesting  to  an  amorous  fancy  wag 
warmly  felt,  and  must  have  been  warmly  described,  by  such 

I  soul  and  such  an  imagination.     The  following  lines  are 
cited  as  a  relic  of  one  of  her  epithalamiums: 

)*.»n  yxpZfi.  rat  pit  S<t  >-».«»{  «{  «?»"» 
ExTin^Kj-r',  1^115  'at  votfjivov  «»  Xfxs. 

SeeScaliger,  in  his  Forties,  on  the  Epithalamium. 

JinAfmtrr  Ihrre  an  infant,  trrf, 

To  blut/i  like  hrr,  and  bloom  like  thee !}     Original  JCus-*- 

iiTTOf   Si    *i;uxoi  o-iu    ivi  «>i!r».     Passeraiius,  upon   the 

wonN  "rum  caslum  amisit  florem,"  in  the  nuptial  song  of 

Catullus,   aftrr  explaining  "flos,"   in  somewhat  a  similar 

i   that  which  Caiilminus  attributes  to   <>•-'- 

II  Hurtiim  quoque  vocant  in  quo  flog  ille  carpitur,  et  Grajcis 

*l|TO»  tfrt  re  iCt^Alo*  yuv:nx-.'V. 

:  "-mark,  Iliattho  author  of  the  Greek  version  of  this 
charming  ode  of  Catullus  has  nejlecte,]  a  ,,,ost  striking  and 
anacreontic  beauty  in  tlic.se  ver^e--,  "ft  II  ... 
winch    u   the   repetition  of  the  line,   "  Mrilti  ilium    pneri, 
•Milur  uptavere  puellae,"  with  the  slight  alteration  of  nulli 


ODE 

GENTLE  youth  !  whose  looks  assume 
Such  a  soft  and  girlish  bloom, 
Why  repulsive,  why  refuse 
The  friendship  which  my  heart  pursues  i 
Thou  little  know'st  the  fond  control 
With  which  thy  virtue  reins  my  soul ! 
Then  smile  not  on  my  locks  of  gray, 
Believe  me  ofl  with  converse  gay  ; 
I've  chain'd  the  years  of  tender  age, 
And  boys  have  loved  the  prattling  sage  ' 
For  mine  is  many  a  soothing  pleasure, 
And  mine  is  many  a  soothing  measure ; 
And  much  I  hate  the  beamless  mind, 
Whose  earthly  vision,  unrefined, 
Nature  has  never  formed  to  see 
The  beauties  of  simplicity  ! 
Simplicity,  the  flower  of  heaven, 
To  souls  elect,  by  Nature  given ! 


ODE  LXVIII.2 
RICH  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  stream  of  Amalthea's  horn  ! 
Nor  should  I  ask  to  call  the  throne 
Of  the  Tartessian  prince  my  own  ; 
To  totter  through  his  train  of  years, 
The  victim  of  declining  fears. 
One  little  hour  of  joy  to  me 
Is  worth  a  dull  eternity ! 


ODE  LXIX.3 

Now  Neptune's  sullen  mouth  appears, 
The  angry  night-cloud  swells  with  tears ; 
And  savage  storms,  infuriate  driven, 
Fly  howling  in  the  face  of  heaven  ! 
Now,  now,  my  friends,  the  gathering  gloom 
With  roseate  rays  of  wine  illume. 


and  nulls.  Catullus  himself,  however,  has  been  equal!; 
injudicious  in  his  version  of  the  famous  ode  of  t-appho ;  ha 
has  translated  ysXuxraj  .^oiv,  but  takes  no  notice  of  «J» 
ipjovouo-nf .  Horace  has  caught  the  spirit  of  it  more  faith- 
fully : 

Dulce  ridentem  Lalagen  amabo, 
Dulce  loquentem. 

1  I  have  formed  this  poem  of  three  or  four  different  frag- 
ments, which  is  a  liberty  that  perhaps  may  be  justified  by 
the  example  of  Barnes,  who  has  thus  compiled  the  fifty- 
seventh  of  his  edition,  and  the  little  ode  beginning  <?"?'  uSaf, 
?ip'  oivov,  -ji  vxi,  which  he  has  subjoined  to  the  epigrams. 

The  fragments  combined  in  this  ode,  are  the  sixty-go  vent  li, 
ninety-sixth,  ninety-seventh,  and  hundredth  of  Barnes'f 
edition,  to  which  I  refer  the  reader  for  the  names  of  the 
authors  by  whom  they  are  preserved. 

Jlnd  boys  have  loved  the  prattling  tape!]  Monsieur 
Chaulieu  has  given  a  very  amiable  idea  of  an  old  man's  iu 
turcourse  with  youth: 

Clue  cherche  par  les  jeuncs  gens, 
Pour  leurs  erreurs  pleln  d'induigence, 
Je  tolero  leur  imprudence 
En  faveur  de  leurs  agremeng. 

2  This  fragment  is  preserved  in  the  third  book  of  Strabo. 
Of  the  Tart.rs.iian  prince  my  own.]     He  here  alltidef,  to 

Arganthonius,  who  lived,  according  to  Ltician,  a  hundred 
and  fifty  years;  and  reigned,  according  to  Herodotus, 
eii'h'y.  See  Jlarnes. 

3  This  is  composed  of  two  fragments  ;  the  seventieth  and 
eighty-first  in  Bainea.     Thcv  are  both  found  in  Euslaihiui 


ODES  OF  ANACREON 


267 


And  while  our  wreaths  of  parsley  spread 
Their  fadeless  foliage  round  our  head, 
We'll  hvinn  the  almighty  power  of  wine, 
And  shed  libations  on  his  shrine  ! 


ODE  LXX'. 

TIIEV  wove  the  lotus  baud,  to  deck 
And  fan  with  pensile  wreath  their  neck; 
And  every  guest,  to  shade  his  head, 
Three  little  breathing  chaplcts  spread; 
And  one  was  of  Egyptian  leaf, 
The  rest  were  roses,  fair  and  brief! 
While  from  a  golden  vase  profound, 
To  all  on  flowery  beds  around, 
A  goblet-nymph,  of  heavenly  shape, 
Pot'r'd  theTich  weepings  of  the  grape! 


ODE  LXXI.2 

A  BROKEN  cake,  with  honey  sweet, 
Is  all  rny  spare  and  simple  treat; 
And  while  a  generous  bowl  I  crown, 
To  float  my  little  banquet  down, 
I  take  the  soft,  the  amorous  lyre, 
And  sing  of  love's  delicious  fire  ! 
In  mirthful  measures,  warm  and  free, 
I  sing,  dear  maid,  and  sing  for  thee  ! 


ODE  LXXH.» 

WITH  twenty  chords  my  lyre  is  hung, 

And  while  I  wake  them  all  for  thee, 
Thou,  O  virgin  !  wild  and  young, 

Disport'st  in  airy  levity. 
The  nursling  fawn,  that  in  some  shade 

Its  antler'd  mother  leaves  behind, 
Is  not  more  wantonly  afraid, 

More  timid  of  the  rustling  wind  ! 


T  Three  fragments  form  this  little  ode,  all  of  which  are 
prcsi'ived  in  Aiheiiieus.  They  are  the  eighty-second,  seven- 
ty-fifth, and  eighty-third,  in  Ham.  s. 

Jlnii  i-rrry  if  u rut,  to  shade  his  head, 

T/irrr  littli  In-milling  chnplets  spread.']  Iiongepiorre,  to 
five-  ;m  idea  of  the  luxurious  estimation  in  which  garlands 
wvrr  Ix-I'l  !>y  the  in'cicnts,  Mates  an  anecdote  of  u  courte- 
zan, who,  in  order  to  gratify  three  lovers,  without  leaving 
ean<e  fur  jealousy  with  any  of  them,  gave  a  kiss  to  our,  la: 
the  other  drink  alter  her,  and  put  a  garland  on  the  brow  of 
the  third  ;  so  that  each  was  saiislieil  with  his  favour,  and 
flail. 'IM|  liiiiK-ll'  with  the  preference. 

Tins  circumstance  is  extremely  likn  the  subject  of  onn  of 
tin'  ti'iisutis  dfSavari.de  Maule.on,  a  trotihadoiir.  S.-o  I'llis- 
toire  I,i!tcraire  des  Troubadours.  The  recital  is  a  curious 
picture  of  the  puerile  gallantries  of  chivalry. 

2  This    poem   is   compiled    by   Harm's,    t'rum   Alhena'iis, 
Hcph:esiion,  and  Ar-rniiM.     See  Harnes,  HOtli. 

3  This  I  have  formed  from  the  eighty-fourth  and  ci?hty- 
Bfth  of  Barnes's  edition.    The  two  fragments  aro  found  in 
Ath»nreus. 

The  niimlinir  fntrn,  that  in  some  shade 
Its  aiitltr'il  innt/irr  Iraocs  brhind,  etc.]     In  the  original: 
Oc  iv  u>.ti  xipoirm; 

A!TOX.IlCSjl{   UITO    fttlTftS* 

''  Horned"  here,  undoubtedly,  seemB  a  strange  epithet: 
Madame  Dacier,  however,  observes,  that  Sophocles,  Cnlli- 
machus,  etc.  have  all  a|>plicd  it  in  the  very  same  manner, 
and  she  sennit  to  agree  in  the  conjecture  of  the  scholiast 
jpon  Pindar,  that  perhaps  horns  are  not  always  peculiar  to 
Ihc  males.  I  think  we  mty  with  more  ease  conclude  it  to 
fc<j  a  license  of  the  ooet,  "  jussit  habere  pile. lam  cornua." 


ODE  LXXIII.' 

FARE  thee  well,  perfidious  maid  ! 
My  soul,  too  long  on  earth  delay'd, 
Delay'd,  perfidious  girl !  by  thee, 
Is  now  on  wing  for  liberty. 
I  fly  to  seek  a  kindlier  sphere, 
Since  thou  hast  ceased  to  love  me  here 


ODE  LXXIV.1 

I  BI.OOM'D,  awhile,  a  happy  flower, 
Till  Love  approach'd,  one  fatal  hour, 
And  made  my  tender  branches  feel 
The  wounds  of  his  avenging  steel. 
Then,  then  I  feel  like  some  poor  willow 
That  tosses  on  the  wintry  billow  ! 


ODE  LXXV.1 

MONARCH  LOVE  !  resistless  boy, 
With  whom  the  rosy  Queen  of  Joy, 
And  nymphs,  that  glance  ethereal  blue, 
Disporting  tread  the  mountain-dew, 
Propitious,  oh  !  receive  my  sighs, 
Which,  burning  with  entreaty,  rise  ; 
That  thou  wilt  whisper,  to  the  breast 
Of  her  I  love,  thy  soft  behest ; 
And  counsel  her  to  learn  from  thee 
The  lesson  thou  hast  taught  to  me. 
Ah  !  if  my  heart  no  flattery  tell, 
Thou  'It  own  I  've  learn'd  that  lesson  well ! 


ODE  LXXVI* 

SPIRIT  of  Love !  whose  tresses  shine 
Along  the  breeze,  in  golden  twine, 


1  This  fragment  i-  MMm  i  lu  rhe  -elmliasl  upon  Antlu- 
fihanes,  and  is  the  eighty-seventn  in  Harm  >. 

2  This  a  to  be  found  in  Hepha-ston,  and  in  lh«  eighty-ninth 
of  l!a  i  ncs's  edition. 

I  must  here  apologise  for  omitting  a  very  considerable 
fragment  imputed  to  our  poet,  r*v  j>.  j*  Eupu:rvX.ii  f>>~",  etc. 
which  is  preserved  in  the  twelfth  book  of  Athemvus,  and  n 

he  ninety-first  in  Harm**.  If  it  was  teally  Anicreon  wLo 
wrote  it,  nil  t'uii  unijuam  eic  impar  tibi.  It  it  in  a  style  «f 

ro.-s  satire,  nod  is  full  of  expressions  which  never  could  b* 

raci'fiilly  translated. 

3  This  fragment  is  preserved  by  Dion.  —  Chryaoitom,  OraL 
.  de  Regno.     See  Batn> 

4  This  fragment,  which  in  extant  in  Athenasus  (Barnri, 
101,)  is  supposed,  on  the  authority  of  Chamieleon,  to  have 
>een  addressed  to  Sappho.     We  have  also  a  stanza  uttri- 
uiied   to  her,  which  some  romancers  have  supposed  to  bo 

in  r  ::n-i\ver  to  Anaerenn.  "  Mais  par  mulheur  (as  Bayle  lay*} 
Sappho  vint  an  nionde  environ  cent  ou  six  vingti  am  iivan 
AiiMi-nron."  Nouvelles  di^  la  Kep.  lies  lett.  tom.  n.  de  Nit- 
vembre,  lti-1.  Tlie  following  is  her  fragment,  the  compli- 
ment of  which  is  very  tinely  imagined;  she  snpposon  Liat 
t  ho  Muse  has  dictated  the  verses  of  Anacreon  : 


v,  ui  xpuo-o&povi  Mo« 

»',   IH    TtfC    XMXXl^-UVXJ 

;  X''P»«  ='  »Ji?i  Tifn 


Oh  Muse!  who  sitt'st  on  golden  throne, 
Full  many  a  hymn  of  dulcet  tune 

The  T.  'iL-hi  ny  thee  ; 

But,  L'iiihl".->.  friMii  thy  throne  of  •: 
The  s-sveetest  h\  inn  thou  'si  ever  lold, 

He  lately  luarn'd  and  sanj  for  ma 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Come,  within  a  fragrant  cloud, 
Blushing  with  light,  thy  votary  shroud  ; 
Ami,  on  those  wings  that  sparkling  play, 
Waft,  oh  !  waft  me  hence  away  ! 
Love  !  my  soul  is  full  of  tliee, 
Alive  to  nil  thy  luxury. 
But  she,  the  nymph  for  whom  I  g'ow, 
The  pretty  Lesbian,  mocks  my  woe ; 
Smiles  at  the  hoar  and  silver'd  hues 
Which  Time  upon  my  forehead  strews. 
Alas  !  1  fear  she  keeps  her  charms 
In  store  for  younger,  happier  arms  ! 


ODE  LXXVII.' 
HITHER,  gentle  Muse  of  mine, 

Come  and  teach  thy  votary  old 
Many  a  golden  hymn  divine, 

For  the  nymph  with  vest  of  gold. 

Pretty  nymph,  of  tender  age, 
Fair  thy  silky  locks  unfold; 

Listen  to  a  hoary  sage, 
Sweetest  maid  with  vest  of  gold  ! 


ODE  LXXVUL* 
WOULD  that  I  were  a  tuneful  lyre, 

Of  burnish'd  ivory  fail 
Which  in  the  Dionysian  choir 

Some  blooming  boy  should  bear ! 

Would  that  I  were  a  golden  vase, 
And  then  some  nymph  should  hold 

My  spotless  frame  with  blushing  grace, 
Herself  as  pute  as  gold  ! 


ODE  Lxxrx.» 

WHEN  Cupid  sees  my  beard  of  snow, 

Which  blanching  time  has  taught  to  flow, 

Vpon  his  wing  of  golden  light 

He  passes  with  an  eaglet's  flight, 

And,  flitting  on,  he  seems  to  say, 

14  Fare  thee  well,  thou  'st  had  thy  day  !" 

4  CCPID,  whose  lamp  has  lent  the  ray 

Which  lightens  our  meandering  way 

Cupid,  within  my  bosom  stealing, 
Excites  a  strange  and  mingled  feeling, 
Which  pleases,  though  severely  teasing, 
And  teases,  though  divinely  pleasing ! 


1  This  ii  formed  of  the  124lh  and  119th  fragments  in 
Btrne.  both  of  which  are  to  be  found  in  ScaligeTpoet'c" 

'  lho-  de'ached  lir">s  55    3Z 


twemjr-Mcond  ode,  and  the  note.. 


4  Barn^lMth.  Th|»,  if  I  remember  right,  fe  in  Scalieer'. 
oet,«.    c.il  ha.  ormtted  ,t  in  hi,  collect  of  rragrne~nU 


1  LET  me  resign  a  wretched  breath, 
Since  now  remains  to  me 

No  other  balm  than  kindly  death, 
To  sooth  my  misery ! 


*  I  KNOW  thou  Invest  a  brimming  measure, 
And  art  a  kindly  cordial  host ; 

But  let  me  fill  and  drink  at  pleasure, 
Thus  1  enjoy  the  goblet  most 


3  I  FEAR  that  love  disturbs  my  rest, 
Yet  feel  not  love's  impassion'd  care; 

I  think  there  "s  madness  in  my  breast, 
Yet  cannot  find  that  madness  there  ! 


4  FROM  dread  Leucadia's  frowning  ste» 
I  '11  plunge  into  the  whitening  deep, 
And  there  I  '11  float,  to  waves  resign'd, 
For  love  intoxicates  my  mind  ! 


*  Mix  me,  child,  a  cup  divine, 
Crystal  water,  ruby  wine ; 
Weave  the  frontlet,  richly  flushing, 
O'er  my  wintry  temples  blushing. 
Mix  the  brimmer — love  and  I 
Shall  no  more  the  gauntlet  try, 
Here — upon  this  holy  bowl, 
I  surrender  all  my  soul ! 

AMONG  the  Epigrams  of  the  Anthologia,  there  are 
ome  panegyrics  on  Anacreon,  which  1  had  trans- 
ated,  and  originally  intended  as  a  kind  of  Coronis  to 
he  work ;  but  I  found,  upon  consideration,  that  they 
vanted  variety :  a  frequent  recurrence  of  the  same 
Bought,  within  the  limits  of  an  epitaph,  to  which 
hey  are  confined,  would  render  a  collection  of  th«m 
rather  uninteresting.  I  shall  take  the  liberty,  how- 
ver,  of  subjoining  a  few,  that  I  may  not  appear  to 
ave  totally  neglected  those  elegant  tributes  to  the 
eputation  of  Anacreon.  The  four  Epigrams  which 


1  This  fragment  is  extant  in  Arsenius  and  Hoi>h,-p>tion 
Barnes,  (Wib,)  who  has  arranged  the  metre  ut'  it  vert 

egantly. 

2  Barnes,  72d.    This  fragment,  which  is  quoted  by  Ath« 
BUB,  is  an  excellent  lesson  for  the  votaries  of  Jupiter  Hot- 

Tim  fragment  is  in  Hephxstion.    See  Barnes,  95th. 
Catullus  expresses  something  of  this  contrariety  of  feeling  • 
Odi  et  amo  ;  quare  id  faciam  fortasse  requiris  ; 

ftescio  :  Bed  fieri  sentio,  el  excrucior.        farm.  53. 
I  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  if  I  can  tell 

The  cause  of  my  love  and  my  hate,  may  I  die  I 
1  can  feel  it,  alas!  I  can  feel  it  too  well, 

That  I  love  thee  and  hate  thee,  but  cannot  tell  why. 

4  This  also  is  in  Hpph*ston,  and  prrhaps  ig  a  fraoment 
some  poem,   in  which   Anacreon   had   commemorated 

e  fate  oJ  bappho.    It  is  in  the  123d  of  Barnes. 

5  This  fragment  g  collected  by  Barnes  from  Demetrius 
nalareus,  and  Bus 

the  epigram,  attr 
hose  httle  .cat 
enture  w,th  any  g 


us 

athius,  and  ig  subjoined  in  his  edition 
buted  to  our  poet.  And  he.r«>  is  the  la* 
ered  flowers  which  I  thought  I  might 
ace  to  transplant.  I  wish  it  could  be 


span.       ws 
id  ot  the  garland  which  they  furm,  To  *•«£' 


ODES  OF  ANACREOX. 


269 


I  give  arc  imputed  to  Antipater  Sidonius.  They  are 
tendered,  perhaps,  with  too  much  freedom  ;  but,  de- 
signing a  transition  of  all  that  are  on  the  subject,  ] 
imagined  it  was  necessary  to  enliven  their  uniformity 
by  sometimes  indulging  in  the  liberties  of  paraphrase 


AvrtTrarpou  SK'WVIOU,  t«f  Avarpcovra. 
6AAAOI  TtrpaKopvit0of,  Avaicpcov,  afiipt  at  Kicaof 

afijta  re  bctitiavtav  itopipvpujtv  TTtraXa* 
trtiyat  &'  apyivotvro$  araOAi/Jinkro  yaXaxrof, 

tuuilts  6*  aro  yr/j  '}^«  ^totro  fitOu, 
vfipa  Kt  rot  oirofuri  TC  ical  05-; a  rep^tv  aprjrai, 

ei  it  Tif  (pOiittvotf  %pifiXT£Tai  twppoovva, 
v  TO  <pi\ov  $[p$as,  <j>tyt,  @ap[iiTov,  u>  aw  aoi&a 

rravra  <5i«-Xu.>(ruj  KUI  cruf  ipiari  pioy. 

'AROUND  the  tomb,  oh  bard  divine  ! 

Where  soft  thy  hallow'd  brow  reposes, 
Long  may  the  deathless  ivy  twine, 

And  Summor  pour  her  waste  of  roses ! 

And  many  a  fount  shall  there  distil, 
And  many  a  rill  refresh  the  flowers; 

But  wine  «hall  gush  in  every  rill, 
And  every  fount  be  milky  showers. 

Thus,  shade  of  him  whom  Nature  taught 
To  tune  his  lyre  and  soul  to  pleasure, 

Who  pave  to  love  his  warmest  thought, 
Who  grve  to  love  his  fondest  measure ! 

Thus,  a^cr  death,  if  spirits  feel, 

Thou  m.\.  '<tt,  from  odours  round  thee  streaming, 
A  pulse  of  past  enjoyment  steal, 

And  live  again  in  blissful  dreaming ! 


Tou  avrov,  tts  rov  aurov. 
TYMBOS  AvaxpctovTos.  6  TIJIOJ  tvOa.Sc  KVK 

Ev&f,  %i  TTtit&uv  £u>porar»7  jiavir;. 
^.Kftr\v  \tipiotvTi  itt\t^cTat  ap<pi  BafluXXy* 

'I/u/xr  xat  Kiaoov  \evxof  oiu>$f  XiOuj. 


1  Antipater  Sidonius,  the  author  of  this  epigram,  lived, 
according  to  Vossius,  ilo  Poeli*  Griccis,  in  tbo  second  year 
of  the  10.ll li  Olympiad,  lie  appears,  from  wli;it  Cicero  and 
Quintilian  have  said  of  him,  to  have  been  a  kind  of  impro- 
vis-itore.  See  Institut.  Oral.  lib.  x.  cap.  7.  There  is  no- 
thing more  known  residing  this  poet,  except  some  parti- 
culars abuut  his  i.Iiifss  and  dca  h,  which  are  mentioned  as 
curious  by  Pliny  nnd  others;  anil  there)  remain  of  his  works 
but  a  few  epigrams  in  the  Anthologiu,  among  which  are 
those  I  have  selected,  upon  Aimcrrun.  Those  remains 
haw  been  tomKtiines  imputed  to  another  puet  (a)  of  the 
same  natnn,  of  whom  Vossius  gives  us  ths  following  ac- 
count: "  Aiitipater  TheftaloRioeoiui  visit  tempore  Augusti 
Cmssris,  ul  qtii  siiltantein  vidi-rit  Pyladem,  oicut  conslat  ex 
quodiim  cjus  cpiiirammatp  AvjsXsyix;,  lib.  4.  lit.  n«  Of- 
WTTfrfxt-  At  I'irn  ac  Bathylliim  priinos  fuis^e  pnnlomi- 
mns,  ac  sub  Augusto  rlaruissc,  satis  nutum  ex  Dionp,"  etc. 

The  reiidrr,  who  thinks  it  wurth  oh-ii  rvinj,  m;iy  find  a 
itrnnjje  oi'i-rsijjht  in  Holfman'g  rjuotatinn  of  this  article  from 
Vos<ius,  Iifxic.  IlniviTS.  Bv  the  omission  of  a  sentence  he 
!ms  rnadi!  Vossins  assert  tluit  ihn  poet  Antipater  WBJ  one 
of  the  fir.-t  panloiniinc  dancers  in  Rome. 

Barripa,  n;)(i[i  the  ci'iirratn  hi-'iirp  us,  mentions  n  version 
•f  it  by  llni'hpns,  which  >•>  not  lo  be  found  in  that  commenta- 
tor;  but  lie  more  than  once  con'iiund*  Brndiuus  witb  nno- 
rher  cnnottiior  on  the  Anlholu«iii,  Virirentius  Obsujioju^, 
who  has  given  a  translation  of  the  epigram. 

(a)  Pleraqun  tamcn  Thessiloniccn^i  tribucnda  vidcntur. 
Biuuck.  Lectiones  et  KmenJut. 


Oui'  AiSiis  aoi  tpwraf  axHrfltvcv  cv 
fl»i  oXoj  ttiuntf  Kwirptlii  0,piioTii> 

HKRK  sleeps  Anncreon,  in  this  ivied  shade; 
Here,  mute  in  death,  the  Teian  swan  is  laid. 
Cold,  cold  the  heart,  which  lived  but  to  respire 
All  the  voluptuous  frenzy  of  desire ! 
And  yet,  oh  bard!  thou  art  not  mute  in  deatn, 
Still,  still  we  catch  thy  lyre's  delicious  breath, 
And  still  thy  songs  of  soil  Pathylla  bloom, 
Green  as  the  ivy  round  the  mouldering  tomb! 
Nor  yet  has  death  obscured  thy  fire  of  love, 
Still,  still  it  lights  thee  through  the  Elysian  grove. 
And  dreams  arc  thine  that  bless  the  elect  alone, 
And  Venus  calls  thee,  even  in  death,  her  own ! 


Tou  atirow,  «j  rov  aurov. 
HEINE,  ra<pov  rrapa  Xirov  Avaicpciovro;  a/ici/?<*» 

ET  TI  rot  CK  f}ili\<av  i:\0cf  iftiav  o<f>c\o{, 
Sn-uo-ov  (jiri  o-7ro<5(>/,  ovuaov  yavof,  o<j/pa  Ktv  oicw 

O?ta  yi]d>i<T£  Tapa  vori^o/jtva, 
'8.S  a  Atovvoov  /ic^icX^tvof  ovaac  nupos 

'S.S  o  <pi\aicp>iTOV  ffWTpoiftOS  ipfiotnrjft 
Jilirfe  KaTaipOiftevof  Baic^ov  ii%a  TOVTOV  UTTOIVM 

Toy  ytvcy  pcpo-truii  J(<afov  oipctXo[ttvov. 

'On  stranger  !  if  Anacreon's  shell 
Has  ever  taught  thy  heart  to  swell 


the  Teian  swan  is  laid.]    Thus  Horace  of  Pindar: 

Muliu  Dirfu-'um  levat  aura  cycnum. 

A  swan  was  the  hietog  yplu'cal  emblem  of  a  poet  Ana* 
Trim  hag  been  culled  the  swan  of  Teo*  by  another  of  nil 
iulogisli. 


God  of  the  ?rnpn!  thou  hnit  bctray'd, 
In  wine's  bewildering  dream, 
Th"  fairest  swim  that  ever  play'd 

Along  the  Muse'i  stream  ! 
The  Teian,  nursed  with  all  those  honied  boys, 
The  yuung  Desires,  light  Loves,  and  rowlipp'd  Joys! 
Still,  still'  we  cntfh  thy  lyre's  delicious  breath.}    Thu» 
Simonides,  sjieaking  of  our  poet  : 

MoX.?m«  J'  OU  A.»|ji|  ltl\tTlf^l9(,  »X.X.'  »T«  XI,  rO 


Nor  yet  are  all  his  niimlH'rs  mute, 
Though  dark  within  the  tomb  he  lies  ; 

But  living  still,  hU  timorous  lute 
With  sleepless  animation  sighs! 


tfi. 

that 


This  is  the  famous  Simonides,  whi>m  Plato  styled  ' 
rinn,"  though  Le  Fevre,  in  his  Poetcs  Grecs,  sup|>o-ot  t.._. 
he  epigrams  undi-r  his  rrnniR  are  all  falsely  imputed.     The 
nost  considerable  of  his  r  mains  is  n  satirical  poc  n  iij  on 

Wi-  may  jud'.-e  from  the  lines  I  have  just  niio'<»),  and  the 
mport  of  the  epigram  lic'iiie  us,  that  the  works  of  Anai-p'on 
vere  perfect  in  tin;  times  ol'Siinonitti  s  and  Antipater.  Ob- 
ci'ici'iis,  tin-  commenta'iir,  lii-rr  n|';ir-,r>  to  rx'ilt  in  llicir  de- 
truction,  and  Idling  in  thi-y  were  burned  hy  the  b»hops 
nil  pntriiirrhi,  !><•  ndds,  "  lie  •  sane  ill  n :-fi;uicqu:ini  fece- 
unt,"  attnhuting  to  this  outrage  an  ell'ecl  which  H  could 
lever  produce. 

I  The  spirit  of  Anacreon  ntteis  these  verses  from  Ihe 
nmh,  Diimcnhul  "iniualds  ub  i'lo,"  at  least  in  simplicity  of 


If 


n's  xh'tt 


//«»  errr  lainjhl  tliu  hrnrt  In  firrlt.  rfr.]  We  may  fuea 
•oni  tlie  words  -.y  i>'i.,-*  t.u-t,  that  Anncpon  w»«  not 
IITI-IV  a  wiilei  of  li .11, -is -I'oux,  ns  sonic  Frrnch  critics  Imve 
ailed  him.  Among*!  these,  M.  Le  Fevre,  with  til  hi*  }*• 


270 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  passion's  throb  or  pleasure's  sigh, 
In  pity  turn,  as  wandering  nigh, 
And  drop  thy  goblet's  richest  tear, 
In  exquisite  libation  here ! 
So  shall  my  sleeping  ashes  thrill 
With  visions  of  enjoyment  still. 
I  cannot  even  in  death  resign 
The  festal  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
When  Harmony  pursued  my  ways, 
And  Bacchus  wanton'd  to  my  lays. 
Oh !  if  delight  could  charm  no  more, 
If  all  the  goblet's  bliss  were  o'er, 
When  Fate  had  once  our  doom  decreed, 
Then  dying  would  be  death  indeed ! 
Nor  could  I  think,  unblest  by  wine, 
Divinity  itself  divine! 


Tot)  aoroo,  tts  TOV  avrov. 

t<rtv,  Avarpcov,  taB\a  swj/ffaf, 
ti&ci  i'  TI  y\victpij  w/mAaAoy  mdapa, 
tbiti  KOI  Su£oc?i5i  ~o  ttoOutv  cap,  if  <r»  /leXia^uy 

f}ap0tr',  avcxpovov  vcxrap  tvappovtov. 
ijiQctv  yap  Epuros  c<pvs  fficoiros'  tf  Ic  at  jtovvov 
rofa  re  (cat  <r*roAia;  ci%tv  (Kti$o\ias.\ 

AT  length  thy  golden  hours  have  wing'd  their  flight, 
And  drowsy  death  that  eyelid  steepeth; 


admiration,  hai  given  our  poet  a  character  by  no 
means  of  an  elevated  cast: 

Auni  c'est  pour  cela  que  la  posterity 
L'a  toujnun  justement  d'age  en  age  chante 
Comme  un  franc  goguenard,  ami  de  goint'rerie, 
Ami  de  billets-doux  et  de  badinerie. 

See  the  versos  prefixed  to  his  Poetes  Grecs.  This  is  un- 
like the  language  of  Theocritus,  to  whom  Anacreon  is  in- 
debted for  tie  following  simple  eulogiutn: 

Ei«  A»*xpiovTO{  «»Jj>ix»T». 
©XT**  TOV   aBv^pixvra 


. 

Wp»«-5li{    Jl    X»T'    T8I«    ViOKTIV    «JlTO, 

iftif   KTpixia;  oXo»  TO»  «»Jpa. 

Upon  the  Statue  of  Anacreon. 
Stranger  !  who  near  this  Matne  chance  to  roam, 

Let  it  awhile  your  itudioui  eye*  engage  : 
And  you  may  say,  returning  to  your  home, 
"  I've  seen  the  image  of  the  f  eian  sage, 
Best  of  the  bards  who  deck  the  Muse's  page." 
Th*>n,  if  you  add,  "  That  striplings  loved  bini  well." 
You  tell  them  all  he  was,  and  aptly  tell. 

The  simplicity  of  this  inscription  has  always  delighted 
n.e  ;  I  have  given  it,  I  believe,  as  literally  as  a  verse  trans- 
lation will  allow. 

.1*d  drop  thy  jronlrt't  richest  tear,  etc.]  Thui  Simo- 
oidei,  in  another  of  his  epitaphs  on  our  poet: 

Ksi  pi*  xi,  -ri^ysi  iroTipi)  Jpoirof,ii5  '  ytfxitf 
A«^OTi(j0»  /laXaxar  mil*  ix  <rT8^»T»v. 
Let  vines,  in  clustering  beauty  wreathed, 

Drop  all  their  treasures  on  his  head, 
Whose  l,p,  g  dew  of  sweetness  breathed. 

Richer  than  vine  hath  ever  shed  ! 

And  Rweh«f  vanton'd  to  my  lays,  etc.]  The  original 
herp  K  corrupted  ;  the  line  »t  «  A.owo-ou,  ,*  unintelli»ibln 

Brunck  s  emendation  improves  the  wnse,  but  I  doubt  if  it 
i*n  b«  commended  for  elegance.  He  reads  the  line  thus: 


Thy  harp,  that  whisper'd  through  each  lingering  mghi 
Now  mutely  in  oblivion  sleepeth! 

She,  too,  for  whom  that  heart  profusely  shed 

The  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers, 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  has  fled, 

And  with  her  blest  Anacreon  slumbers! 
Farewell !  thou  hadst  a  pulse  for  every  dart 

That  Love  could  scatter  from  his  quiver ; 
And  every  woman  found  in  thee  a  heart, 

Which  thou,  with  all  thy  soul,  didst  give  her ! 


*•-! 


..»5(     OV70TI    XKftxr. 

mirk,  Analecta  Veter.  Poet  Grtec,  vol.  ii. 
T»}(  karp.  lh,il  tr/iitprr'd  through  rarh  lijiprrinir  nipht 
•-!     In  anotlim  of  these  poems,  "the  nightly-speaking 


lyre"  of  the  bard  is  not  allowed  to  be  silent  even  after  hi* 
death.  , 

*f     0     $lX.«Xp«TO{    T(     XXI     Oivo£xf>(;     «l>.l>X*jUOC 

To  beauty's  smile  and  wine's  delight, 
To  joys  he  loved  on  earth  so  well, 
Still  sha'll  his  spirit,  all  the  niirht, 

Attune  the  wild  aerial  shell! 
She,  the  young  spring  of  thy  desires,  etc.]  The  original 
TO  ll:.?4v  txf,  is  beautiful.  We  regret  that  such  praise 
should  be  lavished  so  preposterously,  and  feel  that  the  poul't 
mistress,  Eurypyle,  would  have  deserved  it  better.  Her 
name  has  been  told  us  by  Meleager,  as  already  quoted,  and 
n  another  epigram  by  AnUpater. 

vypst  &i  Sipxaitsvotviv  tv  o^uxo-'v  ov\ov  anfoi;, 


Long  may  the  nymph  around  thee  play, 

Eurypyle,  thy  soul's  desire  ! 
Basking  her  beauties  in  the  ray 

That  lights  thine  eyes'  dissolving  fire ! 

Sing  of  her  smile's  bewitching  power, 

Her  every  grace  that  warms  and  blesses , 
Sing  of  her  brow's  luxuriant  flower, 
The  beaming  glory  of  her  tresses. 

The  expression  here,  x\-5o;  xo  .«*;,  "  the  flower  of  the  hair," 
s  borrowed  from  Anacreon  himself,  as  appears  by  a  fragment 
of  the  poet  preserved  in  Stobo>us:  Ajrixupa;  4'  a~xt,)f 
x'^sv  avSof. 

The  purest  nectar  of  its  numbers,   etc.]    Thus,   »ays 
irunck,  in  the  prologue  to  the  Satires  of  Persius: 
Cantare  c;edas  Pegaseium  nectar. 

"  Melos"  is  the  usual  reading  in  this  line,  and  C.-isauhon 
las  defended  it;  but  "nectar,"  I  think,  is  much  more 
pirited. 

Farewell!  thou  hartat  a  pulse  for  every  dart,  <•''•]    •$•< 

oirot,  "scopus  eras  natura,"  not  "speculator,"  as  Uarneg 
very  falsely  interprets  it. 

Vincentius  Obsopoeus,  upon  this  passage,  contrives  to 
indulge  us  with  a  little  astrological  wisdom,  and  talks  in  a 
style  of  learned  scanilal  about  Venus,  "  male  posita  cum 
Marte  in  douio  Saturni." 

jind  every  woman  found  in  thee  a  hrart,  etc.]  Thit 
couplet  is  not  oUierwise  warranted  by  the  original,  than  ai 
it  dilates  the  thought  which  Antipater  has  figuratively  ex- 
pressed. 

Tov  Ji  "yvvxxinav  pl).fjiv  irXiJ-xi'T*  TTOT'  <a$x;, 
HJv»  AvxxpsiovTjt,  (b)  Tt*(  !i{  EXi.x^'  xmy-fy, 

ZutU7TO(TIU)V    fpfJKT^St,   J-UV3ltXl}V    H  JTi  ft  3  TTl  V,UX, 

Critiaf,  of  Athens,  pays  a  tribute  to  the  legitimate  gal- 
lantry of  Anacreon,  calling  him,  with  elegant  conciseness, 
yVK«ix»»  n^if  iiriufia. 

Teos  gave  to  Greece  her  treasure, 

Huge  Anacreon,  sage  in  loving  ; 
Fonrlly  weaving  lays  of  pleasure 

For  the  maids  who  blush'd  approving! 
Oh  !  in  nightly  banquets  sporting, 

Where's  the  guest  could  ever  fly  him? 
Oh  !  with  love's  seduction  courting, 

Where  's  the  nymph  could  e'er  deny  him  ? 

(a)  Brunck  has  r  ;:u  .••.• ;  but  xpouoi,  the  common  reading 
better  suits  a  detached  quotation. 

(6)  Thus  Scaliger,  in  his  dedicatory  verses  to  Ronsard* 
Blandus,  suaviloquua,  dulcis  Anacreon. 


LITTLE'S  POEJIS. 


Ll'SISSE    Pt'DKT. —  Hor. 

ipsov  vjOTjpcev  <F«»T«e>*T«,  eiov  Xnfe«. 

Mitroc.  ap.  Diug.  Laert.  lib.  vi.  cap.  6. 


PREFACE 
BY  THE  EDITOR. 


THE  Poems  which  I  take  the  liberty  of  publishing 
were  never  intended  by  the  Author  to  pass  beyond 
the  circle  of  his  friends.  He  thought,  with  some 
justice,  that  what  are  called  Occasional  Poems  must 
be  always  insipid  and  uninteresting  to  the  greater 
part  of  their  readers.  The  particular  situations  in 
which  they  were  written  ;  the  character  of  the -author 
and  of  his  associates ;  all  these  peculiarities  must  be 
known  and  felt  before  we  can  enter  into  the  spirit  of 
such  compositions.  This  consideration  would  have 
always,  I  believe,  prevented  Mr.  LITTI.K  from  sub- 
mitting these  trifles  of  the  moment  to  the  eye  of  dis- 
passionate criticism  ;  and,  if  their  posthumous  intro- 
duction to  the  world  be  injustice  to  his  memory,  or 
intrusion  on  the  public,  the  error  must  be  imputed  to 
the  injudicious  partiality  of  friendship. 

Mr.  LITTLE  died  in  his  one-and-twentieth  year; 
and  most  of  these  Poems  were  written  at  so  early  a 
period,  that  their  errors  may  claim  some  indulgence 
from  the  critic :  their  author,  as  unambitious  as  indo- 
lent, scarce  ever  looked  beyond  the  moment  of  com- 
position; he  wrote  as  he  pleased,  careless  whether 
he  pleased  as  he  wrote.  It  may  likewise  be  remem- 
bered, that  they  were  all  the  productions  of  an  age 
when  the  passions  very  often  give  a  colouring  too 
warm  to  the  imagination  ;  and  this  may  palliate,  if  it 
cannot  excuse,  that  air  of  levity  which  pervades  so 
many  of  them.  The  "  aurea  legge,  s'  ei  piace  ei  lire," 
he  too  much  pursued,  and  too  much  inculcates.  Few 
can  regret  this  more  sincerely  than  myself;  and  if  my 
friend  had  lived,  the  judgment  of  ripor  years  would 
have  chastened  his  mind,  and  tempered  the  luxuriance 
of  his  fancy. 

Mr.  LITTLE  gave  much  of  his  time  to  the  study  of 
the  amatory  writers.  If  ever  he  expected  to  find  in 
the  ancients  that  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  variety  of 
fancy  which  are  so  necessary  to  refine  and  animate  Ti 
the  poetry  of  love,  he  was  much  disappointed.  1 
know  not  any  one  of  them  who  can  be  regarded  as 
a  model  in  that  style ;  Ovid  made  love  like  a  rake, 
and  Propertius  like  a  schoolmaster.  The  mytholo- 
gical allusions  of  the  latter  are  railed  erudition  by  his 
commentators  ;  but  such  ostentatious  display,  upon  a 
Bubject  so  simple  as  love,  would  be  now  esteemed 
vague  and  puerile,  and  was,  even  in  his  own  times, 
pedantic.  It  is  astonishing  that  so  many  critics  have 


preferred  him  to  the  pathetic  Tibullus ;  but  I  beliere 
the  defects  which  a  common  reader  condemns  have 
been  looked  upon  rather  'as  beauties  by  those  erudite 
men,  the  commentators,  who  find  a  field  for  their 
ingenuity  and  research  in  his  Grecian  learning  and 
quaint  obscurities. 

Tibullus  abounds  with  touches  of  fine  and  natural 
feeling.  The  idea  of  his  unexpected  return  to  Delia, 
"Tune  veniam  subito,"1  etc.  is  imagined  with  all  the 
delicate  ardour  of  a  lover;  and  the  sentiment  of 
"  nee  te  posse  carere  velim,"  however  colloquial  the 
expression  may  have  been,  is  natural  and  from  the 
heart.  But,  in  my  opinion,  the  poet  of  Verona  pos- 
sessed more  genuine  feeling  than  any  of  them.  His 
life  was,  I  believe,  unfortunate ;  his  associates  were 
wild  and  abandoned ;  and  the  warmth  of  his  nature 
took  too  much  advantage  of  the  latitude  which  the 
morals  of  those  times  so  criminally  allowed  to  the 
passions.  All  this  depraved  his  imagination,  and 
made  it  the  slave  of  his  senses:  but  still  a  native 
sensibility  is  often  very  warmly  perceptible ;  and 
when  he  touches  on  pathos,  he  reaches  the  heart  im- 
mediately. They  who  have  felt  the  sweets  of  return 
to  a  home,  from  which  they  have  long  been  absent, 
will  confess  the  beauty  of  those  simple  unaffected 
lines: 

O  quid  solutis  est  bcatiiu  curis  ? 

Cum  mens  onus  rcponit,  ac  peregrine 

Lahore  fessi  vcnimus  Larcm  ad  nostrum 

Desideratoque  acquicicimus  lecto. 

CARM.  xxxii. 

His  sorrows  on  the  death  of  his  brother  are  the 
very  tears  of  poesy ;  and  when  he  complains  of  the 
ingratitude  of  mankind,  even  the  inexperienced  can- 
not but  sympathize  with  him.  I  wish  1  were  a  poet ; 
I  should  endeavour  to  catch,  by  translation,  the  spirit 
of  those  beauties  which  I  admire2  so  warmly. 

It  seems  to  have  been  peculiarly  the  fate  of  Catul- 
lus, that  the  better  and  more  valuable  part  of  his 
poetry  has  not  reached  us ;  for  there  is  coal' 
iothing  in  his  extant  works  to  authorize  tin-  epithet 
"  doctus,"  so  universally  bestowed  upon  him  by  the 
ancients.  If  time  had  suffered  the  rest  to  e.sr;i|>e,  we 
perhaps  should  have  found  among  them  some  more 
purely  amatory  ;  but  of  those  we  possess,  can  there 


1  Lib.  i.  .•!,--.  :t. 

2  In  the  following  Poemg,  there  Is  a  trnnslntlon  of  one  ot 
ii<  fin^t  CnriniiKi:  but  I  fancy  it   is  only  H   wlmiil-hoy'i 
-say,  and  deserves  to  be  praised   for  little   nior-1  than  tlin 

attempt. 


272 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


be  a  sweeter  specimen  of  warm,  yet  chastened  d 
scription,  than  his  loves  of  Acme  and  Septimius 
and  the  few  little  songs  of  dalliance  to  Lesbia  a 
distinguished  by  such  an  exquisite  playfulness,  th 
they  have  always  been  assumed  as  models  by  tl 
most  elegant  modern  Latinists.  Still,  1  must  coafes 
in  the  midst  of  these  beauties, 

.M  ilio  de  fonte  le|>orum 

Surgit  ariiuri  illiquid,  quod  in  ipsis  floribus  nngat.1 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  th.v  ..he  ancients  kne 
nothing  of  gallantry  ;  and  we  are  told  there  was  to 
much  sincerity  in  their  love  to  allow  them  to  trif 
with  the  semblance  of  passion.  But  I  cannot  pe 
ceive  that  they  were  any  thing  more  constant  that 
the  moderns:  they  felt  all  the  same  dissipation  of  th 
heart,  though  they  knew  not  those  seductive  grace 
by  which  gallantry  almost  teaches  it  to  be  amiabl 
Watton,  the  learned  advocate  for  the  moderns,  de 
aerts  them  in  considering  this  point  of  comparison 
and  praises  the  ancients  for  their  ignorance  of  sue 
a  refinement ;  but  he  seems  to  have  collected  hi 
notions  of  gallantry  from  the  insipid  fadeurs  of  th 
French  romances,  which  are  very  unlike  the  senti 
mental  levity,  the  "grata  protcrvitas,"  of  a  Rocheste 
or  a  Sedley. 

From  what  I  have  had  an  opportunity  of  observing 
the  early  poets  of  our  own  language  were  the  model 
which  Mr.  LITTLE  selected  for  imitation.  To  attain 
their  simplicity  (a;vo  rarissima  nostro  simplicitas)  was 
his  fondest  ambition.  He  could  not  have  aimed  .it  a 
grace  more  difficult  of  attainment  ;2  and  his  life  was 
of  too  short  a  date  to  allow  him  to  perfect  such  a 
taste  ;  but  how  far  he  was  likely  to  have  succeeded 
the  critic  may  judge  from  his  productions. 

I  have  found  among  his  papers  a  novel,  in  rather 
an  imperfect  state,  which,  as  soon  as  1  have  arrangec 
and  collected  it,  shall  be  submitted  to  the  public  eye 
Where  Mr.  LITTLE  was  born,  or  what  is  the  gene- 
alogy of  his  parents,  are  points  in  which  very  few 
readers  can  be  interested.  His  life  was  one  of  those 
humble  streams  which  have  scarcely  a  name  in  the 
map  of  life,  and  the  traveller  may  pass  it  by  without 
inquiring  its  source  or  direction.  His  character  was 
well  known  to  all  who  were  acquainted  with  him  ;  fo 
he  had  too  much  vanity  to  hide  its  virtues,  and  not 
enough  of  art  to  conceal  its  defects.  The  lighter  traits 
of  his  mind  may  be  traced  perhaps  in  his  writings ; 
but  the  few  for  which  he  was  valued  live  only  in  the 
remembrance  of  his  friends.  T.  M. 


TO  J.  ATK— NS— N,  ESQ. 

•  T  DEAR  SIR, 

I  FKEL  a  very  sincere  pleasure  in  dedicating  to  you 
the  Second  Edition  of  our  friend  LITTLE'S  Poems* 
I  am  not  unconscious  that  there  are  many  in  the  col- 
lection whirl)  perhaps  it  would  be  prudent  to  have 
tillered  or  omitted  ;  and,  to  say  Uie  truth,  I  more  than 


1  LucrcliiK. 

2  It  it  a  curious  illustration  of  the  luliour  which  simplicity 
irquirei,  that  tlm  lliimlil.  r*  of  Jolinsiin,  elaborate  as  they 
•  p|M-nr,   w«:r«   wri'ii-n   willi   fluency,  anil   srlilom   required 
mvnion;  while  the  limplc  l;ingin"«e  nf  Rousseau,  which 
win*   to   come    flnwinjr   from    Ihe    heart,    was    tlic  B!O\V 
production  .if  painful  labour,  pausing  on  every  word,  ami 
balancing  t-veiy  •uuiunce. 


once  revised  them  for  that  purpose  ;  but,  I  know  no 
why,  I  distrusted  either  my  heart  or  my  judgtntnt 
and  the  consequence  is,  you  have  them  in  their  ori- 
ginal form : 

Noil  possum  nostros  mu]ta>,  Faustina,  litur* 
Kmendare  jocog;  una  litura  potcst. 

I  am  convinced,  however,  that  though  not  quit?  a 
casuitte  relache,  you  have  charity  enough  to  forgive 
such  inoffensive  follies :  you  know  the  pious  Beza 
was  not  the  less  revered  for  those  sportive  juvenilia 
which  he  published  under  a  fictitious  name ;  nor 
did  the  levity  of  Bembo's  poems  prevent  him  from 
making  a  very  good  cardinal. 

Believe  me,  my  dear  friend, 

With  the  truest  esteem, 
Yours, 

T.  M. 

April  19,  1802. 


POEMS,  ETC. 


TO  JULIA. 

IN  ALLUSION  TO  SOME  ILLIBERAL  CRITICISMS 

WHY,  let  the  stingless  critic  chide 
With  all  that  fume  of  vacant  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapour  on  a  stagnant  pool ! 
Oh  !  if  the  song,  to  feeling  true, 
Can  please  the  elect,  the  sacred  few, 
Whose  souls,  by  Taste  and  Nature  taught, 
Thrill  with  the  genuine  pulse  of  thought — 
If  some  fond  feeling  maid  like  thee, 
The  warm-eyed  child  of  Sympathy, 
Shall  say,  while  o'er  my  simple  theme 
She  languishes  in  Passion's  dream, 
"  He  was,  indeed,  a  tender  soul — 
No  critic  law,  no  chill  controul,    • 
Should  ever  freeze,  by  timid  art, 
The  flo  wings  of  so  fond  a  heart !" 
Yes  !  soul  of  Nature  !  soul  of  Love ! 
That,  hovering  like  a  snow-wing'd  dove, 
Breathed  o'er  my  cradle  warblings  wild, 
And  hail'd  me  Passion's  warmest  child ! 
Grant  me  the  tear  from  Beauty's  eye, 
From  Feeling's  breast  the  votive  sigh  ; 
Oh !  let  my  song,  my  memory,  find 
A  shrine  within  the  tender  mind  ; 
And  I  will  scorn  the  critic's  chide, 
And  I  will  scorn  the  fume  of  pride 
Which  mantles  o'er  the  pedant  fool, 
Like  vapour  on  a  stagnant  pool ! 


TO  A  LADY, 

WITH  SOME  MANUSCRIPT  POEMS 
ON  LEAVING  THE  COUNTRY. 

WHEN,  casting  many  a  look  behind, 
I  leave  the  friends  I  cherish  here — 

Perchance  some  other  friends  to  find, 
But  surely  finding  none  so  dear — 

Haply  the  little  simple  page, 
Which  votive  thus  I've  traced  for  thee. 


LITTLE'S  POEMS 


27! 


May  now  and  then  a  look  engage, 
And  steal  a  moment's  thought  for  me. 

But,  oh  !  in  pity  let  not  those 

Whose  hearts  are  not  of  gentle  mould, 
Let  not  the  eye,  that  seldom  flows 

With  feeling  tear,  my  song  behold. 

For,  trust  me,  they  who  never  melt 
With  pity,  never  melt  with  love; 

And  they  will  frown  at  all  I've  felt, 
And  all  my  loving  lays  reprove. 

But  if,  perhaps,  some  gentler  mind, 

Which  rather  loves  to  praise  than  blame, 

Should  in  my  p:ige  an  interest  find, 
And  linger  kindly  on  my  name  ; 

Tell  him, — or,  ohj!  if  gentler  still, 
By  female  lips  my  name  be  blest: 

Ah  !  where  do  all  affections  thrill 
So  sweetly  as  in  woman's  breast  ? — 

Tell  her,  that  he  whose  loving  themes 
Her  eye  indulgent  wanders  o'er, 

Could  sometimes  wake  from  idle  dreams, 
And  bolder  flights  of  fancy  soar; 

That  glory  oft  would  claim  the  lay, 
And  friendship  oft  his  numbers  move; 

But  whisper  then,  that,  "sooth  to  say, 
Ills  sweetest  song  was  given  to  LOVK  !" 


TO  MRS. . 

IF,  in  the  dream  that  hovers 
Around  my  sleeping  mind, 

Fancy  thy  form  discovers, 

And  paints  thee  melting  kind, 

If  joys  from  sleep  I  borrow, 
Sure  thou'lt  forgive  me  this ; 

For  he  who  wakes  to  sorrow 
At  least  may  dream  of  bliss  ! 

Oh  !  if  thou  art,  in  seeming, 
All  that  I've  e'er  required: 

Oh  !  if  I  feel,  in  dreaming, 
All  that  I've  e'er  desired; 

Wilt  thou  forgive  my  taking 
A  kiss,  or  something  more  ? 

What  thou  dcny'st  me  waking, 
Oh!  let  me  slumber  o'er! 


TO  THE  LARGE  AND  BEAUTIFUL 

MISS . 

IS  ALLUSION  TO  8OMK  I'AKTNKRSHIP  IN  A  t3TTlR»  SHARK 

IMPROMPTU. 


— Kgo  par 


-Virg. 


IN  wedlock  a  species  of  lottery  lies, 
Where  in  blanks  and  in  prizes  we  deal; 

But  how  comes  it  that  you.  such  a  capit 

Sh-)ulil  so  loti"  h.ive  rnntiiiCd  in  tku  ukecl  f 
2M 


[fever,  by  Fortune's  indulgent  decree, 

To  me  such  a  tii  ket  should  roll, 
A  sixteenth,  Heaven  knows!  were  sufficient  for  me 

For  what  could  I  do  with  the  whole  ? 


TO  JULIA. 

WELL,  Julia,  if  to  love,  and  live 
'Mid  all  the  pleasures  love  can  give, 

Be  crimes  that  bring  damnation; 
You — you  and  I  have  given  such  scope 
To  loves  and  joys,  we  scarce  can  hope 

In  heaven  the  least  salvation  ! 

And  yet,  I  think,  did  Heaven  design 
That  blisses  dear,  like  yours  and  mine, 

Should  be  our  own  undoing; 
It  had  not  made  my  soul  so  warm, 
Nor  given  you  such  a  witching  form, 

To  bid  me  doat  on  ruin  ! 

Then  wipe  away  that  timid  tear ; 
Sweet  truant !  you  have  nought  to  fear, 

Though  you  were  whelm'd  in  sin ; 
Stand  but  at  heaven's  gate  awhile, 
And  you  so  like  an  angel  smile, 

They  can't  but  let  you  in. 


INCONSTANCY. 
AND  do  I  then  wonder  that  Julia  deceives  me. 
When  surely  there 's  nothing  in  nature  more  com- 
mon? 
She  vows  to  be  true,  and  while  vowing  she  leaves 

me — 
But  could  I  expect  any  more  from  a  woman  T 

Oh,  woman  !  your  heart  is  a  pitiful  treasure ; 

And  Mahomet's  doctrine  was  not  too  severe, 
When  he  thought  you  were  only  materials  of  pleasure, 

And  reason  and  thinking  were  out  of  your  sphere 

By  your  heart,  when  the  fond  sighing  lover  can  win  iu 
He  thinks  that  an  age  of  anxiely  'a  paid ; 

But,  oh !  while  he 's  blest,  let  him  die  on  the  minute — 
If  he  live  but  a  day,  he'll  be  surely  betray 'd. 


IMITATION  OF  CATULLUS.1 

TO  HIMSELF. 
Miser  Catullc,  .l.-ninas  inrptire,  tt<v 

CFASE  the  sighing  fool  to  play ; 
Cease  to  trifle  life  away ; 
Nor  vainly  think  those  joys  thine  own, 
Which  all,  alas!  have  falsely  flown! 
Wh;it  hours,  Catullus,  once  were  thine, 
How  fairly  sccm'd  thy  day  to  shine. 


1   Ki'\v  pocta  knew  butter  (linn  Cntullut,  what  a  Kinn 
writer  calls 

In  il^lictitriwfl 

D'uri  viilup'iii'iix  sentimrnt; 
|  but  hii  pawion*  too  often  ul»cuiuil  ti.s  imagination  —  F 


874 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  lightly  thou  didst  fly  to  meet 
The  girl,  who  smiled  so  rosy  sweet — 
The  girl  thou  lovedst  with  fonder  pain 
Than  e'er  thy  heart  can  feel  again  ! 
You  met — your  souls  seem'd  all  in  one — 
Sweet  little  sports  were  said  and  done — 
Thy  heart  was  warm  enough  for  both, 
Anid  hers  indeed  was  nothing  loth. 
Such  were  the  hours  that  once  were  thine ; 
But,  ah  !  those  hours  no  longer  shine  I 
For  now  the  nymph  delights  no  more 
In  what  she  loved  so  dear  before ; 
And  all  Catullus  now  can  do 
Is  to  be  proud  and  frigid  too ; 
Nor  follow  where  the  wanton  flies, 
Nor  sue  the  bliss  that  she  denies. 
False  maid !  he  bids  farewell  to  thee, 
To  love,  and  all  love's  misery. 
The  hey-day  of  his  heart  is  o'er, 
Nor  will  he  court  one  favour  more; 
But  soon  he'll  see  thee  droop  thy  head, 
Doom'd  to  a  lone  and  loveless  bed, 
When  none  will  seek  the  happy  night, 
Or  come  to  traffic  in  delight ! 
Fly,  perjured  girl ! — but  whither  fly  ? 
Who  now  will  praise  thy  cheek  and  eye  ? 
Who  now  will  drink  the  syren  tone, 
Which  tells  him  thou  art  all  his  own  ? 
Who  now  will  court  thy  wild  delights, 
Thy  honey  kiss,  and  turtle  bites  ? 
Oh !  none. — And  he  who  loved  before 
Can  never,  never  love  thee  more ! 


EPIGRAM.1 

YOUR  mother  says,  my  little  Venus, 
There 's  something  not  correct  between  us, 

And  you're  in  fault  as  much  as  I : 
Now,  on  my  soul,  my  little  Venus, 
I  think  'l  would  not  be  right  between  us, 

To  let  your  mother  tell  a  lie  ! 


TO  JULIA. 
THOUGH  Fate,  my  girl,  may  bid  us  part, 

Our  souls  it  cannot,  shall  not,  sever ; 
The  heart  will  seek  its  kindred  heart, 

And  cling  to  it  as  close  as  ever. 

But  must  we,  must  we  part  indeed  ? 

Is  all  our  dream  of  rapture  over? 
And  does  not  Julia's  bosom  bleed 

To  leave  so  dear,  so  fond  a  lover  ? 

Does  the.  too  mourn  ? — Perhaps  she  may ; 

Perhaps  she  weeps  our  blisses  fleeting: 
But  why  is  Julia's  eye  so  gay, 

If  Julia's  heart  like  mine  is  beating? 

I  oft  have  loved  the  brilliant  glow 

Of  rapture  in  her  blue  eye  streaming— 

But  can  the  bosom  bleed  with  woe, 
While  joy  is  in  the  glances  beaming? 


I  Iwlieve  thii  epigram  ii  originally  French.— E 


No,  no  ! — Tr  et,  love,  I  will  not  chide, 

Although  your  heart  vxre  fond  of  roving  : 

Nor  that,  nor  all  the  world  beside 

Could  keep  your  faithful  boy  from  loving 

You  '11  soon  be  distant  from  his  eye, 

And,  with  you,  all  that 's  worth  possessing 

Oh  !  then  it  will  be  sweet  to  die, 
When  life  has  lost  its  only  blessing ! 


SONG. 

SWEET  seducer!  blandly  smiling; 
Charming  still,  and  still  beguiling ' 
Oft  I  swore  to  love  thee  -never, 
Yet  I  love  thee  more  than  ever ! 

Why  that  little  wanton  blushing, 
Glancing  eye,  and  bosom  flushing? 
Flushing  warm,  and  wily  glancing— 
All  is  lovely,  all  entrancing  ! 

Turn  away  those  lips  of  blisses — 
I  am  poison'd  by  thy  kisses ! 
Yet,  again,  ah !  turn  them  to  me : 
Ruin 's  sweet,  when  they  undo  me ! 

Oh !  be  less,  be  less  enchanting ; 
Let  some  little  grace  be  wanting ; 
Let  my  eyes,  when  I'm  expiring, 
Gaze  awhile  without  admiring  ! 


NATURE'S  LABELS 

A   FRAGMENT. 

IN  vain  we  fdndly  strive  to  trace 
The  soul's  reflection  in  the  face ; 
In  vain  we  dwell  on  lines  and  crosses. 
Crooked  mouth,  or  short  proboscis  ; 
Boobies  have  look'd  as  wise  and  bright 
As  Plato  or  the  Stagyrite  : 
And  many  a  sage  and  learned  skull 
Has  peep'd  through  windows  dark  and  du. 
Since  then,  though  art  do  all  it  can, 
We  ne'er  can  reach  the  inward  nrui, 
Nor  inward  woman,  from  without 
(Though,  ma'am,  you  fmilr,  as  if  in  doubt.' 
I  think  't  were  well  if  Nature  could 
(And  Nature  could,  if  Nature  would) 
Some  pretty  short  descriptions  write, 
In  tablets  larfje,  in  black  and  white, 
Which  she  might  hang  about  our  throttles. 
Like  labels  upon  physic-bottles. 
There  we  mifrht  read  of  all — But  stay- 
As  learned  dialectics  say, 
The  argument  most  apt  and  ample 
For  common  use,  is  the  example. 
For  instance,  then,  if  Nature's  care 
Had  not  arranged  those  traits  so  fair, 
Which  speak  the  soul  of  Lucy  I/-nd-n, 
This  is  the  label  she'd  have  pinn'd  on, 

LABEL   FIRST. 

Within  this  vasn  there  lies  enshrined 
The  purest,  brightest  gem  of  mind  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


275 


Though  Feeling's  hand  may  sometimes  throw 
Upon  its  charms  the  shade  of  woe, 
The  lustre  of  the  gem,  when  veil'd, 
Shall  be  but  mellow'd,  not  conceal'd. 

Now,  sirs,  imagine,  if  you  're  able, 

Th.it  Nature  wrote  a  second  label, 

They  're  her  own  words — at  least  suppose  so — 

And  boldly  pin  it  on  Pomposo. 

LABEL    SECOND. 

When  I  composed  the  fustian  brain 
Of  this  redoubted  Captain  Vain, 
I  had  at  hand  but  few  ingredients, 
And  so  was  forced  to  use  expedients. 
I  put  therein  some  small  discerning, 
A  grain  of  sense,  a  grain  of  learning; 
And  when  I  saw  the  void  behind, 
I  fill'd  it  up  with — froth  and  wind  ! 


TO  MRS.  M- 


SWEET  lady  !  look  not  thus  again : 
Those  little  pouting  smiles  recal — 

A  maid  remember'd  now  with  pain, 
Who  was  my  love,  my  life,  my  all ! 

Oh  !  while  this  heart  delirious  took 
Sweet  poison  from  her  thrilling  eye, 

Thus  would  she  pout,  and  lisp,  and  look, 
And  I  would  hear,  and  gaze,  and  sigh ! 

jfes,  I  did  love  her — madly  love — 
She  was  the  sweetest,  best  deceiver ! 

And  oft  she  swore  she'd  never  rove ! 
And  I  was  destined  to  believe  her ! 

Then,  lady,  do  not  wear  the  smile 
Of  her  whose  smile  could  thus  betray : 

.iis  !  I  think  the  lovely  wile 

Again  might  steal  my  heart  away. 

And  when  the  spell  that  stole  my  mind 
On  lips  so  pure  as  thine  I  see, 

I  fear  the  heart  which  she  resign'd 
Will  err  again,  and  fly  to  thee  ! 


SONG. 

WHY,  the  world  are  all  thinking  about  it : 
And,  as  for  myself,  I  can  swear, 

If  I  fancied  that  heaven  were  without  it, 
I  'd  scarce  feel  a  wish  to  go  there. 

If  Mahomet  would  but  receive  mo, 
And  Paradise  be  as  he  paints, 

I  'm  greatly  afraid,  God  forgive  me ! 
I  'd  worship  the  eyes  of  his  saints. 

But  why  should  I  think  of  a  trip 
To  the  Prophet's  seraglio  above, 

When  Phillida  gives  me  her  lip, 
As  my  own  little  heaven  of  love? 

Oh,  Phillis  !  that  kiss  may  be  sweeter 
Than  ever  by  mortal  was  given ; 


But  your  lip,  love !  is  only  St.  Peter, 
And  keeps  but  the  key  to  your  heaven ' 


TO  JULIA. 

MOCK  me  no  more  with  love's  beguiling  dream, 

A  dream,  I  find,  illusory  as  sweet : 
One  smile  of  friendship,  nay  of  cold  esteem, 

Is  dearer  far  than  passion's  bland  deceit ! 

I  've  heard  you  oft  eternal  truth  declare  ; 

Your  heart  was  only  mine,  1  once  believed. 
Ah  !  shall  I  say  that  all  your  vows  were  air  ? 

And  must  I  say,  my  hopes  were  all  deceived  T 

Vow,  then,  no  longer  that  our  souls  are  twined, 
That  all  our  joys  are  felt  with  mutual  zeal : 

Julia  !  't  is  pity,  pity  makes  you  kind ; 

You  know  I  love,  and  you  would  seem  to  feeL 

But  shall  I  still  go  revel  in  those  arms 
On  bliss  in  which  affection  takes  no  part  ? 

No,  no  !  farewell !  you  give  me  but  your  charms, 
When  I  had  fondly  thought  you  gave  your  heart. 


IMPROMPTU. 

LOOK  in  my  eyes,  my  blushing  fair ! 

Thou  'It  see  thyself  reflected  there  ; 

And,  as  I  gaze  on  thine,  I  see 

Two  little  miniatures  of  me  : 
Thus  in  our  looks  some  propagation  lie«, 
For  we  make  babies  in  each  other's  ey     I 


TO  ROSA. 

DOES  the  harp  of  Rosa  slumber? 
Once  it  breathed  the  sweetest  number 
Never  does  a  wilder  song 
Steal  the  breezy  lyre  along, 
When  the  wind,  in  odours  dying, 
Woos  it  with  enamour'd  sighing. 

Does  the  harp  of  Rosa  cease  ? 
Once  it  told  a  tale  of  peace 
To  her  lover's  throbbing  breast- 
Then  he  was  divinely  blest ! 
Ah  '  but  Rosa  loves  no  more, 
Therefore  Rosa's  song  is  o'er ; 
And  her  harp  neglected  lies  ; 
And  her  boy  forgotten  sighs. 
Silent  harp— forgotten  lover — 
Rosa's  love  and  song  are  over  I 


SYMPATHY 

TO   JULIA. 
—  line  me  sit  nnlla  Venus. 


Sulp* 


OUR  hearts,  my  love,  were  doom'd  »J  be. 
The  genuine  twins  of  Sympathy  : 
They  live  with  one  sensation  ; 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


In  joy  or  grief,  but  most  in  love, 
Our  heart-strings  musically  move, 
And  thrill  with  like  vibration. 

How  often  have  I  heard  thee  say, 
Thy  vital  pulse  shall  cease  to  play 

When  mine  no  more  is  moving ! 
Since,  now,  to  feel  a  joy  alone 
Were  worse  to  thee  than  feeling  none  : 

Such  sympathy  in  loving ! 

And,  oh  !  how  often  in  those  eyes, 
Which  melting  beam.'d  like  azure  skies 

In  dewy  vernal  weather — 
How  often  have  I  raptured  read 
The  burning  glance,  that  silent  said, 

u  Now,  love,  we  fid  together  T 


TO  JULIA. 

I  SAW  the  peasant's  band  unkind 
From  yonder  oak  the  ivy  sever ; 

They  seem'd  in  very  being  twined ; 
Yet  now  the  oak  is  fresh  as  ever. 

Not  so  the  widow'd  ivy  shines : 
Torn  From  its  dear  and  only  stay, 

In  drooping  widowhood  it  pines, 
And  scatters  all  its  blooms  away  ! 

Thus,  Julia,  did  our  hearts  entwine, 
Till  Fate  disturb'd  their  tender  ties : 

Thus  gay  indifference  blooms  in  thine, 
While  mine,  deserted,  droops  and  dies ! 


TO  MRS. 


— —  amore 
In  canuti  pensier  si  disconVena. 


Gttarini. 


YES,  I  think  I  once  heard  of  an  amorous  youth 
Who  was  caught  in  his  grandmother's  bed  ; 

But  I  own  I  hhd  ne'er  such  a  liouorish  tooth 
As  to  wish  to  be  there  in  his  stead. 

T  is  for  you.  my  dear  madam,  such  conquests  to 
make: 

Antiquarians  may  value  you  high: 
But  I  swear  I  can't  love  for  antiquity's  sake, 

Such  a  poor  virtuoso  am  I. 

I  have  hecn  many  ruins  all  gilded  with  care, 
But  the  cracks  were  still  plain  to  the  eye : 

And  I  ne'er  felt  a  passion  to  venture  in  there, 
But  lurn'd  up  my  nose,  and  pass'd  by  ! 

I  perhaps  might  have  sigh' d  in  your  magical  chain 
When  your  lip  had  more  freshness  to  deck  it: 

But  1  'd  hate  even  L)ian  licrsolf  in  the  wane, — 
She  might  then  go  to  hell  for  a  Hecate! 

No,  no  '.  when  my  heart 's  in  these  amorous  faints, 
Which  is  -elclmn,  ilnnk  Hruven  !  the  case; — 

For.  liy  reading  the  Father*,  and  Lives  of  the  Saints, 
1  keep  up  i  stock  of  good  grace  : 


But  then  't  is  the  creature  luxuriant  and  fresh 
That  my  passion  with  ecstacy  owns  : 

For  indeed,  my  dear  madam,  though  fond  :/  the  fle.it 
I  never  was  partial  to  bones  ! 


ON  THE  DEATH  OF  A  LADY 

SWEET  spirit!  if  thy  airy  sleep 

Nor  sees  my  tears,  nor  hears  my  sighs, 

Oh  !  I  will  weep,  in_luxury  weep, 
Till  the  last  heart's-drop  fills  mine  eyes 

But  if  thy  sainted  soul  can  feel, 

And  mingles  in  our  misery, 
Then,  then,  my  breaking  heart  I  '11  seal — 

Thou  shall  not  hear  one  sigh  from  me  . 

The  beam  of  morn  was  on  the  stream, 
But  sullen  clouds  the  day  deform  : 

Thou  wert,  indeed,  that  morning  beam, 
And  death,  alas  !  that  sullen  storm. 

Thou  wert  not  form'd  for  living  here, 
For  thou  wert  kindred  with  the  sky ; 

Yet,  yet  we  held  thee  all  so  dear, 
We  thought  thou  wert  not  form'd  to  die  \ 


TO  JULIA. 

SWEET  is  the  dream,  divinely  sweet, 
When  absent  souls  in  fancy  meet ! — 
At  midnight,  love,  I  '11  think  of  thee  ! 
At  midnight,  love  !  oh  think  of  me  ! 
Think  that  thou  givest  thy  dearest  kiss. 
And  I  will  think  1  feel  the  bliss : 
Then,  if  thou  blush,  that  blusli  be  mlr.e  j 
And,  if  I  weep,  the  tear  be  thine ! 


TO 


CAN  I  again  that  form  caress, 
Or  on  that  lip  in  rapture  twine  ? 

No,  no  !  the  lip  that  all  may  press 
Shall  never  more  be  press'd  by  mine. 

Can  I  again  that  look  recall 

Which  once  could  make  me  die  for  thee ! 
No,  no  !  the  eye  that  bums  on  all 

Shall  never  more  be  prized  by  me ! 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  BLANK  LEAF  OF  A 
LADY'S  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK. 

HERE  is  one  leaf  reserved  for  me, 
From  all  thy  sweet  memorials  free; 
And  here  my  simple  son^  might  tell 
The  feelings  thou  must  ^uess  so  welL 
But  could  I  thus,  withni  thy  mind, 
One  little  vacant  com.  r  find, 
Where  no  impression  >et  is  sven, 
Where  no  memorial  yet  has  been, 
Oh !  it  should  U:  mv  sweetest  care 
To  write  mv  name  for  e\  er  there ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


27) 


SONG. 
AWAY  with  this  pouting  and  sadness ! 

Sweet  girl !  will  you  never  give  o'er? 
1  love  you,  by  Heaven  !  to  madness, 

And  what  can  I  swear  to  you  more? 
Believe  not  the  old  woman's  fable, 

That  oaths  are  as  short  as  a  kiss ; 
I  "11  love  you  as  long  as  I  'm  able, 

And  swear  for  no  longer  than  this. 

Then  waste  not  the  time  with  professions ; 

For  not  to  be  blest  when  we  can 
Is  one  of  the  darkest  transgressions 

That  happen  'twixt  woman  and  man. — 
Pretty  moralist !  why  thus  beginning 

My  innocent  warmth  to  reprove  ? 
Heaven  knows  that  I  never  loved  sinning — 

Except  little  sinuings  in  love ! 

If  swearing,  however,  will  do  it, 

Come,  bring  me  the  calendar,  pray — 
I  vow  by  that  lip  I  '11  go  through  it, 

And  not  miss  a  saint  on  my  way. 
The  angels  shall  help  me  to  wheedle ; 

I  '11  swear  upon  every  one 
That  e'er  danced  on  the  point  of  a  needle,1 

Or  rode  on  a  beam  of  the  sun ! 

Oh !  why  should  Platonic  control,  love, 

Enchain  an  emotion  so  free  ? 
Your  soul,  though  a  very  sweet  soul,  love, 

Will  ne'er  be  sufficient  for  me. 
If  you  think,  by  this  coolness  and  scorning, 

To  seem  more  angelic  and  bright, 
Be  an  angel,  my  love,  in  the  morning, 

But,  oh !  be  a  woman  to-night ! 


TO  ROSA. 

LIKE  him  who  trusts  to  summer  skies, 

And  puts  his  little  bark  to  sea, 
Is  he  who,  lured  by  smiling  eyes, 

Consigns  his  simple  heart  to  thee : 
For  fickle  is  the  summer  wind, 

And  sadly  may  the  bark  be  toss'd ; 
For  thou  art  sure  to  change  thy  mind, 

And  then  the  wretched  heart  is  lost ! 


TO  ROSA. 
OH    why  should  the  girl  of  my  soul  be  in  tears 

At  t  meeting  of  rapture  like  this, 
Who>  the  glooms  of  the  past,  and  the  sorrow  of  years, 

Hi.  e  boon  paid  by  a  moment  of  bliss  ? 

Are  tlj«y  shed  for  that  moment  of  blissful  delight 

Which  dwells  on  her  memory  yet? 
Do  they  flow,  like  the  dews  of  the  amorous  night, 

Froiii  the  warmth  of  the  sun  that  has  set  ? 


1  I  believe  Mr.  Little  alluded  here  to  a  famous  question 
among  the  early  schoolmen :  "  how  many  thousand  angels 
could  dance  upon  the  point  of  a  very  fine  needle,  without 
jostling  one  another  7"  If  he  could  have  been  thinking  of 
the  schools  while  he  was  writing  this  gong,  we  caunot  say 
"  caait  mdorjium." 


Oh  !  sweet  is  the  tear  on  that  languishing  smile, 

That  smile  which  is  loveliest  then  ; 
And  if  such  are  the  drops  that  delight  can  begir'le. 

Thou  shall  weep  them  again  ana  again ! 


RONDEAU. 

"  GOOD  night !  good  night !" — and  is  it  so  T 
And  must  I  from  my  Rosa  go  ? 
Oh,  Rosa !  say  "  Good  night !"  once  more. 
And  I  '11  repeat  it  o'er  and  o'er, 
Till  the  first  glance  of  dawning  light 
Shall  find  us  saying  still,  "  Good  night !" 

And  still  "Good  night !"  my  Rosa  say — 

But  whisper  still,  "  A  minute  stay ;" 

And  I  will  stay,  and  every  minute 

Shall  have  an  age  of  rapture  in  it. 

We  '11  kiss  and  kiss  in  quick  delight, 

And  murmur,  while  we  kiss,  "  Good  night ' ' 

44  Good  night !"  you  '11  murmur  with  a  sigh, 

And  tell  me  it  is  time  to  fly : 

And  I  will  vow  to  kiss  no  more, 

Yet  kiss  you  closer  than  before ; 

Till  slumber  seal  our  weary  sight — 

And  then,  my  love !  my  soul !  "  Good  night  T 


AN  ARGUMENT 
TO  ANY  PHILLIS  OR  CHLOE. 
I  'VE  oft  been  told  by  learned  friars, 

That  wishing  and  the  crime  are  one, 
And  Heaven  punishes  desires 
As  much  as  if  the  deed  were  done 

If  wishing  damns  us,  you  and  1 
Are  damn'd  to  all  our  heart's  content , 

Come  then,  at  least  we  may  enjoy 
Some  pleasure  for  our  punishment ! 


TO  ROSA. 

WRITTEN  DURING  ILLNESS. 

THE  wisest  soul,  by  anguish  torn, 
Will  soon  unlearn  the  lore  it  know ; 

And  when  the  shrining  casket 's  worn, 
The  gem  within  will  tarnish  too. 

But  love  's  an  essence  of  the  soul, 
Which  sinks  not  with  this  chain  of  c!r 

Which  throbs  beyond  the  chill  control 
Of  withering  pain  or  pale  decay. 

And  surely  when  the  touch  of  death 
Dissolves  the  spirit's  mortal  ties, 

Love  still  attends  the  soaring  breath, 
And  makes  it  purer  for  the  skies  '. 

Oh,  Rosa  !  when,  to  seek  its  sphere, 
My  soul  shall  leave  this  orb  of  men  ! 

That  love  it  found  so  blissful  here 
Shall  be  its  best  of  blisses  ther. ! 

And,  as  in  fabled  dreams  of  old, 
Some  airy  genius,  child  of  time! 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Presided  o'er  each  star  that  roll'd, 
And  track'd  it  through  its  path  sublime ; 

So  thou,  fair  planet,  not  unled, 

Shalt  through  thy  mortal  orbit  stray; 

Thy  lover's  shade,  divinely  wed, 
Shall  linger  round  thy  wandering  way. 

Let  other  spirits  range  the  sky, 

And  brighten  in  the  solar  gem  ; 
I  '11  bask  beneath  that  lucid  eye, 

Nor  envy  worlds  of  suns  to  them ! 

And  oh  !  if  airy  shapes  may  steal 
To  mingle  with  a  mortal  frame, 

Then,  then,  my  love !— but  drop  the  veil ! 
Hide,  hide  from  Heaven  the  unholy  flame. 

No !— when  that  heart  shall  cease  to  beat, 
And  when  that  breath  at  length  is  free ; 

Then,  Rosa,  soul  to  soul  we  '11  meet, 
And  mingle  to  eternity. 


ANACREONTIQUE. 

in  laerymas  verterat  omne  mcrum. 

Tib.  lib.  i.  eleg.  5. 

PRESS  the  grape,  and  let  it  pour 
Around  the  board  its  purple  shower ; 
And  while  the  drops  my  goblet  steep, 
I  '11  think — in  woe  the  clusters  weep. 

Weep  on,  weep  on,  my  pouting  vine ! 
Heaven  grant  no  tears  but  tears  of  wine. 
Weep  on ;  and,  as  thy  sorrows  flow, 
I  '11  taste  the  luxury  of  woe! 


ANACREONTIQUE, 

FRIEND  of  my  soul !  this  goblet  sip, 

'T  will  chase  that  pensive  tear ; 
T  is  not  so  sweet  as  woman's  lip, 
But,  oh !  't  is  more  sincere. 
Like  her  delusive  beam, 

'T  will  steal  away  thy  mind ; 
But,  like  affection's  dream, 
It  leaves  no  sting  behind ! 

Come,  twine  the  wreath,  thy  brows  to  shade ; 

These  flowers  were  cull'd  at  noon ; — 
Like  woman's  love  the  rose  will  fade, 
But  ah  !  not  half  so  soon ! 
For,  though  the  flower 's  decay'd, 

Its  fragrance  is  not  o'er; 
But  once  when  love 's  betray'd, 
The  heart  can  bloom  no  more  ! 


Neither  do  I  condemn  thee ;  go,  and  sin  no  more !" 
St.  Jukn,  chap.  viii. 

On,  woman,  if  by  simple  wile 

Thy  soul  has  stray'd  from  honour's  track, 
Tis  mercy  only  can  beguile, 

By  gentle  ways,  the  wanderer  back. 


The  stain  that  on  thy  virtue  lies, 
Wash'd  by  thy  tears  may  yet  decay ; 

As  clouds  that  sully  morning  skies 
May  all  be  swept  in  showers  away. 

Go,  go — be  innocent,  and  live — 

The  tongues  of  men  may  wound  thee  sot* 
But  Heaven  in  pity  can  forgive, 

And  bids  thee  "  Go,  and  sin  no  more  !" 


LOVE  AND  MARRIAGE. 

Eque  brevi  verbo  I'erre  percnne  maium. 

fiicundus,  eleg.  T», 

STILL  the  question  I  must  parry, 

Still  a  wayward  truant  prove  : 
Where  I  love,  I  must  not  marry, 

Where  I  marry,  cannot  love. 

Were  she  fairest  of  creation, 
With  the  least  presuming  mind  ; 

Learned  without  affectation ; 
Not  deceitful,  yet  refined ; 

Wise  enough,  but  never  rigid  ; 

Gay,  but  not  too  lightly  free , 
Chaste  as  snow,  and  yet  not  frigid;. 

Warm,  yet  satisfied  with  me  : 

Were  she  all  this,  ten  times  over, 
All  that  Heaven  to  earth  allows, 

I  should  be  too  much  her  lover 
Ever  to  become  her  spouse. 

Love  will  never  bear  enslaving; 

Summer  garments  suit  him  best: 
Bliss  itself  is  not  worth  having, 

If  we're  by  compulsion  blest. 


THE  KISS. 

Ilia  nisi  m  lecto  nusquam  poiuere  Hocer. 

Uvtd.  lib.  ii.  eleg.  5. 

GIVE  me,  my  lc"-e,  that  billing  kiss 

I  taught  you  one  delicious  night, 
When,  turning  epicures  in  bliss, 

We  tried  inventions  of  delight. 

Come,  gently  steal  my  lips  along, 

And  let  your  lips  in  murmurs  move, — 

Ah,  no  ! — again — that  kiss  was  wrong, — 
How  can  you  be  so  dull,  my  love  ? 

"Cease,  cease  !"  the  blushing  girl  replied — 
And  in  her  milky  arms  she  caught  me — 

"  How  can  you  thus  your  pupil  chide ; 
You  know  'I  was  in  the  dark  you  taught  me ! 


TO  MISS 


ON  HER  ASKING  THE  AUTHOR  WHY  SHE  HAD 
SLEEPLESS  NIGHTS. 

FLI.  ask  the  sylph  who  round  thee  flies, 
And  in  thy  breath  his  pinion  dips, 

Who  suns  him  in  thy  lucent  eyes, 
And  faints  upon  thy  sighing  lips : 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


279 


I'll  ask  him  where 's  the  veil  of  sleep 
That  used  to  shade  thy  looks  of  light ; 

And  why  those  eyes  their  vigil  keep, 
When  other  suns  are  sunk  in  night. 

And  I  will  say — her  angel  breast 

Has  never  throbb'd  with  guilty  sting; 

Her  bosom  is  the  sweetest  nest 

Where  Slumber  could  repose  his  wing ! 

And  I  will  say — her  cheeks  of  flame, 
Which  glow  like  roses  in  the  sun, 

Have  never  felt  a  blush  of  shame, 
Except  for  what  her  eyes  have  done  ! 

Then  tell  me,  why,  thou  child  of  air ! 

Does  Slumber  from  her  eyelids  rove  ? 
What  is  her  heart's  impassioned  care  ? — 

Perhaps,  oh,  sylph  !  perhaps  't  is  love  ! 


NONSENSE. 

GOOD  reader !  if  you  e'er  have  seen, 

When  Phoebus  hastens  to  his  pillow, 
The  mermaids,  with  their  tresses  green, 

Dancing  upon  the  western  billow: 
If  you  have  seen,  at  twilight  dim, 
When  the  lone  spirit's  vesper  hymn 

Floats  wild  along  the  winding  shore  : 
If  you  have  seen,  through  mist  of  eve, 
The  fairy  train  their  ringlets  weave, 
Glancing  along  the  spangled  green : — 

If  you  have  seen  all  this,  and  more, 
God  bless  me  !  what  a  deal  you '  ve  seen  ! 


TO  JULIA. 

ON  HER  BIRTH-DAT. 

WHEN  Time  was  entwining  the  garland  of  years, 
Which  to  crown  my  beloved  was  given, 

Though  some  of  the  leaves  might  be  sullied  with  tears, 
Yet  the  flowers  were  all  gather'd  in  heaven ! 

And  long  may  this  garland  be  sweet  to  the  eye, 

May  its  verdure  for  ever  be  new  ! 
Young  Love  shall  enrich  it  with  many  a  sigh, 

And  Pity  shall  nurse  it  with  dew  ! 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS.1 

How  sweetly  could  I  lay  my  head 
Within  the  cold  grave's  silent  breast ; 

Where  Sorrow's  tears  no  more  are  shed, 
No  more  the  ills  of  life  molest. 

For,  ah  !  my  heart,  how  very  soon 

The  glittering  dreams  of  youth  are  past ! 

And,  long  before  it  reach  its  noon, 
The  sun  of  life  is  overcast. 


1  This  poem,  arid  some  others  of  the  same  pensive  cast, 
we  may  suppose,  were  the  result  of  the  few  melancholy 
momenta  which  a  lift?  so  short  and  so  pleasant  as  that  of  the 
author  could  have  allowed. — E. 


TO  ROSA. 

A  far  conserva,  e  cumu  o  d'  amanti  —  Poll.  Fid. 

AND  are  you  then  a  thing  of  art, 
Seducing  all  and  loving  none  ?     f 

And  have  I  strove  to  gain  a  heart 
Which  every  coxcomb  thinks  his  own  T 

And  do  you,  like  the  dotard's  fire, 
Which  powerless  of  enjoying  any, 

Feeds  its  abortive  sick  desire, 
By  trifling  impotent  with  many  ? 

Do  you  thus  seek  to  flirt  a  number 
And  through  A  round  of  danglers  run, 

Because  your  heart's  insipid  slumber 
Could  never  wake  to  fed  for  one. 

Tell  me  at  once  irthis  be  true, 

And  I  shall  calm  my  jealous  breast ; 

Shall  learn  to  join  the  dangling  crew, 
And  share  your  simpers  with  the  rest 

But  if  your  heart  be  not  so  free, — 
Oh  !  if  another  share  that  heart, 

Tell  not  the  damning  tale  to  me, 
But  mingle  mercy  with  your  art 

I'd  rather  think  you  black  as  hell, 
Than  find  you  to  be  all  divine, 

And  know  that  heart  could  love  so  well, 
Yet  know  that  heart  would  not  be  mine ! 


LOVE  IN  A  STORM 

Quam  juvat  immites  veatos  audire  cubantem, 
Et  dominant  leuero  contimiisw  gmu. 


LOUD  sung  the  wind  in  the  ruins  above, 
Which  murmur'd  the  warnings  of  time  o'er  out 
head  ; 

While  fearless  we  offer'd  devotions  to  Love, 
The  rude  rock  our  pillow,  the  rushes  our  bed. 

Damp  was  the  chill  of  the  wintry  air, 
But  it  made  us  cling  closer,  and  warmly  unite 

Dread  was  the  lightning,  and  horrid  its  glare, 
But  it  show'd  me  my  Julia  in  languid  delight. 

To  my  bosom  she  nestled,  and  felt  not  a  fear, 
Though  the  shower  did  beat,  and  the  tempest  did 
frown  : 

Her  sighs  were  us  sweet,  and  her  murmurs  as  dear, 
As  if  she  lay  lull'il  on  a  pillow  of  down  ! 


SONG. 

JESSY  on  a  bank  was  sleeping, 
A  flower  beneath  her  bosom  lay ; 

Love,  upon  her  slumber  creeping, 
Stole  the  flower  and  flew  away ! 

Pity,  then,  poor  Jessy's  ruin, 

Who,  bccalm'd  by  Slumber's  wing. 

Never  felt  what  Lovo  was  doing — 
Never  dream'd  of  such  a  thing. 


880 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  SURPRISE. 

CHLOKIB,  I  swear,  by  all  I  ever  swore, 
That  from  this  hour  1  shall  not  love  thee  more.— 
*  What !  love  no  more  ?  Oh !  why  this  alter'd  vow  ? 
Because  I  cannot  love  thee  more— than  now! 


TO  A  SLEEPING  MAID. 

WAKE,  my  life !  thy  lover's  arms 
Are  twined  around  thy  sleeping  charms: 
Wake,  my  love !  and  let  desire 
Kindle  those  opening  orbs  of  fire. 

| 

Yet,  sweetest,  though  the  bliss  delight  thee, 
If  the  guilt,  the  shame  affright  thee, 
Still  those  orbs  in  darkness  keep; 
Sleep,  my  girl,  or  seem  to  sleep. 


TO  PHILLIS. 

PHILLIS,  you  little  rosy  rake, 
That  heart  of  yours  I  long  to  rifle : 

Come,  give  it  me,  and  do  not  make 
So  much  ado  about  a  trifle  ! 


SONG. 

WHEN  the  heart's  feeling    * 

Burns  with  concealing, 
Glances  will  tell  what  we  fear  to  confess 

Oh  !  what  an  anguish 

Silent  to  languish, 
Could  we  not  look  all  we  wish  to  express  ! 

When  half-eipiring, 

Restless,  desiring, 
Lovers  wish  something,  but  must  not  say  what, 

Looks  tell  the  wanting, 

Looks  tell  the  granting, 
Looks  betray  all  that  the  heart  would  be  at. 


THE  BALLAD.1 

THOU  hast  sent  me  a  flowery  band, 

And  told  me  't  was  fresh  from  the  field ; 

That  the  leaves  were  untouch'd  by  the  hand, 
And  the  purest  of  odours  would  yield. 

And  indeed  it  was  fragrant  and  fair ; 

But,  if  it  were  handled  by  thee, 
It  would  bloom  with  a  livelier  air, 

And  would  surely  be  sweeter  to  me ' 

Then  take  it,  and  let  it  entwine 
Thy  tresses,  so  flowing  and  bright ; 

And  each  little  flow' ret  will  shine 
More  rich  than  a  gem  to  my  sight. 

I  Thii  ballad  wai  probably  .uggested  by  the  follow^- 
Epigram  in  Martial: 

Intactai  quare  mittis  mihi,  Polla,  coronas, 
A  la  vezalaj  nialo  leneie  rosas. 

xc.  lib.  11.— E. 


Let  the  odorous  gale  of  thy  breath 
Embalm  it  with  many  a  sigh ; 

Nay,  let  it  be  wither'd  to  death 
Beneath  the  warm  noon  of  thine  eye. 

And  instead  of  the  dew  that  it  bears. 

The  dew  dropping  fresh  from  the  tree, 
On  its  leaves  let  me  number  the  tears 

That  affection  has  stolen  from  thee  ! 


TO  MRS. 


ON  HER  BEAUTIFUL  TRANSLATION  OF 
VOITURE'S  KISS. 

Mon  ame  sur  ma  levrc  e;ait  lors  toute  entiere, 
Pour  savourer  le  miel  qui  sur  la  votre  etait; 
Mais  en  me  retiram,  elle  retta  dcrriere, 
Tant  de  c«  deux  plaisir  1'amorce  I'arretoit !         fai 

How  heavenly  was  the  poet's  doom, 
To  breath  his  spirit  through  a  kiss ; 

And  lose  within  so  sweet  a  tomb 
The  trembling  messenger  of  bliss ! 

And,  ah !  his  soul  return'd  to  feel 
That  it  again  could  ravish'd  be  ; 

For  in  the  kiss  that  thou  didst  steal, 
His  life  and  soul  have  fled  to  thee ! 


TO  A  LADY. 

ON   HER   SINGING. 

THY  song  has  taught  my  heart  to  feel 
Those  soothing  thoughts  of  heavenly  love, 

Which  o'er  the  sainted  spirits  steal 
When  list'ning  to  the  spheres  above  ! 

When,  tired  of  life  and  misery, 
I  wish  to  sigh  my  latest  breath, 

Oh,  Emma !  I  will  fly  to  thee, 
And  thou  shall  siug  me  into  death ! 

And  if  along  thy  lip  and  cheek 
That  smile  of  heavenly  softness  play, 

Which, — ah  !  forgive  a  mind  that 's  weak, — 
So  ofl  has  stolen  my  mind  away ; 

Thou' It  seem  an  angel  of  the  sky, 
That  comes  to  charm  me  into  bliss : 

I'll  gaze  and  die — who  would  not  die, 
If  death  were  half  so  sweet  as  tlus  ? 


A  DREAM. 

I  THOUGHT  this  heart  consuming  lay 
On  Cupid's  burning  shrine : 

I  thought  he  stole  thy  heart  away, 
And  placed  it  near  to  mine. 

I  saw  thy  heart  begin  to  melt, 

Like  ice  before  the  sun ; 
Tdl  both  a  glow  congenial  felt, 

And  mingled  into  one  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


WRITTEN  IN  A  COMMON-PLACE  BOOK, 

CALLED  "THE  BOOK  OF  FOLLIES;" 

In  ishich  every  one  that  opened  it  should  contribute 

something. 


TO   THE   BOOK    OF    FOLLIES 

Tins  tribute  's  from  a  wretched  elf, 
Who  hails  thee  emblem  of  himself! 
The  book  of  life,  which  I  have  traced, 
Has  boon,  like  thee,  a  motley  waste 
Of  follies  scribbled  o'er  and  o'er, 
One  folly  bringing  hundreds  more. 
Some  have  indeed  been  writ  so  neat, 
In  characters  so  fair,  so  sweet, 
That  those  who  judge  not  too  severely 
Have  said  they  loved  such  follies  dearly ! 
Yet  still,  O  book  !  the  allusion  stands  ; 
For  these  were  penn'd  by  female  hands; 
The  rest, — alas  !  I  own  the  truth, — 
Have  all  been  scribbled  so  uncouth, 
That  prudence,  with  a  withering  look, 
Disdainful  flings  away  the  book. 
Like  thine,  its  pages  here  and  there 
Have  oft  been  stain'd  with  blots  of  care ; 
And  sometimes  hours  of  peace,  I  own, 
Upon  some  fairer  leaves  have  shone, 
White  as  the  snowings  of  that  Heaven 
By  which  those  hours  of  peace  were  given 
But  now  no  longer — such,  oh  !  such 
The  blast  of  Disappointment's  touch ! 
No  longer  now  those  hours  appear ; 
Each  h  af  is  sullied  by  a  tear  : 
Blank,  olank  is  every  page  wuh  care ; 
Not  e'en  a  folly  brightens  there. 
Will  they  yet  brighten  ? — Never,  never ! 
Then  shut  the  book,  O  God !  for  ever ! 


WRITTEN  IN  THE  SAME. 

TO  THE  PRETTY  LITTLE  MRS. . 

IMPROMPTU. 

Magia  venustatem  an  brevitatem  mireris  inccrtnm  est. 

.Macrob.  Sat.  lib.  ii.  cap.  2. 

THIS  journal  of  folly  's  an  emblem  of  me ; 
But  what  book  shall  we  find  emblematic  of  thee  ? 
Oh !  shall  we  not  say  thou  art  Love's  duodecimo  1 
None  can  be  prettier,  few  can  be  less,  you  know. 
Such  a  volume  in  sheets  were  a  volume  of  charms ; 
Or,  if  bound,  it  should  only  be  bound  in  our  arms  ! 


SONG. 
DEAR  !  in  pity  do  not  speak ; 

In  your  eyes  I  read  it  all, 
Jn  the  flushing  of  your  cheek, 

In  those  tears  that  fall. 
Yes,  yes,  my  soul !  I  see 

You  love,  you  live  for  only  me ! 

Beam,  yet  beam  vhat  killing  eve, 
Bid  me  expire  in  luscious  pain; 
2  N 


But  kiss  me,  kiss  me  while  1  die, 

And,  oh  !  1  live  again  ! 
Still,  my  love  !  with  looking  kill, 

And,  oh !  revive  with  kist.es  ttill ! 


THE  TEAR. 
ON  beds  of  snjw  the  moonbeam  slept, 

And  chilly  was  the  midnight  gloom, 
When  by  the  damp  grave  Kllen  wept — 

Sweet  maid  !  it  was  her  Luidor'a  tomb  ' 

A  warm  tear  gush'd — the  wintry  air 
Congeal'd  it  as  it  flow'd  away  : 

All  night  it  lay  arfice-drop  there, 
At  morn  it  glitter'd  in  the  ray  ! 

An  angel,  wandering  from  her  sphere, 
Who  saw  this  bright,  this  frozen  gem, 

To  dew-eyed  Pity  brought  the  tear, 
And  hung  it  on  her  diadem ! 


TO 


In  bona  cur  qu'mquam  tcrliut  ista  venit? — Ovid 

So  !  Rosa  turns  her  back  on  me, 

Thou  walking  monument !  for  thee ; 

Whose  visage,  like  a  grave-stone  scribbled. 

With  vanity  bedaub'd,  befribbled, 

Tells  only  to  the  reading  eye, 

That  underneath  corrupting  lie, 

Within  thy  heart's  contagious  tomb 

(As  in  a  cemetery's  gloom,) 

Suspicion,  rankling  to  infection, 

And  all  the  worms  of  black  reflection ! 

And  thou  art  Rosa's  dear  elect, 

And  thou  hast  won  the  lovely  trifle; 
And  I  must  bear  repulse,  neglect, 

And  I  must  all  my  anguish  stifle : 
While  thou  for  ever  linger' st  nigh, 

Scowling,  muttering,  gloating,  mumming 
Like  some  sharp,  busy,  fretful  fly, 

About  a  twinkling  taper  humming 


TO  JULIA 

WEEPING. 

On  !  if  your  'ears  are  given  to  care, 

If  real  woe  disturbs  your  p< 
Come  to  my  bosorn,  weeping  fair! 

And  I  will  bid  your  weeping  cease 

But  if  with  Fancy's  vision'd  fears, 

With  dreams  of  woe  your  bosom  thrill , 

You  look  so  lovely  in  your  tears, 
That  1  must  bid  you  drop  them  still ' 


SONG. 

HAVE  you  not  seen  the  timid  tear 
Steal  trembling  from  mine  eye 


^•J                                                           MOORE'S  WORKS 

Have  you  not  mark'd  the  flush  of  fear, 

Such  was  my  love,  and  many  a  time, 

Or  caught  the  murmur'd  sigh  ? 

When  sleep  has  given  thee  to  my  breast, 

And  can  you  think  my  love  is  chill, 

And  thou  hast  seem'd  to  share  the  crime 

Nor  fix'd  on  you  alone? 

Which  made  thy  lover  wildly  blest  ; 

And  can  you  rend,  by  doubting  still, 

E'en  then,  in  all  that  rich  delusion, 

A  heart  so  much  your  own  ? 

When,  by  voluptuous  visions  fired, 

To  you  my  soul's  affections  move 
Devoutly,  warmly  true  ; 
My  life  has  been  a  task  of  love, 
One  long,  long  thought  of  you. 

My  soul,  in  rapture's  warm  confusion, 
Has  on  a  phantom's  lip  expired  ! 
E'en  then  some  purer  thoughts  would 
Amid  my  senses'  warm  excess  ; 
And  at  the  moment  —  oh  !  e'en  then 

If  all  your  tender  faith  is  o'er, 
If  still  my  truth  you'll  try  ; 
Alas  !  I  know  but  one  proof  more,  — 
I'll  bless  your  name,  and  die  ! 

I've  started  from  thy  melting  press, 
And  blush'd  for  all  I've  dared  to  feel, 
Yet  sigh'd  to  feel  it  all  again  !  — 
Such  was  my  love,  and  still,  O  still 



I  might  have  calm'd  the  unholy  thrill  : 

My  heart  might  be  a  taintless  shrine, 

THE  SHIELD.'  » 

And  thou  its  votive  saint  should  be  : 

OH  !  did  you  not  hear  a  voice  of  death  ? 

There,  there  I'd  make  thee  all  divine, 

And  did  you  not  mark  the  paly  form 

Myself  divine  in  honouring  thee. 

Which  rode  on  the  silver  mist  of  the  heath, 

But,  oh  !  that  night  !  that  fatal  night  ! 

And  sung  a  ghostly  dirge  in  the  storm  ? 

When  both  bewilder'd,  both  betray'd, 

^Ve  sank  beneath  the  flow  of  soul, 

Was  it  a  wailing  bird  of  the  gloom, 

Which  for  a  moment  mock'd  control  ; 

Which  shrieks  on  the  house  of  woe  all  night  ? 
Or  a  shivering  fiend  that  flew  to  a  tomb, 
To  howl  and  to  feed  till  the  glance  of  light  ? 

And  on  the  dangerous  kiss  delay'd, 
And  almost  yielded  to  delight  ! 
God  !  how  I  wish'd,  in  that  wild  hour, 

T  was  not  the  death-bird's  cry  from  the  wood, 
Nor  shivering  fiend  that  hung  in  the  blast  ; 
'T  was  the  shade  of  Helderic  —  man  of  blood  — 

That  tips  alone,  thus  stamp'd  with  heal 
Had  for  a  moment  all  the  power 
To  make  our  souls  effusing  meet  ! 

It  screams  for  the  guilt  of  days  that  are  past  ! 

That  we  might  mingle  by  the  breath 
In  all  of  love's  delicious  death  ; 

See  how  the  red,  red  lightning  strays, 

And  in  a  kiss  at  once  be  blest, 

And  scares  the  gliding  ghosts  of  the  heath  ! 

As,  oh  !  we  trembled  at  the  rest  1 

Now  on  the  leafless  yew  it  plays, 

Pity  me,  love  !  I  '11  pity  thee, 

Where  hangs  tne  shield  of  this  son  of  death! 

If  thou  indeed  hast  felt  like  me. 

That  shield  is  blushing  with  murderous  stains  ; 
Long  has  it  hung  from  the  cold  yew's  spray  ; 
It  is  blown  by  storms  and  wash'd  by  rains, 
But  neither  can  take  the  blood  away  ! 

All,  all  my  bosom's  peace  is  o'er  ! 
At  night,  which  was  my  hour  of  calm, 
When  from  the  page  of  classic  lore, 
From  the  pure  fount  of  ancient  lay, 
My  soul  had  drawn  the  placid  balm 

Oft  by  that  yew,  on  the  blasted  field, 

Which  charm'd  its  little  griefs  away  ; 

Demons  dance  to  the  red  moon's  light  ; 

Ah  !  there  I  find  that  balm  no  more. 

While  the  damp  bouglis  creak,  and  the  swinging 

Those  spells,  which  make  us  oft  forget 

shield 

The  fleeting  troubles  of  the  day, 

Sings  to  the  raving  spirit  of  night  ! 

In  deeper  sorrows  only  whet 

The  stings  they  cannot  tear  away. 

~~~~^ 

When  to  my  pillow  rack'd  I  fly, 

TO  AIRS 

With  wearied  sense  and  wakeful  eye, 

YKS,  Heaven  can  witness  how  I  strove 
To  love  thee  with  a  spirit's  love  ; 
To  make  thy  purer  wish  my  own, 
And  mingle  with  thy  mind  alone. 
Oh  !  I  appeal  to  those  pure  dreams 
In  which  my  soul  has  hung  on  thee, 
And  I've  forgot  thy  witching  form, 
And  I've  forgot  the  liquid  beams 
Tliat  eye  effuses,  thrilling  warm- 
Yea,  yes,  forgot  each  sensual  charm, 

While  my  brain  maddens,  where,  O  where 
Is  that  serene  consoling  prayer, 
Which  once  has  harbinger'd  my  rest, 
When  the  still  soothing  voice  of  Heaven 
Has  seem'd  to  whisper  in  my  breast, 
"  Sleep  on,  thy  errors  are  forgiven  !" 
No,  though  I  still  in  semblance  prav, 
My  thoughts  are  wandering  far  away, 
And  e'en  the  name  of  Deity 
Is  murmur'd  out  in  sighs  for  thee  !  ' 

Each  madd'ning  spell  of  luxury, 

That  could  seduce  my  soul's  desires, 
And  bid  it  throb  with  guiltier  fires.— 

]  This  irregular  recurrence  of  the  rhymei  is  adopted  from 
he  light  poetry  of  the  French,  and  is,  I  think,  particularly 

uited  to  express  the  varieties  of  feeling.     In  gentler  emo- 

1  This  poem  w  perfectly  in  the  taste  of  the  present  day— 
'hu  nam  plelwcula  jaudeL"—  JB. 

ions,  the  verses  may  flow  periodic  and  regular  ;  and  in  tha 
ransition  to  violent  passion,  can  assume  all  the  animated 
abruptness  of  blank  verse.     Besides,  by  dispensing  wi'h  tht 

LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


283 


ELEGIAC  STANZAS, 

•UPPOSED    TO     BE    WRITTEN     BY    JULIA    ON 
DEATH    OF    HER    BROTHER. 

THOUGH  sorrow  long  has  worn  my  heart ; 

Though  every  day  I  've  counted  o'er 
Has  broujpt  a  new  and  quickening  smart 

To  wounds  that  rankled  fresh  before ; 

Though  in  my  earliest  life  bereft 

Of  many  a  link  by  nature  tied ; 
Though  hope  deceived,  and  pleasure  left ; 

Though  friends  betray'd,  and  foes  belied ; 

I  still  had  hopes — for  hope  will  stay 

After  the  sunset  of  delight ; 
So  like  the  star  which  ushers  day, 

We  scarce  can  think  it  heralds  night ! 

I  hoped  that,  after  all  its  strife, 

My  weary  heart  at  length  should  rest, 

And,  fair.ting  from  the  waves  of  life, 
Find  harbour  in  a  brother's  breast. 

That  brother's  breast  was  warm  with  truth, 
Was  bright  with  honour's  purest  ray  ; 

He  was  the  dearest,  gentlest  youth — 
Oh  !  why  then  was  he  torn  away  ? 

He  should  have  stay'd,  have  linger'd  here, 
To  calm  his  Julia's  every  woe ; 

He  should  have  chased  each  bitter  tear, 
And  not  have  caused  those  tears  to  flow. 

We  saw  his  youthful  soul  expand 
In  blooms  of  genius,  nursed  by  taste  ; 

While  Science,  with  a  fostering  hand, 
Upon  his  brow  her  chaplet  placed. 

We  saw  his  gradual  opening  mind 
Eiirich'd  by  all  the  graces  dear; 

Enlighten'd,  social,  and  refined, 
In  friendship  firm,  in  love  sincere. 

Such  was  the  youth  we  loved  so  well ; 

Such  were  the  hopes  that  fate  denied — 
We  loved,  but,  ah  !  we  could  not  tell 

How  deep,  how  dearly,  till  he  died ! 

Close  as  the  fondest  links  could  strain, 
Twined  with  my  very  heart  he  grew ; 

And  by  that  fate  which  breaks  the  chain, 
The  heart  is  almost  broken  too  ! 


FANNY  OF  TIMMOL. 

A    MAIL-COACH   ADVENTURE. 
Quadrigis  petimus  bene  vivere.  Horace. 

SWKET  Fanny  of  Timmol !  when  first  you  came  in 
To  the  close  little  carriage  in  which  I  was  hurl'd, 

I  thought  to  myself,  it':t  were  not  a  sin, 
I  could  teach  you  the  prettiest  tricks  in  the  world. 


li-nita  of  distioh  and  stnnza,  it  allows  an  interesting  guspen- 
iiwn  of  the  sentiment. — E. 


For  your  dear  little  lips,  to  their  destiny  true, 
Seem'd  to  know  they  were  born  for  the  use  of  an- 
other ; 

And,  to  put  me  in  mind  of  what  I  ought  to  do, 
Were  eternally  biting  and  kissing  each  other. 

And  then  you  were  darting  from  eyelids  so  sly,— 
Half  open,  half  shutting, — such  tremulous  light  i 

Let  them  say  what  they  will,  I  could  read  in  your  eye 
More  comical  things  than  I  ever  shall  write. 

And  oft,  as  we  mingled  our  legs  and  our  feet, 
I  felt  a  pulsation,  and  cannot  tell  whether 

In  yours  or  in  mine — but  I  know  it  was  sweet, 
And  I  think  we  both  felt  it  and  trembled  together. 

At  length  when  arrived,  at  our  supper  we  sat, 
I  heard  with  a  sigh,  which  had  something  of  pain. 

That  perhaps  our  last  moment  of  meeting  was  that. 
And  Fanny  should  go  back  to  Timmol  again. 

Yet  I  swore  not  that  I  was  in  love  with  you  Fanny, 
Oh,  no  !  for  I  felt  it  could  never  be  true  ; 

I  but  said — what  I  've  said  very  often  to  many — 
There 's  few  I  would  rather  be  kissing  than  you. 

Then  first  did  I  learn  that  you  once  had  believed 
Some  lover,  the  dearest  and  falsest  of  men  ; 

And  so  gently  you  spoke  of  the  youth  who  deceived, 
That  I  thought  you  perhaps   might  be  templed 
again. 

But  you  told  me  that  passion  a  moment  amused, 
Was  follow'd  too  oft  by  an  age  of  repenting; 

And  check'd  me  so  softly  that,  while  you  refused, 
Forgive  me,  dear  girl,  if  I  thought 't  was  consenting ! 

And  still  I  entreated,  and  still  you  deniod, 

Till  I  almost  was  made  to  believe  you  sincere; 
Though  I  found  that,  in  bidding  me  leave  you,  you 

sigh'd, 

And  when  you  repulsed  me,  't  was  done  with  a 
tear. 

In  vain  did  I  whisper,  "  There  *s  nobody  nigh ;" 
In  vain  with  the  tremors  of  passion  implore ; 

Your  excuse  was  a  kiss,  and  a  tear  your  reply — 
I  acknowledged  them  both,  and  I  ask'd  for  no 
more. 

Was  I  right  ? — oh !  I  cannot  believe  I  wag  wrong. 

Poor  Fanny  is  gone  back  to  Timmol  again  ; 
And  may  Providence  guide  her  uninjured  along, 

Nor  scatter  her  path  with  repentance  and  pain ! 

By  Heaven !  I  would  rather  for  ever  forswear 
The  Elysium  that  dwells  on  a  beautiful  breast, 

Than  alarm  for  a  moment  the  peace  that  is  there, 
Or  banish  the  dove  from  so  hallow'd  a  nest ! 


A  NIGHT  THOUGHT. 
How  oft  a  cloud  with  envious  veil, 

Obscures  your  bashful  light, 
Which  soems  so  modestly  to  steal 

Along  the  waste  of  night  I 


28-1 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


*T  w  thus  the  worM's  obtrusive  wrongs 

Obscure  with  malice  keen 
Some  timid  heart,  which  only  longs 

To  live  and  die  unseen  ! 


ELEGIAC   STANZAS. 

Sicjuviii  perire. 

WIIKV  wearied  wretches  sink  to  sleep, 
How  heavenly  sofUheir  slumbers  lie ! 

How  sweet  is  death  to  those  who  weep, 
To  those  who  weep  and  long  to  die  ! 

Saw  you  the  soft  and  grassy  bed, 

Where  rlow'rets  deck  the  green  earth's  breast  ? 
*T  is  there  I  wish  to  lay  my  head, 

'T  is  there  I  wish  to  sleep  at  rest ! 

Oh  !  let  not  tears  embalm  my  tomb, 
None  but  the  dews  by  twilight  given  ! 

Oh  !  let  not  sighs  disturb  the  gloom, 
None  but  the  whispering  winds  of  Heaven ! 


THE  KISS. 

GROW  to  my  lip,  thou  sacred  kiss, 

On  which  my  soul's  beloved  swore 
That  there  should  come  a  time  of  bliss 

When  she  would  mock  my  hopes  no  more ; 
And  fancy  shall  thy  glow  renew, 

In  sighs  at  morn,  and  dreams  at  night, 
And  none  shall  steal  thy  holy  dew 

Till  thou  'rt  absolved  by  rapture's  rite. 
Sweet  hours  that  are  to  make  me  blest, 

Oh !  fly,  like  breezes,  to  the  goal, 
And  let  my  love,  my  more  than  soul, 

Come  panting  to  this  fever'd  breast  ^ 
And  while  in  every  glance  I  drink 

The  rich  o'erflowings  of  her  mind, 
Oh  !  let  her  all  impassion'd  sink, 

In  sweet  abandonment  resign'd, 
Blushing  for  all  our  struggles  past, 
And  murmuring,  "  I  am  thine  at  last !" 


TO 


WITH  all  my  soul,  then,  let  us  part, 
Since  both  are  anxious  *o  be  free  ; 

And  I  will  send  you  home  your  heart, 
If  you  will  send  back  mine  to  me. 

We  've  had  some  happy  hours  together, 
But  joy  must  often  change  its  wing ; 

And  spring  would  be  but  gloomy  weather, 
If  we  had  nothing  else  but  spring. 

T  is  not  that  I  expect  to  find 
A  more  devoted,  fond,  and  true  one, 

With  rDsier  cheek  or  sweeter  mind- 
Enough  for  me  that  she  *s  a  new  one. 

Thus  let  us  leave  the  bower  of  love, 
Where  we  have  loher'd  long  in  bliss  ; 


And  you  may  down  thai  path-way  rove, 
While  I  shall  take  my  way  through  this 

Our  hearts  have  suffer'd  little  harm 

In  this  short  fever  of  desire  ; 
You  have  not  lost  a  single  charm, 

Nor  I  one  spark  of  feeling  fire. 

My  kisses  have  not  stain'd  the  rose 
Which  Nature  hung  upon  your  lip  ; 

And  still  your  sigh  with,  nectar  flows 
For  many  a  raptured  soul  to  sip. 

Farewell !  and  when  some  other  fair 
Shall  call  your  wanderer  to  her  arms, 

'T  will  be  my  luxury  to  compare 
Her  spells  with  your  remember'd  charms 

"  This  cheek,"  I  '11  say,  "  is  not  so  bright 
As  one  that  used  to  meet  my  kiss ; 

This  eye  has  not  such  liquid  light 
As  one  that  used  to  talk  of  bliss  !" 

Farewell !  and  when  some  future  lover 
Shall  claim  the  heart  which  I  resign, 

And  in  exulting  joys  discover 

All  the  charms  that  once  were  mine  ; 

I  think  I  should  be  sweetly  blest, 

If,  in  a  soft  imperfect  sigh, 
You  'd  say,  while  to  his  bosom  prest, 

He  loves  not  half  so  well  as  I ! 


A  REFLECTION  AT  SEA. 
SEE  how,  beneath  the  moonbeam's  smile, 

Yon  little  billow  heaves  its  breast, 
And  foams  and  sparkles  for  a  while, 

And  murmuring  then  subsides  to  rest. 

Thus  man,  the  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 
Rises  on  Time's  eventful  sea ; 

And,  having  swell'd  a  moment  there, 
Thus  melts  into  eternity ! 


AN  INVITATION  TO  SUPPER 

TO  MRS. . 

ITSELF,  dear  Julia  !  and  the  Sun, 
lave  now  two  years  of  rambling  run ; 
>nd  he  before  his  wheels  has  driven 
'he  grand  menagerie  of  heaven, 
>Vhile  I  have  me^  on  earth,  I  swear, 
,s  many  brutes  as  he  has  there. 
Tie  only  difference  I  can  see 
*twixt  the  flaming  god  and  me, 
s,  that  his  ways  are  periodic, 
nd  mine,  I  fear,  are  simply  oddic. 
ut,  dearest  girl !  't  is  now  a  lapse 
f  two  short  years,  or  less,  perhaps, 
ince  you  to  me,  and  I  to  you, 
ow'd  to  be  ever  fondly  true! — 
h,  Julia  !  those  were  pleasant  times  ! 
ou  loved  me  for  my  amorous  rhymes  • 
nd  I  loved  you,  because  I  thought 
"  was  so  delicious  to  be  taught 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


By  such  a  charming  guide  as  you, 

With  eyes  of  tire  and  lips  of  dew, 

All  I  had  often  fancied  o'er, 

But  never,  never  felt  before : 

The  day  flew  by,  and  night  was  short 

For  half  our  blisses,  half  our  sport ! 

I  know  not  how  we  chang'd,  or  why, 

Or  if  the  first  was  you  or  I: 

Yet  so  't  is  now,  we  meet  each  other, 

And  I  'm  no  more  than  Julia's  brother; 

While  she  's  so  like  my  prudent  sister, 

There  's  few  would  think  how  close  I  've  kiss'd  her. 

But,  Julia,  let  those  matters  pass ! 

If  you  will  brim  a  sparkling  glass 

To  vanish'd  hours  of  true  delight, 

Come  to  me  after  dusk  to-night. 

I  '11  have  no  other  guest  to  meet  you, 

But  here  alone  I  Ml  tele-a-lete  you, 

Over  a  little  attic  feast, 

As  full  of  cordial  soul  at  least, 

As  those  where  Delia  met  Tibullus, 

Or  Lesbia  wanton'd  with  Catullus.1 

I  '11  sing  you  many  a  roguish  sonnet 

About  it,  at  it,  and  upon  it : 

And  songs  address'd,  as  if  I  loved, 

To  all  the  girls  with  whom  I  've  roved. 

Come,  pr'ythee  come,  you  '11  find  me  here, 

Like  Horace,  waiting  for  his  dear.2 

Fhere  shall  not  be  to-night,  on  earth, 

Two  souls  more  elegant  in  mirth  ; 

fcnd  though  our  hey-day  passion  's  fled, 

Hie  spirit  of  the  love  that 's  dead 

Shall  hover  wanton  o'er  our  head ; 

Liko  souls  that  round  the  grave  will  fly, 

In  which  their  late  possessors  lie : 

And  who,  my  pretty  Julia,  knows, 

But  when  our  warm  remembrance  glows. 

The  ghost  of  Loce  may  act  anew, 

What  Love  when  lining  used  to  do . 


AN  ODE  UPON  MORNING. 

TURN  to  me,  love  !  the  morning  rnys 
Are  glowing  o'er  thy  languid  charms; 

Take  one  luxurious  parting  gaze, 
While  yet  I  linger  in  thine  arms. 

Twas  long  before  the  noon  of  night 
1  stole  into  thy  bosom,  dear ! 

And  now  the  glance  of  dawning  light 
Has  found  me  still  in  dalliance  here. 

Turn  to  me,  love  !  the  trembling  gleams 
Of  morn  along  thy  white  neck  stray ; 

Away,  away,  you  rnvious  beams, 
I  'U  chase  you  with  my  lips  away ! 

Oh '.  is  it  not  divine  to  think, — 

While  all  around  were  lull'd  in  night 


1  Ctriiam,  non  sine  can. tula  |  ui  I'.i. 

Cat.  Caim.  xiii. 


•  pnrllarn 


Ad  medium  nuclum 

U»r.  lib.  i.  §*t5. 


While  even  the  planets  seem'd  to  wink,— 
We  kept  our  vigils  of  delight  t 

The  heart,  that  little  world  of  ours, 
Unlike  the  drowsy  world  of  care, 

Then,  then  awaked  its  sweetest  powers, 
And  all  was  animation  there ! 

Kiss  me  once  more,  and  then  I  fly. 
Our  parting  would  to  noon-dzy  !~st ; 

There,  close  that  languid  trembling  eye, 
And  sweetly  dream  of  all  the  past  i 

As  soon  as  Night  shall  fix  her  seal 
Upon  the  eyes  and  lips  of  men, 

Oh,  dearest !  I  will  panting  steal 
To  nestle  in  thine  arms  again ! 

Our  joys  shall  take  their  stolen  flight, 
Secret  as  those  celestial  sphere* 

Which  make  sweet  music  all  the  night, 
Unheard  by  drowsy  mortal  ears ! 


SONG.' 

On !  nothing  in  life  can  sadden  us, 

While  we  have  wine  and  good  humour  in  store 
iVith  this-,  and  a  little  of  love  to  madden  us, 

Show  me  the  fool  that  can  labour  for  more ! 
ome,  then,  bid  Ganymede  fill  every  bowl  for  yon, 

Fill  them  up  brimmers,  and  drink  as  I  call : 
I  'm  going  to  toast  every  nymph  of  my  soul  for  you. 

Ay,  on  my  soul,  I  'm  in  love  with  them  all  1 
Dear  creatures  !  we  can't  live  without  them, 

They  're  all  that  is  sweet  and  seducing  to  man  ! 
Looking,  sighing  about  and  about  them, 

We  dote  on  them,  die  for  them,  all  that  we  can. 

Here  *s  Phillis ! — whose  innocent  bosom 

Is  always  agog  for  some  novel  desires ; 
To-day  to  gel  lovers,  to-morrow  to  lose  'cm, 

Is  al'  that  the  innocent  Phillis  requires. — 
Elere  's  to  the  gny  little  Jessy  ! — who  simpers 

So  vastly  good  humour'd,  whatever  is  done ; 
She'll  kiss  you, and  that  without  whining  or  whimpera. 

And  do  what  you  please  with  you — all  out  of  fun ' 
Dear  creatures,  etc. 

A  bumper  to  Fanny !— I  know  you  will  scorn  her, 

Because  she  's  a  prude,  and  her  nose  is  so  curl'd ; 
But  if  ever  you  chatted  with  Fan  in  a  corner, 

You  'd  say  she  's  the  best  little  girl  in  the  world  '— 
Another  to  Lyddy  !— still  slrusgl.ug  with  duty, 

And  asking  hrr  conscience  still,  "whether  sho 

should ;" 
While  hnr  ryes,  in  the  silent  confession  of  beauty 

Say,  "Only  for  sc-nuUung  I  certainly  would  ." 
Dear  creatures,  etc 

Fill  for  Chloe !— bewitchingly  simplr, 
Who  angles  the  heart  without  knowing  her  lure; 

Still  wounding  around  with  a  bli'sh  or  a  dimple. 
Nor  seeming  to  feel  that  she  also  could  cuie  !• 


I  Then-  nre  many  «|>uri rnp'w  ofllus  «'»S  '"  r'rr"m 


linn;  iiml  it  i>  in 
ro  morr  risl'l 
wUaluvur  in  i 


'r<.'l'> •  :inriliulV.I  t,m  znitl.  imm  v.h.-  Hi» 
ll,r   Ufa*  <lf  ISM  As»M  lo   •«»-«:• 
"<iiinio».lioii. —  B. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Here  '«  pious  Susan  !— the  ssint,  who  alone,  sir, 
Cosild  ever  have  made  me  religious  outright : 

For  had  I  such  a  dear  little  saint  of  my  own,  sir, 
I  'd  pray  on  my  knees  to  her  half  the  long  night ! 
Dear  creatures,  etc. 


COM«  tell  me  where  the  maid  is  found 

Whose  heart  can  love  without  deceit, 
And  I  will  range  the  world  around, 

To  sign  one  moment  at  her  feet. 
Oh  !  tell  me  where 's  her  sainted  home, 

What  air  receives  her  blessed  sigh ; 
A  pilgrimage  of  years  I  "11  roam 

To  catch  one  sparkle  of  her  eye ! 

And,  if  iier  cheek  be  rosy  bright, 
While  truth  within  her  bosom  lies, 

I  '11  gaze  upon  her,  morn  and  night, 
Till  my  heart  leave  me  through  my  eyes ! 

Show  me  on  earth  a  thing  so  rare, 

I  '11  own  all  miracles  are  true ; 
To  make  one  maid  sincere  and  fair, 

Oh  !  't  is  the  utmost  Heaven  can  do ! 


SONG.1 

SWEETEST  love !  I  '11  not  forget  thee ; 

Time  shall  only  teach  my  heart, 
Fonder,  wanner,  to  regret  thee, 

Lovely,  gentle  as  thou  art  ! — 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Yet,  oh !  yet  again  we  Ml  meet,  love, 
A«-.i  repose  our  hearts  at  last : 

Oh !  sure  't  will  then  be  sweet,  love, 
Calm  to  think  on  sorrows  past. — 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Yes,  my  girl,  the  distant  blessing 
May  n't  be  always  sought  in  vain ; 

And  the  moment  of  possessing — 
Will 't  not,  love,  repay  our  pain  ?— 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 

Still  I  feel  my  heart  is  breaking, 
When  I  think  1  stray  from  thee, 

Round  the  world  that  quiet  seeking, 
Which  1  fear  is  not  for  me  !— 
Farewell,  Bessy! 

Calm  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom— 
Can  it,  dearest !  must  it  be  ? 

Thou  within  an  hour  shall  lose  him, 
He  for  ever  loses  thee  ! 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 


SONG. 

IF  I  •wear  by  that  eye,  you  '11  allow 
Its  look  is  so  shifting  and  new, 


1  All  lhe»e  Mini's  were  adapted  to  sin  which  Mr.  Liltle 
eorn|KMf<l,  and  nomclimes  inng,  for  hi*  friends:  thig  may 
•eroiin'  fur  the  peculiarity  of  metre  observable  in  many  of 
lb*rn  —  E 


That  the  oath  I  might  take  on  it  now 
The  very  neit  glance  would  undo  ! 

Those  babies  that  nestle  so  sly 

Such  different  arrows  have  got, 
That  an  oath,  on  the  glance  of  an  eye 

Such  as  yours,  may  be  off  in  a  shot ! 

Should  I  swear  by  the  dew  on  your  lip, 
Though  each  moment  the  treasure  renews, 

If  my  constancy  wishes  to  trip, 
I  may  kiss  off  the  oath  when  I  choose  ! 

Or  a  sigh  may  disperse  from  that  flower 
The  dew  and  the  oath  that  are  theref! 

And  I  'd  make  a  new  vow  every  hour, 
To  lose  them  so  sweetly  in  air ! 

But  clear  up  that  heaven  of  your  brow 
Nor  fancy  my  faith  is  a  feather ; 

On  my  heart  I  will  pledge  you  my  vow, 
And  they  both  must  be  broken  together ' 


JULIA'S  KISS. 

WHEN  infant  Bliss  in  roses  slept, 
Cupid  upon  his  slumber  crept ; 
And,  while  a  balmy  sigh  he  stole, 
Exhaling  from  the  infant's  soul, 
He  smiling  said,  "  With  this,  with  this 
I'll  scent  my  Julia's  burning  kiss  !" 

Nay,  more ;  he  stole  to  Venus'  bed, 
Ere  yet  the  sanguine  flush  had  fled, 
Which  Love's  divinest,  dearest  flame 
Had  kindled  through  her  panting  frame. 
Her  soul  still  dwelt  on  memory's  themes, 
Still  floated  in  voluptuous  dreams; 
And  every  joy  she  felt  before 
In  slumber  now  was  acting  o'er. 
From  her  ripe  lips,  which  seem'd  to  thrill 
As  in  the  war  of  kisses  still, 
And  amorous  to  each  other  clung, 
He  stole  the  dew  that  trembling  hung, 
And  smiling  said,  "  With  this,  with  this 
I'll  bathe  my  Julia's  burning  kiss  !" 


TO 


REMEMBER  him  thou  leavest  behind, 
Whose  heart  is  warmly  bound  to  thee, 

Close  as  the  tenderest  links  can  bind 
A  heart  as  warm  as  heart  can  be. 

Oh !  I  had  long  in  freedom  roved, 
Though  many  seem'd  my  soul  to  share 

*T  was  passion  when  I  thought  I  loved, 
*T  was  fancy  when  I  thought  them  fait 

E'en  she,  my  Muse's  early  theme, 
Beguiled  me  only  while  she  warm'd ; 

T  was  young  desire  that  fed  the  dream, 
And  reason  broke  what  passion  form  d 

But  thou — ah  !  better  had  it  been 
If  I  had  still  in  freedom  roved. 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


If  I  had  ne'er  thy  beauties  seen, 

For  then  I  never  should  have  loved  ! 

Then  all  the  pain  which  lovers  feel 
Had  never  to  my  heart  been  known ; 

But,  ah !  the  joys  which  lovers  steal, 
Should  they  have  ever  been  my  own  ? 

Oh !  trust  me,  when  I  swear  thee  this, 
Dearest !  the  pain  of  loving  thee, 

The  very  pain,  is  sweeter  bliss 
Than  passion's  wildest  ecstasy ! 

That  little  cage  I  would  not  part, 
In  which  my  soul  is  prison'd  now, 

For  the  most  light  and  winged  heart 
That  wantous  on  the  passing  vow. 

Still,  my  beloved  !  still  keep  in  mind, 
However  far  removed  from  me, 

That  there  is  one  thou  leavest  behind 
Whose  heart  respires  for  only  thee ! 

And,  though  ungenial  ties  have  bound 

Thy  fate  unto  another's  care, 
That  arm,  which  clasps  thy  bosom  round, 

Cannot  confine  the  heart  that 's  there. 

No,  no !  that  heart  is  only  mine, 

By  ties  all  other  ties  above, 
For  I  have  wed  it  at  a  shrine 

Where  we  have  had  no  priest  but  Love  ! 


SONG 
FLY  from  the  world,  O  Bessy !  to  mo, 

Thou'lt  never  find  any  sincerer ; 
I'll  give  up  the  world,  O  Bessy  !  for  thee, 

I  can  never  meet  any  that 's  dearer ! 
Then  tell  me  no  more,  with  a  tear  and  a  sigh, 

That  our  loves  will  be  censured  by  many  ; 
All,  all  have  their  follies,  and  who  will  deny 

That  ours  is  the  sweetest  of  any? 

When  your  lip  has  met  mine,  in  abandonment  sweet, 

Have  we  felt  as  if  virtue  forbid  it  ?— - 
Have  we  felt  as  if  Heaven  denied  them  to  meet  ? — 

No,  rather  't  was  Heaven  that  did  it ! 
So  innocent,  love !  is  the  pleasure  we  sip, 

So  little  of  guilt  is  there  in  it, 
That  I  wish  all  my  errors  were  lodged  on  your  lip, 

And  I'd  kiss  them  away  in  a  minute  ! 

Then  come  to  your  lover,  oh  !  fly  to  his  shed, 

From  a  world  which  I  know  thou  despisest; 
And  slumber  will  hover  as  light  on  our  bed, 

As  e'er  on  the  i  ouch  of  the  wisest ! 
And  when  o'er  our  pillow  the  tempest  is  driven, 

And  thou,  prettj  innocent !  fearest, 
Til  tell  then,  it  is  not  the  chiding  of  Heaven, 

'Tis  only  our  lullaby,  dearest  ! 

And,  oh  !  when  we  lie  on  our  death-bed,  my  love ! 

Looking  bark  on  the  scene  of  our  errors, 
A  sigh  from  my  Bessy  shall  plead  then  above, 

And  Death  be  disarm'd  of  his  terrors ! 
And  each  to  the  other  embracing  will  say, 

"Farewell!  let  us  hope  we're  forgiven!" 


Thy  last  fading  glance  will  illumine  the  way, 
And  a  kiss  be  our  passport  to  heaven ! 


SONG. 

THINK  on  that  look  of  hun  id  ray, 
Which  for  a  moment  mix'd  with  mine, 

And  for  that  moment  seem'd  i*  say, 
"  I  dare  not,  or  I  would  be  thine !" 

Think,  think  on  every  smile  and  glance, 
On  all  thou  hast  to  charm  and  move ; 

And  then  forgive  my  bosom  s  trance, 
And  tell  me  't  is  not  sin  to  love ! 

Oh !  not  to  love  thee  were  the  sin ; 

For  sure,  if  Heaven's  decrees  be  done, 
Thou,  thou  art  destined  still  to  win, 

As  I  was  destined  to  be  won ! 


SONG 
A  CAPTIVE  thus  to  thee,  my  girl, 

How  sweetly  shall  I  pass  my  age, 
Contented,  like  the  playful  squirrel, 

To  wanton  up  and  down  my  cage. 

When  Death  shall  envy  joy  like  this, 
And  come  to  shade  Giir  sunny  weather, 

Be  our  last  sigh  the  sigh  of  bliss, 
And  both  our  souls  exhale  together ! 


THE  CATALOGUE. 
'  COME,  tell  me,"  says  Rosa,  as,  kissing  and  kiss'd. 

One  day  she  reclined  on  my  breast ; 

Come,  tell  me  the  number,  repeat  me  the  list 

Of  the  nymphs  you  have  loved  and  caress'd." — 
Oh,  Rosa  !  't  was  only  my  fancy  that  roved, 

My  heart  at  the  moment  was  free ; 
Jut  I'll  tell  thee,  my  girl,  how  many  I've  loved, 

And  the  number  shall  finish  with  thee ! 

y  tutor  was  Kitty ;  in  infancy  wild 

She  taught  me  the  way  to  be  blest ; 
She  taught  me  to  love  her,  I  loved  like  a  child, 

But  Kitty  could  fancy  the  rest. 
Phis  lesson  of  dear  and  enrapturing  lore 

I  have  never  forgot,  I  allow ; 
have  had  it  by  rote  very  often  befoie, 

But  never  by  heart  until  now  ! 

retty  Martha  was  next,  and  my  soul  was  all  fliroe, 

But  my  head  was  so  full  of  romance, 
Tiat  I  fancied  her  into  some  chivalry  dame, 

And  I  was  her  knight  of  the  lanre ! 
Jut  Martha  was  not  of  this  f.inciful  school, 

And  she  laugh'd  at  her  poor  little  kmeht; 
Vhile  I  thought  her  a  goddess,  she  thougm  me  a  fool. 

And  I'll  swear  she  was  most  in  the  right 

ly  soul  was  now  calm,  till,  by  Cloris's  looks, 

Again  I  was  tempted  to  rove ; 
5ut  Cloris,  I  found,  was  so  learned  in  books. 

That  she  gave  me  more  logic  than  love .' 


es? 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So  I  left  this  young  Sappho,  and  hasten'd  to  fly 

To  those  sweeter  logicians  in  bliss, 
VHio  argue  the  point  with  a  soul-telling  eye, 

And  convince  us  at  once  with  a  kiss ! 

Oh  !  Susan  was  then  all  the  world  unto  me, 

But  Susan  was  piously  given ; 
And  the  worst  of  it  was,  we  could  never  agree 

On  the  road  that  was  shortest  to  heaven  ! 
"  Oh,  Susan !"  I've  said,  in  the  moments  of  mirth, 

u  What  'a  devotion  to  thee  or  to  me  1 
devoutly  believe  there's  a  heaven  on  earth, 

And  believe  that  that  heaven 's  in  thee!" 

* 


A  FRAGMENT. 
TO 

T  is  night,  the  spectred  hour  is  nigh ! 

Pensive  I  hear  the  moaning  blast 

Passing,  with  sad  sepulchral  sigh, 

My  lyre  that  hangs  neglected  by, 

And  seems  to  mourn  for  pleasures  past ! 

That  lyre  was  once  attuned  for  thee 

To  many  a  lay  of  fond  delight, 

When  all  thy  days  were  given  to  me, 

And  mine  was  every  blissful  night. 

How  oft  I've  languish'd  by  thy  side, 

And  while  my  heart's  luxuriant  tide 

Ran  in  wild  riot  through  my  veins, 

I've  waked  such  sweetly-maddening  strains, 

As  U'  by  inspiration's  fire 

My  soul  was  blended  with  my  lyre ! 

Oh  !  while  in  every  fainting  note 

We  heard  the  soul  of  passion  float 

While  in  thy  blue  dissolving  glance, 

I've  raptured  read  thy  bosom's  trance, 

I've  sung  and  trembled,  kiss'd  and  sung; 

Till,  as  we  mingle  breath  with  breath, 

Thy  burning  kisses  parch  my  tongue, 

My  hands  drop  listless  on  the  lyre, 

And,  murmuring  like  a  swan  in  death, 

Upon  thy  bosom  I  expire ! 

Yes,  I  indeed  remember  well 

Those  hours  of  pleasure  past  and  o  er ; 

Why  have  I  lived  their  sweets  to  tell? 

To  tell,  out  never  feel  them  more  ! 

I  should  have  died,  have  sweetly  died, 

In  one  of  those  impassion'd  dreams, 

When  languid,  silent  on  thy  breast, 

Drinking  thine  eyes'  delicious  beams, 

My  soul  has  flutter' d  from  its  nest, 

And  on  ihy  lip  just  parting  sigh'd  ! 

Oh !  dying  thus  a  death  of  love, 

To  heaven  how  dearly  should  I  go ! 

He  well  might  hope  for  joys  above, 

Who  had  begun  them  here  below  ! 


SONG. 

nymph,  whose  aznre  eje 
(,'an  .shine  tlirou^li  r.Miture'8  tear? 
The  sun  has  sunk,  the  moon  is  high, 
Ana  "ct  t>hc  comes  not  here ! 


Was  that  her  footstep  on  the  hill — 
Her  voice  upon  the  gale  1 — 

No ;  t'  was  the  wind,  and  all  is  still : 
Oh,  maid  of  Marlivale  ! 

Come  to  me,  love,  I've  wander' d  far, 
'Tis  past  the  promised  hour: 

Come  to  me,  love,  the  twilight  star 
Shall  guide  thee  to  my  bower. 


SONG. 

WHEN  Time,  who  steals  our  years  away, 

Shall  steal  our  pleasures  too, 
The  memory  of  the  past  will  stay, 

And  half  our  joys  renew. 

Then,  Chloe,  when  thy  beauty's  flower 

Shall  feel  the  wintry  air, 
Remembrance  will  recall  the  hour 

When  thou  alone  wert  fair ! 

Then  talk  no  more  of  future  gloom ; 

Our  joys  shall  always  last; 
For  hope  shall  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  memory  gild  the  past. 

Come,  Chloe,  fill  the  genial  bowl, 

I  drink  to  love  and  thee : 
Thou  never  canst  decay  in  soul, 

Thou'lt  still  be  young  for  me. 

And,  as  thy  lips  the  tear-drop  chase 
Which  on  my  cheek  they  find, 

So  hope  shall  steal  away  the  trace 
Which  sorrow  leaves  behind  ! 

Then  fill  the  bowl — away  with  gloom  i 

Our  joys  shall  always  last; 
For  hope  shall  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  memory  gild  the  past ! 

But  mark,  at  thought  of  future  years 

When  love  shall  lose  its  soul, 
My  Chloe  drops  her  timid  tears, 

They  mingle  with  my  bowl ! 

How  like  this  bowl  of  wine,  my  fair, 

Our  loving  life  shall  fleet ; 
Though  tears  may  sometimes  mingle  them. 

The  draught  will  still  be  sweet ! 

Then  fill  the  bowl — away  with  gloom. 

Our  joys  shall  always  last ; 
For  hope  wiU  brighten  days  to  come, 

And  memory  gild  the  past ! 


THE  SHRINE. 

TO  . 

Mv  fates  had  destined  me  to  :ove 
A  long,  lorg  pilgrimage  of  love; 
And  nriny  an  ;i!:ar  or.  my  way 
Has  lured  my  pums  stops  to  slay; 
For,  if  the  saint  was  young  and  fair, 
1  turn'd  and  sung  my  vespers  there. 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


This,  from  a  youthful  pilgrim's  fire, 
Is  what  your  pretty  saints  require : 
To  pass,  nor  tell  a  single  bead, 
With  them  would  be  profane  indeed! 
But,  trust  mo,  all  this  young  devotion, 
Was  but  to  keep  my  zeal  in  motion ; 
And,  every  humhlir  ull/ir  past, 
I  now  have  reach'd  THE  SUKINE  at  last ! 


REUBEN  AND  ROSE. 

A  TALE  OF  ROMANCE. 

THE  darkness  which  hung  upon  Willumrjerg's  walls 
Has  long  been  remeinber'd  with  awe  and  dismay ! 

For  years  not  a  sunbeam  had  play'd  in  its  halls, 
And  it  seem'd  as  shut  out  from  the  regions  of  day  : 

Though  the  valleys  were  brighten'd  by  many  a  beam, 
Yet  none  could  the  woods  of  the  castle  illume ; 

And  the  lightning  which  flash'd  on  the  neighbouring 

stream 
Flew  back,  as  if  fearing  to  enter  the  gloom! 

*  Oh  !  when  shall  this  horrible  darkness  disperse  ?" 
Said  Willumberg's  lord  to  the  seer  of  the  cave; — 

"It  can  never  dispel,"  said  the  wizard  of  verse, 
"Till  the  bright  star  of  chivalry's  sunk  in  the  wave !" 

And  who  was  the  bright  star  of  chivalry  then  ? 

Who  could  be  but  Reuben,  the  flower  of  the  age  ? 
For  Reuben  was  first  in  the  combat  of  men, 

Though  Youth  had  scarce  written  his  name  on  her 

page. 
For  Willumberg's  daughter  his  bosom  had  beat, 

For  Rose,  who  was  bright  as  the  spirit  of  dawn, 
When  with  wand  droppingdiamonds,  and  silvery  feet, 

It  walks  o'er  the  flowers  of  the  mountain  and  lawn  ! 

Must  Rose,  then,  fjom  Reuben  so  fatally  sever? 

Sad,  sad  were  the  words  of  the  man  in  the  cave, 
That  darkness  should  cover  the  castle  for  ever, 

Or  Reuben  be  sunk  in  the  merciless  wave  ! 

She  flew  to  the  wizard—"  And  tell  me,  oh  tell ! 

Shall  my  Reuben  no  more  be  restored  to  my 

eyes  ?" — 
"  Yes,  yes — when  a  spirit  shall  toll  the  g»at  bell 

Of  the  mouldering  abbey,  your  Reuben  shall  rise !" 

Twice,  thrice  he  repeated, "  Your  Reuben  shall  rise  !" 
And  Rose  felt  a  moment's  release  from  her  pain ; 

She  wiped,  while  she  listen'd,  the  tears  from  her  eyes, 
And  she  hoped  she  might  yet  see  her  hero  again ! 

Her  hero  could  smile  at  the  terrors  of  death, 
When  he  felt  that  he  died  for  the  sire  of  his  Rose  ! 

To  the  Oder  he  flew,  and  there  plunging  beneath, 
In  the  lapse  of  the  billows  soon  found  his  repose. — 

How  strangely  the  order  of  destiny  falls ! 

Not  long  in  the  waters  the  warrior  lay, 
When  a  sunbeam  was  seen  to  glance  over  the  walls, 

And  the  castle  of  Willumberg  bask'd  in  the  ray ! 

All,  all  but  the  soul  of  the  maid  was  in  light, 
There  sorrow  and  terror  lay  gloomy  and  blank . 

Two  days  did  she  wander,  and  all  the  long  night, 
In  quest  of  her  love  on  the  wide  river's  bank 
20 


Oft,  oft  did  she  pause  foi  the  toll  of  the  bell, 
And  she  heard  but  the  breathings  of  night  hi  the 
air  ; 

Long,  long  did  she  pa/e  on  the  watery  swell, 
And  she  saw  but  the  foam  of  the  white  billow  there 

And  often  as  midnight  its  veil  would  undraw, 
As  she  look'd  at  the  light  of  the  moon  in  the  stream, 

She  thought  "t  was  his  helmet  of  silver  she  saw, 
As  the  curl  of  the  surge  gliuer'd  high  in  the  beam. 

And  now  the  third  night  was  begemming  the  sky, 
Poor  Rose  on  the  cold  dewy  margent  reclined, 

There  wept  till  the  tear  almost  froze  in  her  eye, 
When, — hark  ! — 't  was  the  bell  that  caino  deep  in 
the  wind  ! 

She  startled,  and  saw,  through  the  glimmering  shade, 
A  form  o'er  the  waters  in  majesty  glide ; 

She  knew  't  was  her  love,  though  his  cheek  wa» 

decay'd, 
And  his  helmet  of  silver  was  wash'd  by  the  tide. 

Was  this  what  the  seer  of  the  cave  had  foretold 't — 
Dim,  dim  through  the  phantom  the  moon  shot  a 
gleam; 

'T  was  Reuben,  but  ah !  he  was  deathly  and  cold, 
And  flitted  away  like  the  spell  of  a  dream! 

Twice,  thrice  did  he  rise,  and  as  often  she  thought 
From  the  bank  to  embrace  him,  but  never,  ah! 
never  ! 

Then  springing  beneath,  at  a  billow  the  caught, 
And  sunk  to  repose  on  its  bosom  for  ever ! 


THE  RING.1 

A  TALK. 
Annului  illo  viri. — Oviil.  Amor.  lib.  ii.  eleg.  15 

THE  happy  day  at  length  arrived 

When  Rupert  was  to  wed 
The  fairest  maid  in  Saxony, 

And  take  her  to  his  bed. 

As  soon  as  morn  was  in  the  sky, 

The  feast  and  sports  began ; 
The  men  admired  the  happy  maid, 

The  maids  the  happy  man. 

In  many  a  sweet  device  of  mirth 

The  day  was  pass'd  along ; 
Afld  some  the  featly  dance  amused, 

And  some  the  dulcet  song. 


1  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  my  friend  had  any  seri- 
ous intention*  of  frightening  the  nursery  by  il.u  storr:  I 
nitlier  hope— though  tli"  manner  of  u  !.•:,.:.  inn  to  doufit — 
thai  his  design  was  to  ridicule  iliat  distempered  tii-to  wliirb 
prefnrs  those  monsters  of  the  fancy  to  Hie  "tpeciosa  mira- 
cula"  of  true  poetic  imn^ination. 

1  find,  by  a  note  in  the  manuscript,  that  he  met  wuh  this 
jtory  in  a  German  author,  FROMMAN  upun  /•'rurin-jf/im, 
book  iii.  part.  vi.  chap.  18.  On  nonsuiting  .tin  work,  [  per- 
ceive thai  Fromman  quotes  it  from  BwiaoernU,  iinony 
many  other  stories  equally  diiiooiicrj  and  interesting.-  -K. 


itiOOTJE'S  WORKS. 


The  younger  maids  with  Isabel 

Disported  through  the  bowers, 
And  deck'd  her  robe,  and  crown'd  her  head 

With  motley  bridal  flowers. 

The  matrons  all  in  rich  attire, 

Within  the  castle  walls, 
Sat  listening  to  the  choral  strains 

That  echo'd  through  the  halls. 

Young  Rupert  and  his  friends  repair'd 

Unto  a  spacious  court, 
To  strike  the  bounding  tennis-ball 

In  feat  and  manly  sport. 

The  bridegroom  on  his  finger  had 

The  wedding-ring  so  bright, 
Which  was  to  grace  the  lily  hand 

Of  Isabel  that  nighu 

And  fearing  he  might  break  the  gem, 

Or  lose  it  in  the  play, 
He  look'd  around  the  court,  to  see 

Where  he  the  ring  might  lay. 

Now  in  the  court  a  statue  stood, 
Which  there  full  long  had  been ; 

It  was  a  heathen  goddess,  or 
Perhaps  a  heathen  queen. 

Upon  its  marble  finger  then 

He  tried  the  ring  to  fit ; 
And,  thinking  it  was  safest  there, 

Thereon  he  fasten'd  it. 

And  now  the  tennis  sports  went  on, 

Till  they  were  wearied  all, 
And  messengers  announced  to  them 

Their  dinner  in  the  hall. 

Young  Rupert  for  his  wedding-ring 

Unto  the  statue  went ; 
But,  oh !  how  was  he  shock'd  to  find 

The  marble  finger  bent ! 

The  hand  was  closed  upon  the  ring 

With  firm  and  mighty  clasp  ; 
In  viin  he  tried,  and  tried,  and  tried, 

He  could  not  loose  the  grasp ! 

How  sore  surprised  was  Rupert's  mind, — 

As  well  his  mind  might  be ; 
"I'll  come,"  quoth  he,  "at  night  again, 

When  none  are  here  to  see." 

He  went  unto  the  feast,  and  much 

He  thought  upon  his  ring ; 
And  much  he  wonder'd  what  could  mean 

So  very  strange  a  thing ! 

The  feast  was  o'er,  and  to  the  court 

He  went  without  delay, 
Resolved  to  break  the  marble  hand, 

And  force  the  ring  away  ! 

But  mark  a  stranger  wonder  still— 

The  ring  was  there  no  more ; 
Yet  was  the  marble  hand  ungrasp'd, 

And  open  as  before  ! 


He  search'd  the  base,  and  all  the  court, 

And  nothing  could  he  find, 
But  to  the  castle  did  return 

With  sore  bewilder'd  rninJ. 

Within  he  found  them  all  in  mirth, 

The  night  in  dancing  flew ; 
The  youth  another  ring  procured, 

And  none  the  adventure  knew. 

And  now  the  priest  has  join'd  their  hands, 

The  hours  of  love  advance  ! 
Rupert  almost  forgets  to  think 

Upon  the  morn's  mischance. 

Within  the  bed/air  Isabel 

In  blushing  sweetness  lay, 
Like  flowers  half-open'd  by  the  dawn, 

And  waiting  for  the  day. 

And  Rupert,  by  her  lovely  side, 

In  youthful  beauty  glows. 
Like  Phffibus,  when  he  bends  to  cast 

His  beams  upon  a  rose ! 

And  here  my  song  should  leave  them  both, 

Nor  let  the  rest  be  told, 
But  for  the  horrid,  horrid  tale 

It  yet  has  to  unfold  ! 

Soon  Rupert  'twist  his  bride  and  him, 

A  death-cold  carcase  found  ; 
He  saw  it  not,  but  thought  he  felt 

Its  arms  embrace  him  round. 

He  started  up,  and  then  return'd, 

But  found  the  phantom  still ; 
In  vain  he  shrunk,  it  clipp'd  him  round, 

With  damp  and  deadly  chill ! 

And  when  he  bent,  the  earthy  lips 

A  kiss  of  horror  gave  ; 
'T  was  like  the  smell  from  charnel  vaults, 
Or  from  the  mouldering  grave ! 

Ill-fated  Rupert  !  wild  and  loud 

Thou  criedst  to  thy  wile, 
"  Oh  !  save  me  from  this  horrid  fiend, 

My  Isabel !  my  life  !" 

But  Isabel  had  nothing  seen, 

She  look'd  around  in  vain  ; 
And  much  she  mourn'd  the  mad  conceit 

That  rack'd  her  Rupert's  brain. 

At  length  from  this  invisible 

These  words  to  Rupert  came ; 
(Oh  God  !  while  he  did  hear  the  words, 

What  terrors  shook  his  frame  !) 

"Husband!  husband!  I've  the  ring 

Thou  gavest  to-day  to  me ; 
And  thou  'rt  to  me  for  ever  wed, 

As  I  am  wed  to  thee !" 

And  all  the  night  the  demon  lay 

Cold-chilling  by  his  side, 
And  strain'd  him  with  such  deadly  grasp 

He  thought  he  should  have  died  ' 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


But  when  the  dawn  of  clay  was  near, 

The  horrid  phantom  fled, 
And  left  the  affrighted  youth  to  weep 

By  Isabel  in  bed. 

All,  all  that  day  a  gloomy  cloud 
Was  seen  on  Rupert's  brows ; 

Fair  Isabel  was  likewise  sad, 
But  strove  to  cheer  her  spouse. 

A.nd,  as  the  day  advanced,  he  thought 
Of  coming  night  with  fear : 

A.h  !  that  he  must  with  terror  view 
The  bed  that  should  be  dear ! 

At  length  the  second  night  arrived, 
Again  their  couch  they  press'd  ; 

Poor  Rupert  hoped  that  all  was  o'er, 
And  look'd  for  love  and  rest. 

But  oh  !  when  midnight  came,  again 

The  fiend  was  at  his  side, 
And,  as  it  strain'd  him  in  its  grasp, 

With  howl  exulting  cried, — 

"  Husband  !  husband  !  I  've  the  ring, 
The  ring  thou  gavest  to  me ; 

And  thou  'rt  to  me  for  ever  wed, 
As  I  am  wed  to  thee  !" 

In  agony  of  wild  despair, 

He  started  from  the  bed  ; 
And  thus  to  his  bewilder'd  wife 

The  trembling  Rupert  said  : 

"  Oh  Isabel !  dost  thou  not  see 

A  shape  of  horrors  here, 
That  strains  me  to  the  deadly  kiss, 

And  keeps  me  from  my  dear  ?" 

"  No,  no,  my  love !  my  Rupert,  I 

No  shape  of  horror  see ; 
And  much  I  mourn  the  phantasy 

That  keeps  my  dear  from  me !" 

This  night,  just  like  the  night  before, 

In  terrors  pass'd  away, 
Nor  did  the  demon  vanish  thence 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 

Says  Rupert  then,  "My  Isabel, 

Dear  partner  of  my  woe, 
To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 

This  instant  will  I  go." 

Now  Austin  was  a  reverend  man, 
Who  acted  wondrous  maint, 

Whom  all  the  country  round  believed 
A  devil  or  a  saint ! 

To  Father  Austin's  holy  cave 
Then  Rupert  went  full  straight, 

And  told  him  all,  and  ask'd  him  how 
To  remedy  his  fate. 

The  fathei  heard  the  youth,  and  then 

Retired  awhile  to  pray  ; 
And  having  pray'd  for  half  an  hour, 
Return'd,  and  thus  did  say  : 


"  There  is  a  place  where  four  roads  meet, 

Which  I  will  tell  to  thee  ; 
Be  there  this  eve,  at  fall  of  night, 

And  list  what  thou  shall  see. 

Thou  'It  see  a  group  of  figures  pass 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
Trav'ling  by  torch-light  through  the  roads, 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And  one  that  *s  high  above  the  -rest, 

Terrific  towering  o'er, 
Will  make  thee  know  him  at  a  glance, 

So  I  need  say  no  more. 

To  him  from  me  these  tablets  give, 

They  '11  soon  be  understood  ; 
Thou  need'st  not  fear,  but  give  them  straight, 

I  've  scrawl'd  them  with  my  blood !" 

The  night-fall  came,  and  Rupert  all 

In  pale  amazement  went 
To  where  the  cross-roads  met,  and  he 

.Was  by  the  father  sent. 

And  lo  !  a  group  of  figures  came 

In  strange  disorder'd  crowd, 
Trav'ling  by  torch-light  through  the  road*. 

With  noises  strange  and  loud. 

And  as  the  gloomy  train  advanced, 

Rupert  beheld  from  far 
A  female  form  of  wanton  mien 

Seated  upon  a  car. 

And  Rupert,  as  he  gazed  upon 

The  loosely-vested  dame, 
Thought  of  the  marble  statue's  look, 

For  hers  was  just  the  same. 

Behind  herwalk'd  a  hideous  form, 

With  eye-balls  flashing  death  ; 
Whene'er  he  breath'd,  a  sulphur'd  smoke 

Came  burning  in  his  breath ! 

He  seem'd  the  first  of  all  the  crowd 

Terrific  towering  o'er ; 
"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Rupert,  "  this  is  he, 

And  I  need  ask  no  more." 

Then  slow  he  went,  and  to  this  fiend 

The  tablets  trembling  gave, 
Who  look'd  and  read  them  with  a  yell 

That  would  disturb  the  grave. 

And  when  he  saw  the  blood-scrawl'J  nanm. 

His  eyes  with  fury  shine ; 
"  I  thought,"  cries  he,  "  his  time  was  out, 

But  he  must  soon  be  mine  !" 

Then  darting  at  the  youth  a  look, 

Which  rent  his  soul  with  fear, 
He  went  unto  the  female  fiend, 

And  whisper'd  in  her  ear. 

The  female  fiend  no  sooner  heard. 

Than,  with  reluctant  look, 
The  very  ring  that  Rupert  lost 

She  from  her  finger  took ; 


•92 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And,  giving  it  unto  the  youth, 
With  eyes  that  breath'd  of  hell, 

She  said  in  that  tremendous  voice 
Which  he  remembcr'd  well : 

"  In  Austin's  name  take  back  the  ring, 
The  ring  thou  gavest  to  me ; 

And  thou  *rt  to  me  no  longer  wed, 
Nor  longer  I  to  thee." 

He  took  the  ring,  the  rabble  pass'd, 

He  home  return'd  again  ; 
His  wife  was  then  the  happiest  fair, 

The  happiest  he  of  men. 


SONG. 

ON  THE  BIRTH-DAY  OF  MRS. 

WRITTEN  IN  IRELAND. 

OF  all  my  happiest  hours  of  joy, 
And  even  I  have  had  my  measure, 

When  hearts  were  full  and  every  eye 
Has  kindled  with  the  beams  of  pleasure ! 

Such  hours  as  this  I  ne'er  was  given, 
So  dear  to  friendship,  so  dear  to  blisses ; 

Young  Love  himself  looks  down  from  heaven, 
To  smile  on  such  a  day  as  this  is ! 

Then,  oh  !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let 's  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ! 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember' d  ever ! 

Oh !  banish  every  thought  to-night, 

Which  could  disturb  our  souls'  communion ' 
Abandon'd  thus  to  dear  delight, 

We  '11  e'en  for  once  forget  the  Union ! 

On  that  let  statesmen  try  their  powers, 
And  tremble  o'er  the  rights  they  'd  die  for ; 

The  union  of  the  soul  be  ours, 
And  every  union  else  we  sigh  for ! 

Then,  oh !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let  *s  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ; 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever ! 

In  every  eye  around  I  mark 

The  feelings  of  the  heart  o'erflowing, 
From  every  soul  I  catch  the  spark 

Of  sympathy  in  friendship  glowing ! 

Oh  !  could  such  moments  ever  fly  : 

Oh !  that  we  ne'pr  were  doom'd  to  lose  'em ; 
And  all  as  brigbi  as  Charlotte's  eye, 

And  all  as  pure  as  Charlotte's  bosom. 

But  oh !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
tft  8  teel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ; 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever ! 

For  me,  whate'er  my  span  of  years, 
Whatever  sun  may  light  my  roving ; 


Whether  I  waste  my  life  in  tears, 
Or  live,  as  now,  for  mirth  and  loving  ! 

This  day  shall  come  with  aspect  kind, 
Wherever  Fate  may  cast  your  rover ; 

He  '11  think  of  those  he  left  behind, 
And  drink  a  health  to  bliss  that 's  over  ! 

Then,  oh !  my  friends,  this  hour  improve, 
Let 's  feel  as  if  we  ne'er  could  sever ; 

And  may  the  birth  of  her  we  love 
Be  thus  with  joy  remember'd  ever ! 


TO  A  BOY,  WITH  A  WATCH. 

WRITTEN  FOR  A  FRIEND. 

Is  it  not  sweet,  beloved  youth, 
To  rove  through  erudition's  bowers, 

And  cull  the  golden  fruits  of  truth, 
And  gather  fancy's  brilliant  flowers  ? 

And  is  it  not  more  sweet  than  this 
To  feel  thy  parents'  hearts  approving, 

And  pay  them  back  in  sums  of  bliss 
The  dear,  the  endless  debt  of  loving  ? 

It  must  be  so  to  thee,  my  youth ; 

With  this  idea  toil  is  lighter ; 
This  sweetens  all  the  fruits  of  truth, 

And  makes  the  flowers  of  fancy  brighter! 

The  little  gift  we  send  thee,  boy, 

May  sometimes  teach  thy  soul  to  ponder 

If  indolence  or  syren  joy 

Should  ever  tempt  that  soul  to  wander. 

'T  will  tell  thee  that  the  winged  day 
Can  ne'er  be  chain'd  by  man's  endeavour; 

That  life  and  time  shall  fade  away, 
While  heaven  and  virtue  bloom  for  ever ! 


FRAGMENTS  OF  COLLEGE  EXERCISES 


Nobilitas  sola  est  atque  unica  virtus. 


Juv. 


IARK  those  proud  boasters  of  a  splendid  line, 

-ike  gilded  ruins,  mouldering  while  they  shine, 

low  heavy  sits  that  weight  of  alien  show, 

.ike  martial  helm  upon  an  infant's  brow  ; 

Tiose  borrow'd  splendours,  whose  contrasting  light 

^hrows  back  the  native  shades  in  deeper  night. 

Ask  the  proud  train  who  glory's  shade  pursue, 
vhere  are  the  arts  by  which  that  glory  grew  ? 
Tie  genuine  virtues  that  with  eagle  gaze 
•ought  young  Renown  in  all  her  orient  blaze  ? 
Vhere  is  the  heart  by  chymic  truth  refined,' 
he  exploring  soul,  whose  eye  had  read  mankind  ? 
Inhere  are  the  links  that  twined  with  heavenly  art, 
lis  country's  interest  round  the  patriot's  heart  ? 
rVhere  is  the  tongue  that  scatter'd  words  of  fire? 
he  spirit  breathing  through  the  poet's  lyre  ? 
)o  these  descend  with  all  that  tide  of  fame 
Vhich  vainly  waters  an  unfruitful  name  ? 


LITTLE'S  POEMS. 


293 


Justum  bellum  quibus  necessariutn,  et  pia  anna  quibus 
oulla  nisi  in  urniU  relinquilur  spes.  Licy. 


Is  there  no  call,  no  consecrating  cause, 
Approved  by  Heaven,  ordain'd  by  Nature's  laws, 
Where  justice  flies  the  herald  of  our  way, 
And  truth's  pure  beams  upon  the  banners  play  ? 

Yes,  there's  a  call,  sweet  as  an  angel's  breath 
To  slumbering  babes,  or  innocence  in  death  ; 
And  urgent  as  the  tongue  of  heaven  within, 
When  the  mind's  balance  trembles  upon  sin. 

Oh !  't  is  our  country's  voice,  whose  claims  should 

meet 

An  echo  in  the  soul's  most  deep  retreat  ; 
Along  the  heart's  responding  string  shoVild  run, 
Nor  let  a  tone  there  vibrate — but  the  one  ! 


SONG.' 
MARY,  I  believed  thee  true, 

And  I  was  blest  in  thus  believing; 
But  now  I  mourn  that  e'er  I  knew 

A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving  ! 

Few  have  ever  loved  like  me, — 
Oh !  I  have  loved  thee  too  sincerely ! 

And  few  have  e'er  deceived  like  thee, — 
Alas !  deceived  me  too  severely  ! 

Fare  thee  well !  yet  think  awhile 

On  one  whose  bosom  bleeds  to  doubt  thee ; 
Who  DOW  would  rather  trust  that  smile, 

And  die  with  thee,  than  live  without  thee ! 

Fare  thee  well  !  I'll  think  of  thee, 
Thou  leavest  me  many  a  bitter  token  ; 

For  see,  distracting  woman  !  see, 
My  peace  is  gone,  my  heart  is  broken ! 
Fare  thee  well ! 


SOXG. 

WHY  does  azure  deck  the  sky  ? 

'T  is  to  be  like  thy  eyes  of  blue ; 
Why  is  red  the  rose's  dye  ? 

Because  it  is  thy  blush's  hue. 
All  that's  fair,  by  Love's  decree, 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee ! 

Why  is  falling  snow  so  white, 
But  to  be  like  thy  bosom  fair  ? 

Why  are  solar  beams  so  bright  ? 
That  they  may  seem  thy  golden  hair ! 

All  that 's  bright,  by  Love's  decree, 

Has  been  made  resembling  thee  ! 

Why  are  Nature's  beauties  felt  ? 

Oh !  't  is  thine  in  her  we  see  ! 
Why  has  music  power  to  melt  ? 

Oh  !  because  it  speaks  like  thee. 
All  that 's  sweet,  by  Love's  decree, 
Has  been  made  resembling  thee  ! 


1  I  believe  these  words  wrro  adapted  by  Mr.  Little  to  the 
pathetic  Scotch  air  "  Galla  Water."— E. 


MORALITY. 
A  FAMILIAR  EPISTI.r. 
ADDRESSED  TO   J.  AT — NS — N,  ISQ.  M.  E.  I.  A. 

THOUGH  long  at  school  and  college,  dozing 
On  books  of  rhyme  and  books  of  prosing, 
And  copying  from  their  moral  pagea 
Fine  recipes  for  forming  sages  ; 
Though  long  with  those  divines  at  school, 
Who  think  to  make  us  good  by  rule ; 
Who,  in  methodic  forms  advancing, 
Teaching  morality  like  dancing, 
Tell  us,  for  Heaven  or  money's  sake, 
What  slept  we  are  through  life  to  take  : 
Though  thus,  my  friend,  so  long  employ'd, 
And  so  much  midnight  oil  destroy'd, 
I  must  confess,  my  searches  past, 
I  only  learn'd  to  doubt  at  last. 

I  find  the  doctors  and  the  sages 

Have  diifer'd  in  all  climes  and  ages, 

And  two  in  fifty  scarce  agree 

On  what  is  pure  morality ! 

'T  is  like  the  rainbow's  shifting  zone, 

And  every  vision  makes  its  own. 

The  doctors  of  the  Porch  advise, 
As  modes  of  being  great  and  wise, 
That  we  should  cease  to  own  or  know 
The  luxuries  that  from  feeling  flow 

"  Reason  alone  must  claim  direction. 
And  Apathy's  the  soul's  perfection. 
Like  a  dull  lake  the  heart  must  lie ; 
Nor  passion's  gale  nor  pleasure's  sigh, 
Though  heaven  the  breeze,  the  breath  supplied, 
Must  curl  the  wave  or  swell  the  tide  1" 

Such  was  the  rigid  Zeno's  plan 

To  form  his  philosophic  man  ; 

Such  were  the  modes  he  taught  mankind 

To  weed  the  garden,  of  the  mind  ; 

They  tore  away  some  weeds,  't  is  true. 

But  all  iheJUncers  were  ravish'd  too ! 

Now  listen  to  the  wily  strains, 

Which,  on  Gyrene's  sandy  plains, 

When  Pleasure,  nymph  with  looscn'd  zone, 

Usurp'd  the  philosophic  throne ; 

Hear  what  the  courtly  sage's  tongue* 

To  his  surrounding  pupils  sung : 

"  Pleasure's  the  only  noble  end 
To  which  all  numan  powers  should  tend, 
And  Virtue  gives  her  heavenly  lore, 
But  to  make  Pleasure  please  us  more ! 
Wisdom  and  she  were  both  design'd 
To  make  the  senses  more  refined, 
That  man  might  revel,  free  from  cloying, 
Then  most  a  sage,  when  most  enjoying  !" 


1  The  gentleman  to  whom  thii  poem  i.«  addressed,  i«  the 
author  of  some  esteemed  works,  and  wa»  Mr.  Little's  nvi* 
particular  friend.    I  have  heard  Mr.  Little  very  frequently 
speak  of  him  as  one  in  whom  "  the  element!  were  so  rail- 
ed," that  neither  in  bin  bead  nor  h«art  bad  nature  left  an» 
deficiency. — E. 

2  Aristippus. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


\a  this  morality  ? — Oh,  no ! 
E'en  I  a  wiser  path  could  show. 
The  flower  within  this  vase  confined, 
The  pure,  the  unfading  flower  of  mind, 
Must  not  throw  all  its  sweets  away 
Upon  a  mortal  mould  of  clay ; 
No,  no  !  its  richest  breath  should  rise 
In  virtue's  incense  to  the  skies  ! 

But  thus  it  is,  all  sects,  we  see, 

Have  watch-words  of  morality : 

Some  cry  out  Venus,  others  Jove ; 

Here 't  is  religion,  there  't  is  love  ! 

But  while  they  thus  so  widely  wander, 

While  mystics  dream  and  doctors  ponder, 

And  some,  in  dialectics  firm, 

Seek  virtue  in  a  middle  term ; 

While  thus  they  strive,  in  Heaven's  defiance, 

To  chain  morality  with  science  ; 

This  plain  good  man,  whose  actions  teach 

More  virtue  than  a  sect  can  preach, 

Pursues  his  course,  unsagely  blest, 

His  tutor  whispering  in  his  breast : 

Nor  could  he  act  a  purer  part, 

Though  he  had  Tully  all  by  heart ; 

And  when  he  drops  the  tear  on  woe, 

He  little  knows  or  cares  to  know 

That  Epictetus  blamed  that  tear, 

By  Heaven  approved,  to  virtue  dear ! 

Oh  !  when  I  *ve  seen  the  morning  beam 
Floating  within  the  dimpled  stream, 
While  Nature,  wakening  from  the  night, 
Has  just  put  on  her  robes  of  light, 
Have  I,  with  cold  optician's  gaze, 
Explored  the  doctrine  of  those  rays  ? 
No,  pedants,  I  have  left  to  you 
Nicely  to  separate  hue  from  hue : 
Go,  give  that  moment  up  to  art, 
When  Heavep  and  Nature  claim  the  heart ; 
And  dull  to  au  their  best  attraction, 
Go— measure  angles  of  refraction  ! 


While  I,  in  feeling's  sweet  romance, 
Look  on  each  day-beam  as  a  glance 
From  the  great  eye  of  Him  above, 
Wakening  his  world  with  looks  of  love ! 


THE  NATAL  GENIUS. 

A  DREAM. 
TO  ,   THE   MORNING    OF   HER   BIRTH-DAT 

IN  witching  slumbers  of  the  night, 
I  dream'd  I  was  the  airy  sprite 

That  on  thy  natal  moment  smiled  ; 
And  thought  I  wafted  on  my  wing 
Those  flowers  which  in  Elysium  spring, 

To  crown  my  lovely  mortal  child. 

With  olive-branch  I  bound  thy  head, 
Heart's-ease  along  thy  path  I  shed, 

Which  was  to  bloom  through  all  thy  yean ; 
Nor  yet  did  I  forget  to  bind 
Love's  roses,  with  his  myrtle  twined, 

And  dew'd  by  sympathetic  tears. 

Such  was  the  wild  but  precious  boon, 
Which  Fancy,  at  her  magic  noon, 

Bade  me  to  Nona's  image  pay — 
Oh !  were  I,  love,  thus  doom'd  to  be 
Thy  little  guardian  deity, 

How  blest  around  thy  steps  I  'd  play ! 

Thy  life  should  softly  steal  along, 
Calm  as  some  lonely  shepherd's  song 

That 's  heard  at  distance  in  the  grove ; 
No  cloud  should  ever  shade  thy  sky, 
No  thorns  along  thy  pathway  lie, 

But  all  be  sunshine,  peace,  and  love 

The  wing  of  Time  should  never  brush 
Thy  dewy  lip's  luxuriant  flush, 

To  bid  its  roses  withering  die ; 
Nor  age  itself,  though  dim  and  dark, 
Should  ever  quench  a  single  spark 

That  flashes  from  my  Nona's  eye ! 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


PREFACE. 

Tins  Poem,  somewhat  different  in  form,  and  mucl 
more  limited  in  extent,  was  originally  designed  as  an 
episode  for  a  work  about  which  I  have  been,  at  inter 
vals,  employed  during  the  last  two  years.  Som 
months  since,  however,  I  found  that  my  friend  Lorx 
Byron  had,  by  an  accidental  coincidence,  chosen  th< 
same  subject  for  a  drama ;  and  as  I  could  not  but  fee 
the  disadvantage  of  coming  after  so  formidable  a 
rival,  I  thought  it  best  to  publish  my  humble  sketcl 
immediately,  with  such  alterations  and  additions  as 
had  time  to  make,  and  thus,  by  an  earlier  appearance 
in  the  literary  horizon,  give  myself  the  chance  of  what 
astronomers  call  an  Heliacal  rising,  before  the  lumi- 
nary, in  whose  light  I  was  to  be  lost,  should  appear. 

As  objections  may  be  made,  by  persons  whose 
opinions  I  respect,  to  the  selection  of  a  subject  of 
this  nature  from  the  Scripture,  I  think  it  right  to  re- 
mark that,  in  point  of  fact,  the  subject  is  not  scrip- 
tural— the  notion  upon  which  it  is  founded  (that  of 
the  love  of  angels  for  women)  having  originated  in 
an  erroneous  translation  by  the  LXX,  of  that  verse 
in  the  sixth  chapter  of  Genesis,  upon  which  the  sole 
authority  for  the  fable  rests.1  The  foundation  of  my 
story,  therefore,  has  as  little  to  do  with  Holy  Writ  as 
have  the  dreams  of  the  later  Platonists,  or  the  reve- 
ries of  the  Jewish  divines ;  and,  in  appropriating  the 
notion  thus  to  the  uses  of  poetry,  1  have  done  no 
more  than  establish  it  in  that  region  of  fiction,  to 
which  the  opinions  of  the  most  rational  Fathers,  and 
of  all  other  Christian  theologians,  have  long  ago  con- 
signed it. 

Jn  addition  to  the  fitness  of  the  subject  for  poetry, 
it  struck  me  also  as  capable  of  affording  an  allegori- 
cal medium,  through  which  might  be  shadowed  out 
(as  1  have  endeavoured  to  do  in  the  following  stories,) 
the  fall  of  the  soul  from  its  original  purity — the  loss 
of  light  and  happiness  which  k  suffers,  in  the  pursuit 
of  this  world's  perishable  pleasures — and  the  punish- 
ments, both  from  conscience  and  divine  justice,  with 
which  impurity,  pride,  and  presumptuous  inquiry  into 
the  awful  secrets  of  God,  are  sure  to  be  visited.  The 
beautiful  story  of  Cupid  and  Psyche  owes  its  chief 
cnarm  to  this  sort  of  "veiled  meaning,"  and  it  has 
been  my  wish  (however  I  may  have  failed  in  the  at- 
tempt) to  communicate  the  same  moral  interest  to 
the  following  pages. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 

TWAS  when  the  world  was  in  its  prime, 
When  the  fresh  stars  had  just  begun 

Their  race  of  glory,  and  young  Time 
Told  his  first  birth-days  by  the  sun ; 


1  See  Note. 


When,  in  the  light  of  Nature  a  dawn 

Rejoicing,  men  and  anpels  met 
On  the  high  hill  and  sunny  lawn, — 
Ere  Sorrow  came,  or  Sin  had  drawn 

'Twiit  man  and  Heaven  her  curtain  yet ! 
When  earth  lay  nearer  to  the  skies 

Than  in  these  days  of  crime  and  woe, 
And  mortals  saw,  without  surprise, 
In  the  mid  air,  angelic  eyea 

Gazing  upon  this  world  below. 
Alas,  that  passion  should  profane, 

Even  then,  that  morning  of  the  earth  ! 
That,  sadder  still,  the  fatal  stain 

Should  fall  on  hearts  of  heavenly  birth— 
And  oh,  that  stain  so  dark  should  fall 
From  woman's  love,  most  sad  of  all ! 

One  evening,  in  that  time  of  bloom, 

On  a  hill's  side,  where  hung  the  ray 
Of  sunset,  sleeping  in  perfume, 

Three  noble  youths  conversing  lay ; 
And  as  they  look'd,  from  time  to  time, 

To  the  far  sky,  where  Day-light  furl'd 
His  radiant  wing,  their  bro-.vs  sublime 

Bespoke  them  of  that  distant  world — 
Creatures  of  light,  such  as  still  play, 

Like  motes  in  sunshine,  round  the  Lord, 
And  through  their  infinite  array 
Transmit  each  moment,  night  and  day, 

The  echo  of  his  luminous  word  ! 

Of  heaven  they  spoke,  and,  still  more  oft, 

Of  the  bright  eyes  that  charm'd  them  thence. 
Till,  yielding  gradual  to  the  soft 

And  balmy  evening's  influence — 
The  silent  breathing  of  the  flowers— 

The  melting  light  that  beam'd  above, 
As  on  their  first  fond  erring  hours, 

Each  told  the  story  of  his  love, 
The  history  of  that  hour  unblest, 
When,  like  a  bird,  from  its  high  nest 
Won  down  by  fascinating  eyes, 
For  woman's  smile  he  lost  the  skies. 

The  First  who  spoke  was  one,  with  look 

The  least  colestial  of  the  three — 
A  Spirit  of  light  mould,  that  took 

The  prints  of  earth  most  yieldingly ; 
Who,  even  in  heaven,  was  not  of  those 

Nearest  the  throne,  but  hold  a  place 
Far  off,  among  those  shining  rows 

That  circle»out  through  endless  space. 
And  o'er  whose  wings  the  light  from  H'm 

In  the  great  centre  falls  most  dim. 

Still  fair  and  glorious,  he  but  shone 
Among  those  youths  the  unheavenliest  one- 
A  creature  to  whom  light  remain'd 
From  Eden  still,  but  alter'd,  siain'd. 


296 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  o'er  whose  brow  not  Love  alone 
A  blight  had,  in  his  transit,  sent, 

Bui  other,  earthlier  joys  had  gone, 
And  left  their  foot-prints  as  they  went. 

Sighing,  as  through  the  shadowy  Past, 
Like  a  tomb-searcher,  Memory  ran, 

Lifting  each  shroud  that  time  had  cast 
O'er  buried  hopes,  he  thus  began  :— 

FIRST  ANGEL'S  STORY 


T  was  in  a  land,  that  far  away 

Into  the  golden  orient  lies, 
Where  Nature  knows  not  Night's  delay, 
But  springs  to  meet  her  bridegroom,  Day, 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
One  morn,  on  earthly  mission  sent, 

And  midway  choosing  where  to  light, 
I  saw  from  the  blue  element — 

Oh  beautiful,  but  fatal  sight!— 
One  of  earth's  fairest  womankind, 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  rather  shrined 
In  the  clear  crystal  of  a  brook ; 

Which,  while  it  hid  no  single  gleam 
Of  her  young  beauties,  made  them  look 

More  spirit-like,  as  they  might  seem 

Through  the  dim  shadowing  of  a  dream 

Pausing  in  wonder  I  look'd  on, 

While,  playfully  around  her  breaking 
The  waters,  that  like  diamonds  shone, 

She  mov'd  in  light  of  her  own  making. 
At  length,  as  slowly  I  descended 
To  view  more  near  a  sight  so  splendid, 
The  tremble  of  my  wings  all  o'er 

(For  through  each  plume  I  felt  the  thrill) 
Startled  her,  as  she  reach'd  the  shore     f 

Of  that  small  lake — her  mirror  still — 
Above  whose  brink  she  stood,  like  snow 
When  rosy  with  a  sunset  glow. 
Never  shall  I  forget  those  eyes  ! — 
The  shame,  the  innocent  surprise 
Of  that  bright  face,  when  in  the  ail 
L'plooking,  she  beheld  me  there. 
It  seem'd  as  if  each  thought  and  look, 

And  motion  were  that  minute  chain'd 
Fast  to  the  spot,  such  root  she  took, 
And — like  a  sunflower  by  a  brook, 

With  face  upturn'd — so  still  remain'd ! 

In  pity  to  the  wondering  maid, 

Though  loth  from  such  a  vision  turning, 
Downward  I  bent,  beneath  the  shade 

Of  my  spread  wings,  to  hide  the  burning 
Of  glances  which — I  well  could  feel — 

For  mo,  for  he r,  too  warmly  shone ; 
But  ere  I  could  again  unseal 
My  restless  eyes,  or  even  steal 

One  side-long  look,  the  maid  was  gone— . 
Hid  from  me  in  the  forest  leaves, 

Sudden  as  when,  in  all  her  charms 
Of  full-blown  light,  some  cloud  receives 

The  moon  into  his  dusky  arms 


"T  is  not  in  words  to  tell  the  power, 
The  despotism,  that,  from  that  hour, 
Passion  held  o'er  me — day  and  night 

I  sought  around  each  neighbouring  spot. 
And,  in  the  chase  of  this  sweet  light, 

My  task,  and  Heaven,  and  all  forgot — 
All  but  the  one,  sole,  haunting  dream 
Of  her  I  saw  in  that  bright  stream. 

Nor  was  it  long,  ere  by  her  side 

I  found  myself  whole  happy  d;iys, 
Listening  to  words,  whose  music  vied 

With  our  own  Eden's  seraph  lays, 
When  seraph  lays  are  warm'd  by  love, 
But  wanting  that,  far,  far  above  ! — 
And  looking  into  eyes  where,  blue 
And  beautiful,  like  skies  seen  through 
The  sleeping  wave,  for  me  there  shone 
A  heaven  more  worshipp'd  than  my  own 
Oh  what,  while  I  could  hear  and  see 
Such  words  and  looks,  was  heaven  to  me  ? 
Though  gross  the  air  on  earth  I  drew, 
'T  was  blessed,  while  she  breathed  it  too ; 
Though  dark  the  flowers,  though  dim  the  sky. 
Love  lent  them  light,  while  she  was  nigh. 
Throughout  creation  I  but  knew 
Two  separate  worlds — the  one,  that  small, 

Beloved,  and  consecrated  spot 
Where  Lea  was — the  other,  all 

The  dull  wide  waste,  where  she  was  not ! 

But  vain  my  suit,  my  madness  vain  ; 
Though  gladly,  from  her  eyes  to  gain 
One  earthly  look,  one  stray  desire, 

I  wrould  have  torn  the  wings  that  hung 
Furl'd  at  my  back,  and  o'er  that  Fire 

Unnamed  in  heaven  their  fragments  flung ;- 
'T  was  hopeless  all — pure  and  unmoved 

She  stood,  as  lilies  in  the  light 

Of  the  hot  noon  but  look  more  white ; — 
And  though  she  loved  me,  deeply  loved, 
'T  was  not  as  man,  as  mortal — no, 
Nothing  of  earth  was  in  that  glow — 
She  loved  me  but  as  one,  of  race 
Angelic,  from  that  radiant  place 
She  saw  so  oft  in  dreams — that  heaven, 

To  which  her  prayers  at  morn  were  sent, 
And  on  whose  light  she  gazed  at  even, 
Wishing  for  wings,  that  she  might  go 
Out  of  this  shadowy  world  below, 

To  that  free  glorious  element ! 

Well  I  remember  by  her  side, 

Sitting  at  rosy  eventide, 

When,  turning  to  the  star,  whose  head 

Look'd  out,  as  from  a  bridal  bed, 

At  that  mute  blushing  hour, — she  said, 

"  Oh  !  that  it  were  my  doom  to  be 

The  Spirit  of  yon  beauteous  star, 
Dwelling  up  there  in  purity, 

Alone,  as  all  such  bright  thinps  are  ;— 
My  sole  employ  to  pray  and  shine, 
1     To  light  my  censer  at  the  sun, 
And  fling  its  fire  towards  the  shrine 

Of  Him  in  Heaven,  the  Eternal  One  '." 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


277 


So  innocent  the  maid — so  free 
From  mortal  taint  in  soul  and  frame, 

Whom  't  was  my  crime — my  destiny — 
To  love,  ay,  burn  for,  with  a  flame, 
To  which  earth's  wildest  fires  ;ire  tame. 

Had  you  but  seen  her  look,  when  lirst 

From  my  mad  lips  the  avowal  burst ; 

Not  angry — no — the  feeling  had 

No  touch  of  anger,  but  most  sad — 

It  was  a  sorrow,  calm  as  deep, 

A  mournfulness  that  could  not  weep, 

So  fill'd  the  heart  was  to  the  brink, 

So  fix'd  and  frozen  there — to  think 

That  angel  natures — even  1, 

Whose  love  she  clung  to,  as  the  tie 

Between  her  spirit  and  the  sky — 

Should  full  thus  headlong  from  the  height 
Of  such  pure  giory  into  sin — 

The  sin,  of  all,  most  sure  to  bli<rht, — 

The  sin,  of  all,  that  the  soul's  light 
Is  soonest  lost,  extinguish'd  in  ! 

That,  though  but  frail  and  human,  she 

Should,  like  the  half-bird  of  the  sea, 

Try  with  her  wing  sublimcr  air, 

While  I,  a  creature  born  up  there, 

Should  meet  her,  in  my  fall  from  light, 

From  heaven  and  peace,  and  turn  her  flight 

Downward  again,  with  me  to  drink 

Of  the  salt  tide  of  sin,  and  sink  ! 

That  very  night — my  heart  had  grown 

Impatient  of  its  inward  burning; 
The  term,  too,  of  my  stay  was  flown, 
And  the  bright  Watchers'  near  the  throne 
Already,  if  a  meteor  shone 
Between  them  and  this  nether  zone, 
Thought 't  was  their  herald's  wing  returning : — 
Oft  did  the  potent  spell-word,  given 

To  envoys  hither  from  the  skies, 
To  be  pronounced,  when  back  to  heaven 

It  is  their  hour  or  wish  to  rise, 
Come  to  my  lips  that  fatal  day ; 

And  once,  too,  was  so  nearly  spoken, 
That  my  spread  plumage  in  the  ray 
And  breeze  of  heaven  began  to  play — 

When  my  heart  fail'd — the  spell  was  broken— 
The  word  unfinished  died  away, 
And  my  check'd  plumes,  ready  to  soar, 
Fell  slack  and  lifeless  as  before. 

How  could  I  leave  a  world  which  she, 
Or  lost  or  won,  made  all  to  me, 
Beyond  home — glory — every  thins;  ? 

How  fly,  while  yet  there  was  a  chance, 
A  hope — ay,  even  of  perishing 

Utterly  by  that  fatal  glance  ? 
No  matter  where  my  wanderings  were, 

So  there  she  look'd,  moved,  breathed  about — 
Woe,  ruin,  death,  more  sweet  with  her, 

Than  all  heaven's  proudest  joys  without! 

But,  to  return— that  very  day 

A  feast  was  held,  where,  full  of  mirth, 
Came,  crowding  thick  as  flowers  that  play 


1  Sec  Note. 


In  summer  winds,  the  young  and  gay 

And  beautiful  of  this  l>r;<:ht  earth. 
And  she  was  there,  and  'mid  the  young 

And  beautiful  stood  first,  alone  ; 
Though  on  her  gentle  brow  still  hunij 

The  shadow  I  that  morn  had  thrown — 
The  first  that  ever  shame  or  woe 
Had  cast  upon  its  vernal  snow. 
My  heart  was  madden'd — in  tl'f  flui-h 

Of  the  wild  revel  I  gave  \v;iy 
To  all  that  frantic  mirth — that  rush 

Of  desperate  gaiety,  which  they 
Who  never  felt  how  pain's  excess 
Can  break  out  thus,  think  happiness — 
Sad  mimicry  of  mirth  and  life, 
Whose  flashes  come  but  from  the  strife 
Of  inward  passions — like  the  light 
Struck  out  by  clashing  swords  in  fight. 

Then,  too,  that  juice  of  earth,  the  bane 
And  blessing  of  man's  heart  and  brain — 
That  draught  of  sorcery,  which  brings 
Phantoms  of  fair,  forbidden  things — 
Whose  drops,  like  those  of  rainbows,  smile 

Upon  the  mists  that  circle  man, 
Brightening  not  only  earth,  the  while, 

But  grasping  heaven,  too,  in  their  span  !— 
Then  first  the  fatal  wine-cup  rain'd 

Its  dews  of  darkness  through  my  lips, 
Casting  whate'er  of  light  remain'd 

To  my  lost  soul  into  eclipse, 
And  filling  it  with  such  wild  dreams, 

Such  fantasies  and  wrong  desires, 
As  in  the  absence  of  heaven's  beams, 

Haunt  us  for  ever — like  wild  fires 

That  walk  this  earth,  when  day  retires. 

Now  hear  the  rest — our  banquet  done, 

I  sought  her  in  the  accustom'd  bower, 
Whe.re  late  we  oft,  when  day  was  gone. 
And  the  world  hush'd,  had  met  alone, 

At  the  same  silent  moonlight  hour. 
I  found  her — oh,  so  beautiful ! 

Why,  why  have  hapless  angels  eyes  ? 
Or  why  are  there  not  flowers  to  cull, 

As  fair  as  woman,  in  yon  skies  ? 
Still  did  her  brow,  as  usual,  turn 
To  her  loved  star,  which  scem'd  to  bum 

Purer  than  ever  on  that  night ; 

While  she,  in  looking  grew  more  bright, 
As  though  that  planet  were  an  urn 

From  which  her  eyes  drank  liquid  light. 

There  was  a  virtue  in  that  scene, 

A  spell  of  holiness  around, 
Which  would  have— had  my  brain  not  horn 

Thus  poison'd,  madden'd — held  me  bound. 

As  though  I  stood  on  God's  own  ground. 
Even  as  it  was,  with  soul  all  flame, 

And  lips  that  burn'd  in  their  own  sighs, 
I  stood  to  pa/e,  with  awe  and  shame — 
The  memory  of  Kden  came 

Full  o'er  me  when  I  saw  those  eyes; 
And  though  too  well  each  glance  of  mine 

To  the  pale  shrinking  maiden  proved 
How  far,  alas,  from  aught  diwne, 


MOOKE'S  WORKS. 


Aught  worthy  of  so  pure  a  shrine, 

Was  the  wild  love  with  which  I  loved, 
Yet  must  she,  too,  have  seen — oh  yes, 

'T  is  soothing  but  to  think  she  saw  - 
The  deep,  true,  soul-felt  tenderness, 

The  homage  of  an  angel's  »we 
To  her,  a  mortal,  whoni  pure  love 
Then  pbnpd  above  him — far  above — 
And  ail  that  struggle  to  repress 
A  sinful  spirit's  mad  excess, 
Which  work'd  within  me  at  that  hour, 

When — with  a  voice,  where  Passion  shed 
All  the  deep  sadness  of  her  power, 

Her  melancholy  power — I  said, 
*  Then  be  it  so — if  back  to  heaven 

I  must  unloved,  unpitied  fly, 
Without  one  blest  memorial  given 

To  sooth  me  in  that  lonely  sky — 
One  look  like  those  the  young  and  fond 

Give  when  they're  parting — which  would  be, 
Even  in  remembrance,  far  beyond 

All  heaven  hath  left  of  bliss  for  me  ! 

"  Oh,  but  to  see  that  head  recline 

A  minute  on  this  trembling  arm, 
And  those  mild  eyes  look  up  to  mine 

Without  a  dread,  a  thought  of  harm  ! 
To  meet  but  once  the  thrilling  touch 

Of  lips  that  are  too  fond  to  fear  me — 
Or,  if  that  boon  be  all  too  much, 

Even  thus  to  bring  their  fragrance  near  me ! 
Nay,  shrink  not  so — a  look — a  word — 

Give  them  but  kindly  and  I  fly  ; 
Already,  see,  my  plumes  have  stirr'd, 

And  tremble  for  their  home  on  high. 
Thus  be  our  parting— cheek  to  cheek — 

One  minute's  lapse  will  be  forgiven, 
And  thou,  the  next,  shall  hear  me  speak 

The  spell  that  plumes  my  wing  for  heaven !" 

While  thus  I  spoke,  the  fearful  maid, 
Of  me  and  of  herself  afraid, 
Had  shrinking  stood,  like  flowers  beneath 
The  scorching  of  the  south  wind's  breath ; 
But  when  I  named — alas,  too  well 

I  now  recal,  though  wilder'd  then, — 
Instantly,  when  I  named  the  spell, 

Her  brow,  her  eyes  uprose  again, 
And,  with  an  eagerness  that  spoke 
The  sudden  light  that  o'er  her  broke, 
"  The  spell,  the  spell !— oh,  speak  it  now, 

And  I  will  bless  thee  !"  she  exclaim' d — 

Unknowing  what  I  did,  inflamed, 
And  lost  already,  on  her  brow 

I  stamp'd  one  burning  kiss,  and  nnmed 
The  mystic  word,  till  then  ne'er  told 
To  jving  creature  of  earth's  mould  ! 
Scarce  was  it  said,  when,  quick  as  thought, 
Her  lips  from  mine,  like  echo,  caught 
The  holy  sound — her  hands  and  eyes 
Were  instant  lifted  to  the  skies, 
And  thrice  to  heaven  she  spoke  it  out, 

With  that  triumphant  look  Faith  wears 
When  not  a  cloud  of  fear  or  doubt, 

A  vapour  from  this  vale  of  tears 

Beiween  her  and  her  God  appears  ! 


That  very  moment  her  whole  frame 
All  bright  and  glorified  became, 
And  at  her  back  I  saw  unclose 
Two  wings  magnificent  as  those 

That  sparkle  round  the  eternal  throne, 
Whose  plumes,  as  buoyantly  she  rose 

Above  me,  in  the  moon-beam  shone 
With  a  pure  light,  which — from  its  hue, 
Unknown  upon  this  earth — I  knew 
Was  light  from  Eden,  glistening  through ! 
Most  holy  vision  !  ne'er  before 

Did  aught  so  radiant — since  the  day 
When  Lucifer,  in  falling,  bore 

The  third  of  the  bright  stars  away — * 
Rise,  in  earth's  beauty,  to  repair 
That  loss  of  light  and  glory  there  ! 

But  did  I  tamely  view  her  flight  ? 

Did  not  /,  too,  proclaim  out  thrice 

The  powerful  words  that  were,  that  night«— 
Oh  even  for  Heaven  too  much  delight ! — 

Again  to  bring  us  eyes  to  eyes, 

And  soul  to  soul  in  Paradise  ? 
I  did — I  spoke  it  o'er  and  o'er — 

I  pray'd,  I  wept,  but  all  in  vain ; 
For  me  the  spell  had  power  no  more, 

There  seem'd  around  me  some  dark  chain, 
Which  still,  as  I  essay'd  to  soar, 

Baffled,  alas !  each  wild  endeavour : 
Dead  lay  my  wings,  as  they  have  lain 
Since  that  sad  hour,  and  will  remain — 

So  wills  the  offended  God — for  ever ! 

It  was  to  yonder  star  I  traced 
Her  journey  up  the  illumined  waste — 
That  isle  in  the  blue  firmament, 
To  which  so  oft  her  fancy  went 

In  wishes  and  in  dreams  before, 
And  which  was  now — such,  Purity, 
Thy  blest  reward — ordain'd  to  be 

Her  home  of  light  for  evermorp ! 

Once— or  did  I  but  fancy  so  ?— 
Even  in  her  flight  to  that  fair  sphere, 

"Mid  all  her  spirit's  new-felt  glow, 

A  pitying  look  she  turn'd  below 
On  him  who  stood  in  darkness  here ; 

Him  whom,  perhaps,  if  vain  regret 

Can  dwell  in  heaven,  she  pities  yet ; 

And  oft,  when  looking  to  this  dim 

And  distant  world  remembers  him. 

But  soon  that  passing  dream  was  gone ; 
Farther  and  farther  off  she  shone, 
Till  lessen'd  to  a  point  as  small 

As  are  those  specks  that  yonder  bum— 
Those  vivid  drops  of  light,  that  fall 

The  last  from  day's  exhausted  urn. 
And  when  at  length  she  merged,  afar, 
Into  her  own  immortal  star, 
And  when  at  length  my  straining  sight 

Had  caught  her  wing's  last  fading  ray, 
That  minute  from  my  soul  the  light 

Of  heaven  and  love  both  pass'd  away; 


1  Sen  Notn. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


And  I  forgot  my  home,  my  birth, 

Profaned  ray  spirit,  sunk  my  brow, 
And  revell'd  in  gross  joys  of  earth, 

Till  I  became — what  I  am  now  ! 

The  Spirit  bow'd  his  head  in  shame  ; 

A  shame  that  of  itself  would  tell — 
Were  there  not  even  those  breaks  of  flame, 
Celestial,  through  his  clouded  frame — 

How  grand  the  height  from  which  he  fell ! 
That  holy  Shame  which  ne'er  forgets 

What  clear  renown  it  used  to  wear ; 
Whose  blush  remains,  when  Virtue  sets, 

To  show  her  sunshine  has  been  there. 
Once  only,  while  the  tale  he  told, 
Were  his  eyes  lifted  to  behold 
That  happy  stainless  star,  where  she 
Dwelt  in  her  bower  of  purity  ! 
One  minute  did  he  look,  and  then— 

As  though  he  felt  some  deadly  pain 

From  its  sweet  light  through  heart  and  brain — 
Shrunk  back,  and  never  look'd  again. 


Who  was  the  Second  Spirit  ? — he 

With  the  proud  front  and  piercing  glance — • 

Who  seem'd,  when  viewing  heaven's  expanse, 
As  though  his  far-sent  eye  could  see 
On,  on  into  the  Immensity 
Behind  the  veils  of  that  blue  sky, 
Where  God's  sublimest  secrets  lie? — 
His  wings  the  while,  though  day  was  gone, 

Flashing  with  many  a  various  hue 
Of  light  they  from  themselves  alone, 

Instinct  with  Eden's  brightness,  drew — 
A  breathing  forth  of  beams  at  will, 

Of  living  beams,  which,  though  no  more 
They  kept  their  early  lustre,  still 

Were  such,  when  glittering  out  all  o'er, 

As  mortal«yelids  wink'd  before. 

T  was  Rubi — once  among  the  prime 

And  flower  of  those  bright  creatures,  named 
Spirits  of  Knowledge,1  who  o'er  Time 

And  Space  and  Thought  an  empire  claim'd, 
Second  alone  to  Him,  whose  light — 
Was,  even  to  theirs,  as  day  to  night — 
'Twixt  whom  and  them  was  distance  far 

And  wide,  as  would  the  journey  be 
To  reach  from  any  island  star 

The  vague  shores  of  infinity  ! 
'T  was  Rubi,  in  whose  mournful  eye 
Slept  the  dim  light  of  days  gone  by ; 
Whose  voice,  though  sweet,  fell  on  the  ear 

Like  echoes  in  some  silent  place, 
W'hen  first  awaked  for  many  a  year : 

And  when  he  smiled — if  o'er  his  face 

Smile  ever  shone — 't  was  like  the  grace 
Of  moonlight  rainbows,  fair,  but  wan, 
The  sunny  life,  the  glory  gone. 
Even  o'er  his  pride,  though  still  the  same, 
A  softening  shade  from  sorrow  came  ; 
And  though  at  times  his  spirit  knew 


1  The  Cherubim.— See  Note. 


The  kindlings  of  disdain  and  ire, 
Short  was  the  fitful  glare  they  threw — 
Like  the  last  flashes,  fierce  but  few, 

Seen  through  some  noble  pile  on  fire ! 

Such  was  the  Angel  who  now  broke 

The  silence  that  had  come  o'er  all, 
When  he,  the  Spirit  that  last  spoke, 

Closed  the  sad  history  of  his  fall ; 
And,  while  a  sacred  lustre,  flown 

For  many  a  day,  relum'd  his  cheek, 
And  not  those  sky-tuned  lips  alone, 
But  his  eyes,  brows,  and  tresses,  roll'd 

Like  sunset  waves,  all  seem'd  to  speak — 
Thus  his  eventful  story  told : 

SECOND  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

You  both  remember  well  the  day 

When  unto  Eden's  new-made  bower*, 
He,  whom  all  living  things  obey, 

Summon'd  his  chief  angelic  powers, 
To  witness  the  one  wonder  yet, 

Beyond  man,  angel,  star,  or  sun, 
He  must  achieve,  ere  he  could  set 

His  seal  upon  the  world  as  done—- 
To see  that  last  perfection  rise, 

That  crowning  of  creation's  birth, 
WThen,  'mid  the  worship  and  surprise 
Of  circling  angels,  Woman's  eyes 

First  open'd  upon  heaven  and  earth  ; 
And  from  their  lids  a  thrill  was  sent, 
That  through  each  living  spirit  went, 
Like  first  light  through  the  firmament ! 

Can  you  forget  how  gradual  stole 
The  fresh  awaken'd  breath  of  soul 
Throughout  her  perfect  form — which  seem'd 
To  grow  transparent,  as  there  beam'd 
That  dawn  of  mind  within,  and  caught 
New  loveliness  from  each  new  thought  ? 
Slow  as  o'er  summer  seas  we  trace 

The  progress  of  the  noon-tide  air, 
Dimpling  its  bright  and  silent  face 
Each  minute  into  some  new  grace, 

And  varying  heaven's  reflections  there— 
Or,  like  the  light  of  evening,  stealing 

O'er  some  fair  temple,  which  all  day 
Hath  slept  in  shadow,  slow  revealing 

Its  several  beauties,  ray  by  ray, 
Till  it  shines  out,  a  thing  to  bless, 
All  full  of  light  and  loveliness. 

Can  you  forget  her  blush,  when  round 
Through  Eden's  lone  enchanted  ground 
She  look'd— and  at  the  sea— the  skies— 

And  heard  the  rush  of  many  a  wing, 

By  God's  command  then  vanishing, 
And  saw  the  last  few  angel  eyes, 
Still  lingering — mine  among  the  rest,— 
Reluctant  leaving  scene  so  blest? 
From  that  miraculous  hour,  the  fate 

Of  this  new  glorious  Being  dwelt 
For  ever,  with  a  spell-like  weight. 
Upon  my  spirit- -early,  late, 

Whate'er  I  did,  or  dream'd,  or  felt. 


100 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  thought  of  what  might  yet  befall 
That  splendid  creature  mix'd  with  all.— 
Nor  she  alone,  but  her  whole  race 

Through  ages  yet  to  come — whate'er 

Of  feminine,  and  fond,  and  fair, 
Should  spring  from  that  pure  mind  and  face, 

All  waked  my  soul's  intensest  care  : 
Their  forms,  souls,  feelings,  still  to  me 
God's  most  disturbing  mystery  ! 

It  was  my  doom — even  from  the  first, 
When  summon'd  with  my  cherub  peers, 

To  witness  the  young  vernal  burst 
Of  nature  through  those  blooming  spheres, 

Those  flowers  of  light,  that  sprung  beneath 

The  first  touch  of  the  Eternal's  breath — 

It  was  my  doom  still  to  be  haunted 
By  some  new  wonder,  some  sublime 
And  matchless  work,  that,  for  the  time, 

Held  all  my  soul  enchain'd,  enchanted, 

And  left  me  not  a  thought,  a  dream, 

A  word,  but  on  that  only  theme  ! 

The  wish  to  know — that  endless  thirst, 

Which  even  by  quenching,  is  awaked, 
And  which  becomes  or  bless'd  or  cursed, 

As  is  the  fount  whereat 't  is  slaked — 
Still  urged  me  onward,  with  desire 
Insatiate,  to  explore,  inquire — 
Whate'er  the  wondrous  things  might  be, 
That  waked  each  new  idolatry — 

Their  cause,  aim,  source  from  whence  they 

sprung, 
Their  inmost  powers,  as  though  for  me 

Existence  on  that  knowledge  hung. 

Oh  what  a  vision  were  the  stars, 
When  first  I  saw  them  burn  on  high, 

Rolling  along  like  living  cars 
Of  light,  for  gods  to  journey  by ! 

They  were  my  heart's  first  passion — days 

And  nights,  unwearied,  in  their  rays 

Have  I  hung  floating,  till  each  sense 

Seem'd  full  of  their  bright  influence 

Innocent  joy  !  alas,  how  much 
Of  misery  had  I  shunn'd  below, 

Could  I  have  still  lived  blest  with  such , 
Nor,  proud  and  restless,  burn'd  to  know 
The  knowledge  that  brings  guilt  and  woe  ! 

Often — so  much  I  loved  to  trace 
The  secrets  of  this  starry  PLCC — 
Have  I  at  morn  and  evening  run 
Along  the  lines  o  radiance  spun, 
Ult«j  WP*»S,  between  them  and  the  sun, 
lV«.wistmg  all  the  tangled  ties 
Of  light  into  their  different  dyes — 
fhcn  fleetly  wing'd  I  off,  in  quest 
Of  those,  the  farthest,  loneliest, 
That  watch,  like  winking  sentinels, 
Hie  void,  beyond  which  Chaos  dwells, 
And  there,  with  noiseless  plume,  pursued 
Their  track  through  that  grand  solitude, 
Asking  intently  all  and  each 

What  soul  within  their  radiance  dwelt, 
And  wishing  th»;ir  sweet  light  were  speech, 

That  they  might  tell  me  all  they  felt. 


Nay,  oft  so  passionate  my  chase 
Of  these  resplendent  heirs  of  space, 
Oft  did  I  follow — lest  a  ray 

Should  'scape  me  in  the  farthest  night — 
Some  pilgrim  Comet,  on  his  way 

To  visit  distant  shrines  of  light, 
And  well  remember  how  I  sung 

Exulting  out,  when  on  my  sight 
New  worlds  of  stars,  all  fresh  and  youngfc 
As  if  just  born  of  darkness,  sprung ! 

Such  was  my  pure  ambition  then, 

My  sinless  transport,  night  and  morn; 
Ere  this  still  newer  world  of  men, 

And  that  most  fair  of  stars  was  born, 
Which  I,  in  fatal  hour,  saw  rise 
Among  the  flowers  of  Paradise  ! 
Thenceforth  my  nature  all  was  changed, 

My  heart,  soul,  senses  turn'd  below ; 
And  he,  who  but  so  lately  ranged 

Yon  wonderful  expanse,  where  glow 
Worlds  upon  worlds,  yet  found  his  mind 
Even  in  that  luminous  range  confined, 
Now  blest  the  humblest,  meanest  sod 
Of  the  dark  earth  ^vhere  Woman  trod  ! 
In  vain  my  former  idols  glisten'd 

From  their  far  thrones ;  in  vain  these  ears 
To  the  once  thrilling  music  listen'd, 

That  hymn'd  around  my  favourite  spheres— 
To  earth,  to  earth  each  thought  was  given, 

That  in  this  half-lost  soul  had  birth; 
like  some  high  mount,  whose  head  'a  in  heaven. 

While  its  whole  shadow  rests  on  earth ! 

Nor  was  it  Love,  even  yet,  that  thrall'd 

My  spirit  in  his  burning  ties  ; 
And  less,  still  less  could  it  be  call'd 

That  grosser  flame,  round  which  Love  flies 

Nearer  and  nearer,  till  he  dies — 
No,  it  was  wonder,  such  as  thrill'd 

At  all  God's  works  my  dazzled  sense ; 
The  same  rapt  wonder,  only  fill'd 

With  passion,  more  profound,  intense, — 
A  vehement,  but  wandering  fire, 
Which,  though  nor  love,  nor  yet  desire, 
Though  through  all  womankind  it  took 

Its  range,  as  vague  as  lightnings  run, 
Yet  wanted  but  a  touch,  a  look, 

To  fix  it  burning  upon  One. 

Then,  too,  the  ever-restless  zeal, 

The  insatiate  curiosity 
To  know  what  shapes,  so  fair,  must  feel — 
To  look,  but  once,  beneath  the  seal 

Of  so  much  loveliness,  and  see 
What  souls  belong'd  to  those  bright  eyes — 

Whether,  as  sun-beams  find  their  way 
Into  the  gem  that  hidden  lies, 

Those  looks  could  inward  turn  their  ray, 

To  make  the  soul  as  bright  as  they ! 
All  this  impell'd  my  anxious  chase, 

And  still  the  more  I  saw  and  knew 
Of  Woman's  fond,  weak,  conquering  race, 

The  intenser  still  my  wonder  grew. 

I  had  beheld  their  First,  their  EVE, 
Born  in  that  splendid  Paradise, 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


Which  God  made  solely  to  receive 
The  first  light  of  her  waking  eyes. 

I  had  seen  purest  angels  lean 
In  worship  o'er  her  from  above ; 

And  man — oh  yes,  had  envying  seen 
Proud  man  possess'd  of  all  her  love. 

I  saw  their  happiness,  so  brief^ 
So  exquisite — her  error,  too, 
That  easy  trust,  that  prompt  belief 

In  what  the  warm  heart  wishes  true ; 
That  faith  in  words,  when  kindly  said, 
By  which  the  whole  fond  sex  is  led — 
Mingled  with  (what  I  durst  not  blame, 
For  't  is  my  own)  that  wish  to  know, 
Sad,  fatal  zeal,  so  sure  of  woe ; 
Which,  though  from  Heaven  all  pure  it  came, 
\  et  stain'd,  misused,  brought  sin  and  shame 

On  her,  on  me,  en  all  below ! 
I  had  seen  this ;  had  seen  Man — arm'd 

As  his  soul  is  with  strength  and  sense — 
By  her  first  words  to  ruin  charm'd ; 

His  vaunted  reason's  cold  defence, 
lake  an  ice-barrier  in  the  ray 
Of  melting  summer,  smiled  away ! 
Nay — stranger  yet — spite  of  all  this — 
Though  by  her  counsels  taught  to  err, 
Though  driven  from  Paradise  for  her 
(And  with  her — that,  at  least,  was  bliss,) 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  ere  he  cross'd 

The  threshold  of  that  earthly  heaven, 
Which  by  her  wildering  smile  he  lost — 
So  quickly  was  the  wrong  forgiven — 
Had  I  not  heard  him,  as  he  press'd 
The  frail  fond  trembler,  to  a  breast 
Which  she  had  doom'd  to  sin  and  strife, 
Call  her— think  what— his  Life!  his  Life  !' 
Yes — such  the  love-taught  name — the  first 

That  min'd  Man  to  Woman  gave, 
Even  in  his  out-cast  hour,  when  curst, 
By  her  fond  witchery,  with  that  worst 

And  earliest  boon  of  love — the  grave  ! 
She,  who  brought  death  into  the  world, 
There  stood  before  him,  with  the  light 
Of  their  lost  Paradise  still  bright 
Upon  those  sunny  locks,  that  curl'd 
Down  her  white  shoulders  to  her  feet — 
So  beautiful  in  form,  so  sweet 
In  heart  and  voice,  as  to  redeem 

The  loss,  the  death  of  all  things  dear, 
Except  herself— and  make  it  seem 
Life,  endless  life,  while  she  was  near ! 

Could  I  help  wondering  at  a  creature, 
Enchanted  round  with  spells  so  strong — 

One,  to  whose  every  thought,  word,  feature, 
In  joy  and  woe,  through  right  and  wrong, 

Such  sweet  omnipotence  Heaven  gave, 

To  bless  or  ruin,  curse  or  save  ? 

Nor  did  the  marvel  cease  with  her — 
New  Eves  in  all  her  daughters  came, 


1  Chavah,  the  name  by  which  Adam  called  the  woman 
after  thair  transgression,  means  "Life." — See  Note. 


As  strong  to  charm,  as  weak  to  err, 
As  sure  of  man  through  praise  and  blame, 
Whate'er  they  brought  him,  pride  or  shame. 

Their  still  unreasoning  worshipper — 
And,  wheresoe'er  they  smiled,  the  same 
Enchantresses  of  soul  and  frame, 

Into  whose  hands,  from  first  to  last, 
This  world,  with  all  its  destinies, 

Devotedly  by  Heaven  seems  cast, 
To  save  or  damn  it  as  they  please ! 

Oh,  't  is  not  to  be  told  how  long, 

How  restlessly  I  sigh'd  to  find 
Some  one,  from  out  that  shining  throng, 

Some  abstract  of  the  form  and  mind 
Of  the  whole  matchless  sex,  from  which, 

In  my  own  i  rms  teheld,  possess'd, 
I  might  learn  all  the  powers  to  witch. 

To  warm,  and  (if  my  fate  unbless'd 

Would  have  it)  ruin,  of  the  rest ! 
Into  whose  inward  soul  and  sense 

I  might  descend,  as  doth  the  bee 
Into  the  flower's  deep  heart,  and  thence 

Rule,  in  all  its  purity, 
The  prime,  the  quintessence,  the  whole 
Of  wondrous  Woman's  frame  and  soul ! 

At  length,  my  burning  wish,  my  prayer, — 
(For  such — oh  what  will  tongues  not  dare, 
When  hearts  go  wrong? — this  lip  preferr'd)— 
At  length  my  ominous  prayer  was  heard— 
But  whether  heard  in  heaven  or  hell, 
Listen — and  you  will  know  too  welL 

There  was  a  maid,  of  all  who  move 

Like  visions  o'er  this  orb,  most  fit 
To  be  a  bright  young  angel's  love, 

Herself  so  bright,  so  exquisite  ! 
The  pride,  too,  of  her  step,  as  light 

Along  the  unconscious  earth  she  went, 
Seem'd  that  of  one,  born  with  a  right 

To  walk  some  hcavenlicr  element, 
And  tread  in  places  where  her  feet 
A  star  at  every  step  should  meet. 
'T  was  not  alone  that  loveliness 

By  which  the  wilder'd  sense  is  caught — 
Of  lips,  whose  very  breath  could  bless — 

Of  playful  blushes,  that  scem'd  nought 

But  luminous  escapes  of  thought — 
Of  eyes  that,  when  by  anger  stirr'd, 
Were  fire  itself,  but,  at  a  word 

Of  tenderness,  all  soft  became 
As  though  they  could,  like  the  sun's  bird, 

Dissolve  away  in  their  own  flame — 
Of  form,  as  pliant  as  the  shoots 

Of  a  young  tree,  in  vernal  flower ; 
Yet  round  and  glowing  as  the  fruits 

That  drop  from  it  in  summer's  hour- 
'T  was  not  alone  this  loveliness 

That  falls  to  loveliest  woman's  share, 

Though,  even  here,  her  form  could  spare 
From  its  own  beauty's  rich  esfcess 

Enough  to  make  all  others  fair — 
But 't  was  the  .Mind,  sparkling  about 
Through  her  whole  frame — the  soul,  brought  ow 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  light  each  charm,  yet  independent 

Of  what  it  lighted,  as  the  sun, 
That  shines  on  flowers,  would  be  resplendent 

Were  there  no  flowers  to  shine  upon — 
"T  was  this,  all  this,  in  one  combined, 

The  unnumber'd  looks  and  arts  that  form 
The  glory  of  young  woman-kind 

Taken  in  their  first  fusion,  warm, 

Ere  time  had  chill'd  a  single  charm, 
And  stamp'd  with  such  a  seal  of  Mind, 

AM  gave  to  beauties,  that  might  be 
Too  sensual  else,  too  unrefined, 

The  impress  of  divinity ! 
T  was  this — a  union,  which  the  hand 

Of  Nature  kept  for  her  alone, 
Of  every  thing  most  playful,  bland, 
Voluptuous,  spiritual,  grand, 

In  angel-natures  and  her  own — 
Oh  this  it  was  that  drew  me  nigh 
One,  who  seem'd  kin  to  Heaven  as  I, 
My  bright  twin  sister  of  the  sky — 
One,  in  whose  love,  I  felt,  were  given 

The  mixed  delights  of  either  sphere, 
All  that  the  spirit  seeks  in  heaven, 

And  all  the  senses  burn  for  here ! 

Had  we — but  hold — hear  every  part 

Of  our  sad  tale — spite  of  the  pain 
Remembrance  gives,  when  the  fixed  dart 

Is  stirr'd  thus  in  the  wound  again — 
Hear  every  step,  so  full  of  bliss, 

And  yet  so  ruinous,  that  led 
Down  to  the  last  dark  precipice, 

Where  perish'd  both— the  fall'n,  the  dead ! 

From  the  first  hour  she  caught  my  sight, 
I  never  left  her — day  and  night 
Hovering  unseen  around  her  way, 

And  'mid  her  loneliest  musings  near, 
I  soon  could  track  each  thought  that  lay, 

Gleaming  within  her  heart,  as  clear 

As  pebbles  within  brooks  appear ; 
And  there,  among  the  countless  things 

That  keep  young  hearts  for  ever  glowing, 
Vague  wishes,  fond  imaginings, 

Love-dreams,  as  yet  no  object  knowing- 
Light,  winged  hopes,  that  come  when  bid, 

And  rainbow  joys  that  end  in  weeping, 
And  passions,  among  pure  thoughts  hid, 

Like  serpents  under  flow'rets  sleeping — 
'Mong  all  these  feelings — felt  where'er 
Young  hearts  are  beating — I  saw  there 
Proud  thoughts,  aspirings  high — beyond 
Whate'er  yet  dwelt  in  soul  so  fond — 
Glimpses  of  glory,  far  away 

Into  the  bright  vague  future  given, 
And  fancies,  free  and  grand,  whose  play 

Like  that  of  eaglets,  is  near  heaven  ! 
rVith  this,  too — what  a  soul  and  heart 

To  (all  beneath  the  tempter's  art  ! 

A  zeal  for  knowledge,  such  as  ne'er 
Enshrined  itself  in  form  so  fair, 
Sinco  that  first  fatal  hour,  when  EVK, 

With  every  fruit  of  Eden  bless'd, 
Savp  only  one,  rather  than  leave 

Tbn  one  unknown,  lost  all  the  rest 


It  was  in  dreams  that  first  I  stole 

With  gentle  mastery  o'er  her  mind — 
In  that  rich  twilight  of  the  soul, 

When  Reason's  beam,  half  hid  behind 
The  clouds  of  sense,  obscurely  gilds 
Each  shadowy  shape  that  Fancy  builds — 
'T  was  then,  by  that  soft  light,  I  brought 

Vague,  glimmering  visions  to  her  view — 
Catches  of  radiance,  lost  when  caught, 
Bright  labyrinths,  that  led  to  nought, 

And  vistas  with  a  void  seen  through — 
Dwellings  of  bliss,  that  opening  shone, 

Then  closed,  dissolved,  and  left  no  trace—- 
All that,  in  short,  could  tempt  Hope  on, 

But  give  her  wing  no  resting-place ; 
Myself  the  while,  with  brow,  as  yet, 
Pure  as  the  young  moon's  coronet, 
Through  every  dream  still  in  her  sight, 

The  enchanter  of  each  mocking  scene, 
Who  gave  the  hope,  then  brought  the  blight, 
Who  said  "  Behold  yon  world  of  light," 

Then  sudden  dropp'd  a  veil  between  ! 

At  length,  when  I  perceived  each  thought, 
Waking  or  sleeping,  fis'd  on  nought 

But  these  illusive  scenes,  and  me, 
The  phantom,  who  thus  came  and  went, 
In  half  revealments,  only  meant 

To  madden  curiosity — 
When  by  such  various  arts  I  found 
Her  fancy  to  its  utmost  wound, 
One  night — t1  was  in  a  holy  spot, 
Which  she  for  prayer  had  chosen — a  grot 
Of  purest  marble,  built  below 
Her  garden  beds,  through  which  a  glow 
From  lamps  invisible  then  stole, 

Brightly  pervading  all  the  place — 
Like  that  mysterious  light,  the  soul, 

Itself  unseen,  sheds  through  the  face — 
There,  at  her  altar  while  she  knelt, 
And  all  that  woman  ever  felt, 

When  God  and  man  both  claim'd  her  sighs 
Every  warm  thought  that  ever  dwelt, 

Like  summer  clouds,  twist  earth  and  skiet. 

Too  pure  to  fall,  too  gross  to  rise, 

Spoke  in  her  gestures,  tones,  and  eyes, 
Thus,  by  the  tender  light,  which  lay 
Dissolving  round,  as  if  its  ray 
Was  breathed  from  her,  I  heard  her  say  j— 

"  Oh,  idol  of  my  dreams !  whate'er 

Thy  nature  be — human,  divine, 
Or  but  half  heavenly — still  too  fair, 

Too  heavenly  to  be  ever  mine ! 

"  Wonderful  Spirit,  who  dost  make 

Slumber  so  lovely  that  it  seems 
No  longer  life  to  live  awake, 

Since  heaven  itself  descends  in  dreams. 

"  Why  do  I  ever  lose  thee  ? — why — 

When  on  thy  realms  and  thee  I  gaze- 
Still  drops  that  veil,  which  I  could  die, 
Oh  gladly,  but  one  hour  to  raise  ? 

"  Long  ere  such  miracles  as  thou 

And  thine  came  o'er  my  thoughts,  a  thinT 


THE  LOVES  Ot  THE  ANGELS. 


303 


For  light  was  in  this  soul,  which  now 
Thy  looks  have  into  passion  nursed. 

"  There  's  nothing  bright  above,  below, 
In  sky — earth — ocean,  that  this  breast 

Doth  not  intensely  burn  to  know, 
And  thee,  thee,  thee,  o'er  all  the  rest ! 

tt  Then  come,  oh  Spirit,  from  behind 
The  curtains  of  thy  radiant  home, 

Whether  thou  wouldst  as  God  be  shrined, 
Or  loved  and  clasp'd  as  mortal,  come  i 

"  Bring  all  thy  dazzling  wonders  here, 
That  I  may  waking  know  and  see — 

Or  waft  me  hence  to  thy  own  sphere, 
Thy  heaven  or — ay,  even  that  with  thee ! 

tt  Demon  or  God,  who  hold'st  the  book 
Of  knowledge  spread  beneath  thine  eye, 

Give  me,  with  thee,  but  one  bright  look 
Into  its  leaves,  and  let  me  die  ! 

"  By  those  ethereal  wings,  whose  way 
Lies  through  an  element,  so  fraught 

With  floating  Mind,  that,  as  they  play, 
Their  every  movement  is  a  thought ! 

"  By  that  most  precious  hair,  between 
Whose  golden  clusters  the  sweet  wind 

Of  Paradise  so  late  hath  been, 
And  left  its  fragrant  soul  behind  ! 

"  By  those  impassion'd  eyes,  that  melt 
Their  light  into  the  inmost  heart, 

Like  sunset  in  the  waters,  felt 
As  molten  fire  through  every  part, — 

w  I  do  implore  thee,  oh  most  bright 
And  worshipp'd  Spirit,  shine  but  o'er 

My  waking  wondering  eyes  this  night, 
This  one  bless'd  night — I  ask  no  more  !' 

Exhausted,  breathless,  as  she  said 
These  burning  words,  her  languid  head 
Upon  the  altar's  steps  she  cast, 
As  if  that  brain-throb  were  its  last — 
Till,  startled  by  the  breathing,  nigh, 
Of  lips,  that  echoed  back  her  sigh, 
Sudden  her  brow  again  she  raised, 

And  there,  just  lighted  on  the  shrine, 
Beheld  me — not  as  1  had  blnzed 

Around  her,  full  of  light  divine, 
In  her  late  dreams,  but  soften'd  down 
Into  more  mortal  grace — my  crown 
Of  flowers,  too  radiant  for  this  world, 

Lcfl  hanging  on  yon  starry  steep  ; 
My  wings  shut  up,  like  banners  furl'd, 

When  I 'care  h;ith  put  their  pomp  to  sleep, 

Or  like  autumnal  clouds,  that  keep 
Their  lightnings  sheathed,  rather  than  mar 
The  dawning  hour  of  some  young  star — 
And  nothing  left  but  what  beseem'd 

The  accessible,  though  glorious  mate 
Of  mortal  woman — whose  eves  beam'd 

Back  upon  her's,  as  passionate  : 
Whose  ready  heart  brought  flame  for  flame, 

Whose  sin,  -vhose  madness  was  the  same, 


And  whose  soul  lost,  in  that  one  hour, 
For  her  and  for  her  love — oh  more 

Of  Heaven's  light  than  even  trie  power 
Of  Heaven  itself  could  now  restore  ! 

And  yet  the  hour  ! 

The  Spirit  here 

Stopped  in  his  utterance,  as  if  word* 
Gave  way  beneath  the  wild  career 

Of  his  then  rushing  thoughts — bke  chords, 
Midway  in  some  enthusiast's  song, 
Breaking  beneath  a  touch  too  strong-  — 
While  the  clench'd  hand  upon  the  brow 
Told  how  remembrance  throbb'd  there  now  ! 
But  soon  't  was  o'er — that  casual  blaze 
From  the  sunk  fire  of  other  days, 
That  relic  of  the  flame,  whose  burning 

Had  been  too  fierce  to  be  relumed, 
Soon  pass'd  away,  and  the  youth,  turning 

To  his  bright  listeners,  thus  resumed : — 

Days,  months  elapsed,  and,  though  what  most 

On  earth  I  sigh'd  for  was  mine,  all, — 
Yet — was  I  happy  ?  God,  thou  know'st 
Howe'er  they  smile,  and  feign,  and  boast, 

What  happiness  is  theirs,  who  fall ! 
'T  was  bitterest  anguish — made  more  keen 

Even  by  the  love,  the  bliss,  between 
Whose  throbs  it  came,  like  gleams  of  hell 

In  agonizing  cross-light  given 
Athwart  the  glimpses  they  who  dwell 

In  purgatory  catch  of  heaven  ! 
The  only  feeling  that  to  me 

Seem'd  joy,  or  rather  my  sole  rest 
From  aching  misery,  was  to  see 

My  young,  proud,  blooming  LILIS  bless'd 
She,  the  fair  fountain  of  all  ill 

To  my  lost  soul — whom  yet  its  thirst 

Fervidly  panted  after  still, 

And  found  the  charm  fresh  as  at  first ! — 
To  see  her  happy — to  reflect 

Whatever  beams  still  round  me  play'd 
Of  former  pride,  of  glory  wreck'd, 

On  her,  my  Moon,  whose  light  I  made, 

And  whose  soul  worshipp'd  even  my  shad*- 
This  was,  I  own,  enjoyment — this 
My  sole,  last  lingering  glimpse  of  bliss. 
And  proud  she  was,  bright  creature  ! — proud, 

Beyond  what  even  most  queenly  stirs 
In  woman's  heart,  nor  would  have  bow'd 

That  beautiful  young  brow  of  hen 
To  aught  beneath  the  First  above, 
So  high  she  deem'd  her  Cherub's  love '. 

Then,  too,  that  passion,  hourly  growing 

Stronger  and  stronger — to  which  even 
Her  love,  at  times,  gave  way — of  knowing 

Every  thing  strange  in  earth  and  heaven  ; 
Not  only  what  God  loves  to  show, 
But  all  that  He  hath  scal'd  below 
In  darkness  for  man  not  to  know- 
Even  this  desire,  alas,  ill-starr'd 

And  fatal  as  it  was,  I  sought 
To  feed  each  minute,  and  unbarr'd 

Such  realms  of  wonder  on  her  the'Jgtt, 


304 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


As  ne'er  till  then,  had  let  their  light 

Escape  on  any  mortal's  sight ! 

In  the  deep  earth — beneath  the  sea — 

Through  caves  of  fire  —through  wilds  of  air — 
Wherever  sleeping  3fybtery 

Had  spread  her  curtain,  we  were  there — 
Love  still  beside  us,  as  we  went, 
At  home  in  each  new  element, 

And  sure  of  worship  every  where  ! 

Then  first  was  Nature  taught  to  lay 

The  wealth  of  all  her  kingdoms  down 
At  woman's  worshipp'd  feet,  and  say, 

"  Bright  creature,  this  is  all  thine  own  !** 
Then  first  were  diamonds  caught — like  eyes 
Shining  in  darkness — by  surprise, 
And  made  to  light  the  conquering  way 
Of  proud  young  Beauty  with  their  ray. 
Then,  too,  the  pearl  from  out  its  shell, 

Unsightly  in  the  sunless  sea 
(As  't  were  a  spirit  forced  to  dwell 

In  form  unlovely,)  was  set  free, 
And  round  the  neck  of  woman  threw 
A  light  it  lent  and  borrow'd  too. 
For  never  did  this  maid — whate'er 

The  ambition  of  the  hour — forget 
Her  sex's  pride  in  being  fair, 
Nor  that  adornment,  tasteful,  rare, 

Which  makes  the  mighty  magnet,  set 

In  Woman's  form,  more  mighty  yet. 
Nor  was  there  aught  within  the  range 

Of  my  swift  wing  in  sea  or  air, 
Of  beautiful,  or  grand,  or  strange, 
That,  quickly  as  her  wish  could  change, 

I  did  not  seek  with  such  fond  care, 
That  when  I  've  seen  her  look  above 

At  some  bright  star  admiringly, 
I  've  said,  "  nay,  look  not  there,  my  love, 

Alas,  I  cannot  give  it  thee !" 

But  not  alone  the  wonders  found 

Through  Nature's  realm — the  unveil' d,  material, 
Visible  glories  that  hang  round, 
lake  lights,  through  her  enchanted  ground — 

But  whatsoe'er  unseen,  ethereal, 
Dwells  far  away  from  human  sense, 
Wrapp'd  in  its  own  intelligence— 
The  mystery  of  that  Fountain-head, 

From  which  all  vital  spirit  runs, 
AH  breath  of  life  where'er  't  is  shed, 

Through  men  or  angels,  flowers  or  suns — 
The  workings  of  the  Almighty  Mind, 
When  first  o'er  Chaos  he  design'd 
The  outlines  of  this  world;  and  through 

That  spread  of  darkness — like  the  bow, 
Call'd  out  of  rain-clouds,  hue  by  hue — 

Saw  the  grand  gradual  picture  grow  !— 
The  covenant  with  human  kind 

Which  God  has  made— the  chains  of  Fate 
He  round  himself  and  them  hath  twined, 

Till  his  high  task  he  consummate — 

Till  good  from  evil,  love  from  hate, 
Shall  be  work'd  out  through  sin  and  pain, 
And  Fate  shal!  loose  her  iron  chain, 
And  all  be  free,  be  bright  again ! 


Such  were  the  deep-drawn  mysteries, 

And  some,  perhaps,  even  more  profound, 
More  wildering  to  the  mind  than  these, 

Which — far  as  woman's  thought  could  sound 
i 'Or  a  fallen  outlaw'd  spirit  reach — 
She  dared  to  learn,  and  I  to  teach. 
Till — fill'd  with  such  unearthly  lore, 

And  mingling  the  pure  light  it  brings 
With  much  that  Fancy  had,  before, 

Shed  in  false  tinted  glimmerings — 
The  enthusiast  girl  spoke  out,  as  one, 

Inspired,  among  her  own  dark  race, 
Who  from  their  altars,  in  the  sun 
Left  standing  half  adorn'd,  would  run 

To  gaze  upon  her  holier  face. 
And,  though  but  wild  the  things  she  spoke, 
Yet  'mid  that  play  of  error's  smoke 

Into  fair  shapes  by  fancy  curl'd, 
Some  gleams  of  pure  religion  broke — 
Glimpses  that  have  not  yet  awoke, 

But  startled  the  still  dreaming  world  ! 
Oh  !  many  a  truth,  remote,  sublime, 

Which  God  would  from  the  minds  of  men 
Have  kept  conceal'd,  till  his  own  time, 

Stole  out  in  these  revealments  then — 
Revealments  dim,  that  have  fore-run, 
By  ages,  the  bright,  Saving  One ! ' 
Like  that  imperfect  dawn,  or  light 

Escaping  from  the  Zodiac's  signs, 
Which  makes  the  doubtful  East  half  bright 

Before  the  real  morning  shines  ! 

Thus  did  some  moons  of  bliss  go  by — 

Of  bliss  to  her,  who  saw  but  love 
And  knowledge  throughout  earth  and  sky ; 
To  whose  enamour'd  soul  and  eye, 
I  seem'd,  as  is  the  sun  on  high, 

The  light  of  all  below,  above, 
The  spirit  of  sea,  land,  and  air, 
Whose  influence,  felt  every  where, 
Spread  from  its  centre,  her  own  heart, 
Even  to  the  world's  extremest  part — 
While  through  that  world  her  reinless  mind 

Had  now  career'd  so  fast  and  far, 
That  earth  itself  seem'd  left  behind, 
And  her  proud  fancy  unconfined, 

Already  saw  heaven's  gates  a-jar ! 

Happy  enthusiast !  still,  oh  still, 
Spite  of  my  own  heart's  mortal  chill, 
Spite  of  that  double-fronted  sorrow, 

Which  looks  at  once  before  and  back, 
Beholds  the  yesterday,  the  morrow, 

And  sees  both  comfortless,  both  black — 
Spite  of  all  this,  I  could  have  still 
In  her  delight  forgot  all  ill ; 
Or,  if  pain  would  not  be  forgot, 
At  least  have  borne  and  murmur'd  not. 
When  thoughts  of  an  offended  Heaven, 

Of  sinfulness,  which  I — even  I, 


1  Tt  is  the  opinion  of  some  of  the  Fathers,  that  the  know- 
u)<»c  which  the  heathens  possessor!  of  the  Providence  of 
'od,  a  future  state,  and  other  sublime  doctrines  of  Chrig- 

anity,  was  derived  from  the  premp/.ure  revelations  of  these 
alien  angels  to  the  women  of  eartt.— See  Note 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


Xtt 


While  down  its  steep  most  headlong  drivcn,- 
Well  knew  could  never  be  forgiven, 

Came  o'er  me  with  an  agony 
Beyond  all  reach  of  mortal  woe, — 
A  torture  kept  for  those  who  know, 
Know  every  thing,  and,  worst  of  all, 
Know  and  love  virtue  while  they  fall ! — 
Even  then  her  presence  had  the  power 

To  sooth,  to  warm, — nay,  even  to  bless— 
If  ever  bliss  could  graft  its  flower 
On  stern  so  full  of  bitterness — 
Even  then  her  glorious  smile  to  me 

Brought  warmth  and  radiance,  if  not  balm, 
Like  moonlight  on  a  troubled  sea, 

Brightening  the  storm  it  cannot  calm. 
Oft,  too,  when  that  disheartening  fear, 
Which  all  who  love  beneath  the  sky 
Feel,  when  they  gaze  on  what  is  dear — 
The  dreadful  thought  that  it  must  die  ! 
That  desolating  thought,  which  comes 
Into  men's  happiest  hours  and  homes  ; 
Whose  melancholy  boding  flings 
Death's  shadow  o'er  the  brightest  things, 
Sicklies  the  infant's  bloom,  and  spreads 
The  grave  beneath  young  lovers'  heads  ! 
This  fear,  so  sad  to  all — to  me 

Most  full  of  sadness,  from  the  thought 
That  I  must  still  live  on,  when  she 
Would,  like  the  snow  that  on  the  sea 
Fell  yesterday,  in  vain  be  sought — 
That  Heaven  to  me  the  final  seal 

Of  all  earth's  sorrow  would  deny, 
And  I  eternally  must  feel 

The  death-pang,  without  power  to  die  ! 
Even  this,  her  fond  endearments — fond 
As  ever  twisted  the  sweet  bond 
'Twixt  heart  and  heart — could  charm  away: 
Before  her  look  no  clouds  would  stay, 
Or,  if  they  did,  their  gloom  was  gone, 
Their  darkness  put  a  glory  on ! 
There  seem'd  a  freshness  in  her  breath. 
Beyond  the  reach,  the  power  of  death  ! 
And  then,  her  voice — oh,  who  could  doubt 
That 't  would  for  ever  thus  breathe  out 
A  music,  like  the  harmony 
Of  the  tuned  orbs,  too  sweet  to  die ! 
While  in  her  lip's  awakening  touch 
There  thrill'd  a  life  ambrosial — such 
As  mantles  in  the  fruit  steep'd  through 
Witt)  Eden's  most  delicious  dew — 
Till  I  could  almost  think,  though  known 
And  loved  as  human,  they  had  grown 
By  bliss,  celestial  as  my  own  ! 
But  't  is  not,  't  is  not  for  the  wrong, 
The  guilty,  to  be  happy  long; 
And  she,  too,  now,  had  stink  within 
The  shadow  of  a  tempter's  sin — 
Shadow  of  death,  whose  withering  frown 
Kills  whatsoe'er  it  lights  upon — 
Too  deep  for  even  her  soul  to  shun 
The  desolation  it  brings  down  ! 
Listen,  and  if  a  tear  there  be        . 
Left  in  yi.ur  hearts,  weep  it  for  me 

'T  was  on  the  evening  of  a  day, 
Which  we  in  love  had  drcam'd  away  { 

SQ 


In  that  same  garden,  where,  beneath 
The  silent  earth,  stripp'd  of  my  wreath, 
And  furling  up  those  wings,  whose  light 
For  mortal  gaze  were  else  too  bright, 
I  first  had  stood  before  her  sight ; 
And  found  myself— oh,  ei 

Which  even  in  pain  I  ne'er  forget — 
Worshipp'd  as  only  God  should  be, 

And  loved  as  never  man  was  yet ! 
In  that  same  garden  we  were  now, 

Thoughtfully  side  by  side  reclining, 
Her  eyes  turn'd  upward,  and  her  brow 

With  its  own  silent  fancies  shining. 
It  was  an  evening  bright  and  still 

As  ever  blush'd  on  wave  or  bower, 
Smiling  from  Heaven,  as  if  nought  ill 

Could  happen  in  so  sweet  an  hour. 
Yet,  I  remember,  both  grew  sad 

In  looking  .it  that  light — even  she, 
Of  heart  so  fresh,  and  brow  so  glad, 

Felt  the  mute  hour's  solemnity, 
And  thought  she  saw,  in  that  repose, 

The  death-hour  not  alone  of  light, 
But  of  this  whole  fair  world — the  close 

Of  all  things  beautiful  and  bright — 
The  last  grand  sun-set,  in  whose  ray 
Nature  herself  died  calm  away  ! 

At  length,  as  if  some  thought,  awaking 

Suddenly,  sprung  within  her  breast- 
lake  a  young  bird,  when  day-light  breaking 

Startles  him  from  his  dreamy  nest — 
She  turn'd  upon  me  her  dark  eyes, 

Dilated  into  that  full  shape 
They  took  in  joy,  reproach,  surprise, 

As  if  to  let  more  soul  escape, 
And,  playfully  as  on  my  head 
Her  white  hand  rested,  smiled  and  said  : — 

"  I  had,  last  night,  a  dream  of  thee, 
Resembling  those  divine  ones,  given, 

Like  preludes  to  sweet  minsirdsy, 
Before  thou  earnest,  thyself,  from  heaven 

The  same  rich  wreath  was  on  thy  brow, 
Dazzling  as  if  of  star-light  made;     t 

And  these  wings,  lying  darkly  now, 

Like  meteors  round  thce  flash'd  and  play'd. 

All  bright  as  in  those  happy  drcama 
Thou  stond'st,  a  creature  to  adore 

No  less  than  love,  breathing  out  beams, 
As  flowers  do  fragrance,  at  each  pore ! 

Sudden  I  felt  thee  draw  me  near 
To  thy  pure  heart,  where,  fondly  placed, 

I  seem'd  within  the  atmosphere 
Of  that  exhaling  light  embraced  ; 

And,  as  ihon  hold'st  me  there,  the  flame 
Pass'd  from  thy  heavenly  soul  to  mine, 

Till — <>h,  too  blissful — I  became, 
Like  thcc,  all  spirit,  all  divine. 

Say,  why  did  dream  so  bright  come  o'er  UMJ 
If,  now  I  wake,  't  is  faded,  gone? 

When  will  my  Cherub  shine  before  me 
Thus  radiant,  as  in  heaven  he  shone  t 


- 


MOORE  S  WORKS. 


"  When  shall  I,  waking,  be  allow'd 
To  gaze  upon  those  perfect  charms, 

Ami  hold  thee  thus,  without  a  cloud, 
A  chill  of  eanh,  within  my  arms  ? 

"  Oh  what  a  pride  to  say— this,  this 

Is  my  own  Angel — all  divine, 
And  pure,  and  dazzling  as  he  is, 

And  fresh  from  heaven,  he  's  mine,  he  'a  mine ! 

"  Think'st  thon,  were  LILIS  in  thy  place, 

A  creature  of  yon  lofty  skies, 
She  would  have  hid  one  single  grace, 

One  glory  from  her  lover's  eyes  ? 

"  No,  no— then,  if  thou  lov'st  like  me, 
Shine  out,  young  Spirit,  in  the  blaze 

Of  thy  most  proud  divinity, 
Nor  think  thou' It  wound  this  mortal  gaze.. 

"  Too  long  have  I  look'd  doating  on 
Those  ardent  eyes,  intense  even  thus — 

Too  near  the  stars  themselves  have  gone, 
To  fear  aught  grand  or  luminous. 

"  Then  doubt  me  not— oh,  who  can  say 
But  that  this  dream  may  yet  come  true, 

And  my  blest  spirit  drink  thy  ray 
Till  it  becomes  all  heavenly  too  ? 

*  Let  me  this  once  but  feel  the  flame 
Of  those  spread  wings,  the  very  pride 

Will  change  my  nature,  and  this  frame 
By  the  mere  touch  be  deified !" 

Thus  spoke  the  maid,  as  one,  not  used 
To  be  by  man  or  God  refused — 
As  one,  who  felt  her  influence  o'er 

All  creatures,  whatsoe'er  they  were, 
And,  though  to  heaven  she  could  not  soar, 

At  least  would  bring  down  heaven  to  her ! 

Little  did  she,  alas,  or  I — 

Even  I,  whose  soul,  but  half-way  yet 
Immerged  in  sin's  obscurity, 
Was  as  the  planet  where  we  lie, 

O'er  half  whose  disk  the  sun  is  set — 
Little  did  we  foresee  the  fate, 

The  dreadful — how  can  it  be  told? 
Oh  God  !  such  anguish  to  relate 

Is  o'er  again  to  feel,  behold ! 
But,  charged  as  't  is,  my  heart  must  speak 
Its  sorrow  out,  or  it  will  break  ! 

Some  dark  misgivings  had,  I  own, 

Pass'd  for  a  moment  through  my  breast- 
Fears  of  some  danger,  vague,  unknown, 
To  one,  or  both — something  unbless'd 
To  happen  from  this  proud  request. 
But  soon  these  boding  fancies  fled ; 
Nor  saw  I  ought  that  could  forbid 
My  full  revealment,  save  the  dread 
Of  that  first  dazzle,  that  unhid 
And  bursting  glory  on  a  lid 
Untried  in  heaven — and  even  this  glare 
She  might,  by  love's  own  nursing  care, 
Be,  like  young  eagles,  (aught  to  bear. 
For  well  I  knew  the  lustre  shed 
From  mv  nch  wings,  when  proudliert  spread. 


Was,  in  its  nature,  lambent,  pure, 

And  innocent  as  is  the  light 
The  glow-worm  hangs  out  to  allure 

Her  mate  to  her  green  bower  at  night 

Oft  had  I,  in  the  mid-air,  swept 

Through  clouds  in  which  the  lightning  slept, 

As  in  his  lair,  ready  to  spring, 

Yet  waked  liim  not — though  from  my  wing 

A  thousand  sparks  fell  glittering  ! 

Oft  too  when  round  me  from  above 

The  feather'd  snow  (which,  for  its  whitencsj, 
In  my  pure  days  I  used  to  love) 
Fell  like  the  moultings  of  Heaven's  Dove, — 

So  harmless,  though  so  full  of  brightness, 
Was  my  brow's  wreath,  that  it  would  shake 
From  off  its  flowers  each  downy  flake 
As  delicate,  unmelted,  fair, 
And  cool  as  they  had  fallen  there  ! 
Nay  even  with  LILIS — had  I  not 
Around  her  sleep  in  splendour  come — 
Hung  o'er  each  beauty,  nor  forgot 

To  print  my  radiant  lips  cr.  some  ? 
And  yet,  at  morn,  from  that  repose, 

Had  she  not  waked,  unscathed  and  bright, 
As  doth  the  pure,  unconscious  rose, 

Though  by  the  fire-fly  kiss'd  all  night  ? 
Even  when  the  rays  I  scatter'd  stole 
Intensest  to  her  dreaming  soul, 
No  thrill  disturb'd  the  insensate  frame — 
So  subtle,  so  refined  that  flame, 
Which,  rapidly  as  lightnings  melt 

The  blade  within  the  unharm'd  sheath, 
Can,  by  the  outward  form  unfelt, 

Reach  and  dissolve  the  soul  beneath  ! 

Thus  having  (as,  alas,  deceived 

By  my  sin's  blindness,  I  believed) 

No  cause  for  dread,  and  those  black  eyes 

There  fix'd  upon  me,  eagerly 
As  if  the  unlocking  of  the  skies 

Then  waited  but  a  sign  from  me — 
How  was  I  to  refuse  ?  how  say 

One  word  that  in  her  heart  could  stir 
A  fear,  a  doubt,  but  that  each  ray 

I  brought  from  heaven  belong'd  to  her  ? 
Slow  from  her  side  I  rose,  while  she 
Stood  up,  too,  mutely,  tremblingly, 
But  not  with  fear — all  hope,  desire, 

She  waited  for  the  awful  boon, 
Like  priestesses,  with  eyes  of  fire 

Watching  the  rise  of  the  full  moon, 
Whose  beams — they  know,  yet  cannot  shun— 
Will  madden  them  when  look'd  upon ! 
Of  all  my  glories,  the  bright  crown, 
Which,  when  I  last  from  heaven  came  down, 
I  left — see,  where  those  clouds  afar 

Sail  through  the  west — there  hangs  it  yet, 
Shining  remote,  more  like  a  star 

Than  a  fallen  angel's  coronet — 
Of  all  my  glories,  this  alone 

Was  wanting — but  the  illumined  brow 
The  curls,  like  tendrils  that  had  grown 

Out  of  the  sun — the  eyes,  that  now 
Had  love's  light  added  to  their  own, 
And  shed. a  blaze,  before  unknown 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


307 


Even  to  themselves — the  unfolded  wings, 
From  which,  as  from  two  radiant  springs, 
Sparkles  fell  fast  around,  like  spray — 
All  I  could  bring  of  heaven's  array, 

Of  that  rich  panoply  of  charms 
A  cherub  moves  in,  on  the  day 
Of  his  best  pomp,  I  now  put  on ; 
And,  proud  that  in  her  eyes  I  shone 

Thus  glorious,  glided  to  her  arms, 
Which  still  (though  at  a  sight  so  splendid 

Her  dazzled  brow  had  instantly 
Sunk  on  her  breast)  were  wide  extended 

To  clasp  the  form  she  durst  not  see ! 

Great  God  !  how  could  thy  vengeance  light 

So  bitterly  on  one  so  bright  ? 

How  could  the  hand,  that  gave  such  charms, 

Blast  them  again,  in  love's  own  arms  ? 

Scarce  had  I  tourh'd  her  shrinking  frame, 
When — oh  most  horrible  ! — I  felt 

rhat  every  spark  of  that  pure  flame — 
Pure,  while  among  the  stars  I  dwelt — 

Was  now  by  my  transgression  turn'd 
Into  gross,  earthly  fire,  which  burn'd, 

Burn'd  all  it  touch'd,  as  fast  as  eye 

Could  follow  the  fierce  ravening  flashes, 
Till  there— oh  God  !  I  still  ask  why 
Such  doom  was  hers  ? — I  saw  her  lie 

Blackening  within  my  arms  to  ashes ! 
Those  cheeks,  a  glory  but  to  see — 

Those  lips,  whose  touch  was  what  the  first 
Fresh  cup  of  immortality 

Is  to  a  new-made  angel's  thirst ! 
Those  arms,  within  whose  gentle  round, 
My  heart's  horizon,  the  whole  bound 
Of  its  hope,  prospect,  heaven  was  found  ! 
Which,  even  in  this  dread  moment,  fond 

As  when  they  first  were  round  me  cast, 
Loosed  not  in  death  the  fatal  bond, 

But,  burning,  held  me  to  the  last — 
That  hair,  from  under  whose  dark  veil, 
The  snowy  neck,  like  a  white  sail 
At  moonlight  seen  'twixt  wave  and  wave, 
Shone  out  by  gleams — that  hair,  to  save 
But  one  of  whose  long  glossy  wreaths, 
I  could  have  died  ten  thousand  deaths  ! — 
All,  all,  that  seem'd,  one  minute  since, 
So  full  of  love's  own  redolence, 
Now,  parch'd  and  black,  before  me  lay, 
Withering  in  agony  away  ; 
And  mine,  oh  misery  !  mine  the  flame, 
From  which  this  desolation  came — 
And  I  the  fiend,  whose  foul  caress 
Had  blasted  all  that  loveliness ! 

'T  was  madd'ning,  't  was — but  hear  even  worse— 
Had  death,  death  only,  been  the  curse 
I  brought  upon  her — had  the  doom 
But  ended  here,  when  her  young  bloom 
Lay  in  the  dust,  and  did  the  spirit 
No  part  of  that  fell  curse  inherit, 
*T  were  not  so  dreadful — but,  come  near— 
Too  shocking  't  is  for  earth  to  hear — 
Just  when  her  eyes,  in  fading,  took 
Their  last,  keen,  agonized  farewell, 


And  look'd  in  mine  with— oh,  that  look! 

Avenging  Power,  whatc'er  the  hell 
Thou  may'st  to  human  souls  assign, 
The  memory  of  that  look  is  mine  ! — 
In  her  last  struggle,  on  my  brow 

Her  ashy  lips  a  kiss  impress'd. 
So  withering  !— I  feel  it  now— 

"T  was  fire — but  fire,  even  more  unbless'd 
Than  was  my  own,  and  like  that  flame, 
The  angels  shudder  but  to  name, 
Hell's  everlasting  element ! 

Deep,  deep  it  pierc'd  into  my  brain, 
Madd'ning  and  torturing  as  it  went, 

And  here — see  here,  the  mark,  the  stain 
It  left  upon  my  front — burnt  in 

By  that  last  kiss  of  love  and  sin 

A  brand,  which  even  the  wreathed  pride 
Of  these  bright  curls,  still  forced  aside 
By  its  foul  contact,  cannot  hide ! 

But  is  it  thus,  dread  Providence— 
Can  it,  indeed,  be  thus,  that  she, 
Who,  but  for  one  proud,  fond  offence, 

Had  honour'd  Heaven  itself,  should  be 
Now  doom'd — I  cannot  speak  it — no, 
Merciful  God  !  it  w  not  so— 
Never  could  lips  divine  have  said 
The  fiat  of  a  fate  so  dread. 
And  yet,  that  look — that  look,  so  fraught 

With  more  than  anguish,  with  despair — 
That  new,  fierce  fire,  resembling  nought 

In  heaven  or  earth — this  scorch  I  bear  !— 
Oh, — for  the  first  time  that  these  knees 

Have  bent  before  thee  since  my  fall, 
Great  Power,  if  ever  thy  decrees 

Thou  couldst  for  prayer  like  mine  recal. 
Pardon  that  spirit,  and  on  me, 

On  me,  who  taught  her  pride  to  err, 
Shed  out  each  drop  of  agony 

Thy  burning  phial  keeps  for  her  ! 
See,  too,  where  low  beside  me  kneel 

Two  other  outcasts,  who,  though  gone 
And  lost  themselves,  yet  dare  to  feel 

And  pray  for  that  poor  mortal  one. 
Alas,  too  well,  too  well  they  know 
The  pain,  the  penitence,  the  woe 
That  Passion  brings  down  on  the  best, 
The  wisest  and  the  loveliest. — 
Oh,  who  is  to  be  saved,  if  such 

Bright  erring  souls  are  not  forgiven  ? 
So  loth  they  wander,  and  so  much 

Their  very  wanderings  lean  tow'rds  heaven* 
Again  I  cry,  Just  God,  transfer 

That  creature's  sufferings  all  to  me — 

Mine,  mine  the  guilt,  the  torment  be — 
To  save  one  minute's  pain  to  her, 

Let  mine  last  all  eternit* ! 


He  paused,  and  to  the  earth  bent  down 
His  throbbing  head  ;  while  they,  who  felt 

That  agony  as  *t  were  their  own, 

Those  angel  youths,  beside  him  knelt, 

And,  in  the  night's  still  silence  there, 

While  mournfully  each  wandering  air 


SOS 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Plaj'd  in  those  plumes,  that  never  more 
To  their  lost  home  in  heaven  must  soar, 
Breath'd  inwardly  the  voiceless  prayer, 
Unheard  by  all  but  Mercy's  ear— 
And  which  if  Mercy  did  not  hear, 
Oh,  God  would  not  be  what  this  bright 

And  glorious  universe  of  his, 
This  world  of  beauty,  goodness,  light, 

And  endless  love,  proclaims  He  is .' 

Not  long  they  knelt,  when,  from  a  wood 
That  crown'd  that  airy  solitude, 
They  heard  a  low,  uncertain  sound, 
As  from  a  lute,  that  just  had  found 
Some  happy  theme,  and  murmur'd  round 
The  new-born  fancy — with  fond  tone, 
Like  that  of  ring-dove  o'er  her  brood — 
Scarce  thinking  aught  so  sweet  its  own  ! 
Till  soon  a  voice  that  matcu'd  as  well 

That  gentle  instrument,  as  suits 
The  sea-air  to  an  ocean-shell 

(So  kin  its  spirit  to  the  lute's,) 
Tremblingly  follow'd  the  soft  strain, 
Interpreting  its  joy,  its  pain, 

And  lending  the  light  wings  of  words 
To  many  a  thought  that  else  had  lain 

Unfledged  and  mute  among  the  chords. 

All  started  at  the  sound — but  chief 

The  third  young  Angel,  in  whose  face, 
Though  faded  like  the  others,  grief 

Had  left  a  gentler,  holier,  trace ; 
As  if,  even  yet,  through  pain  and  ill, 
Hope  had  not  quit  him — as  if  still 
Her  precious  pearl  in  sorrow's  cup, 

Unmelted  at  the  bottom  lay, 
To  shine  again,  when,  all  drunk  up, 

The  bitterness  should  pass  away. 
Chiefly  did  he,  though  in  his  eyes 
There  shone  more  pleasure  than  surprise, 
Turn  to  the  wood,  from  whence  that  sound 

Of  solitary  sweetness  broke, 
Then,  listening,  look  delighted  round 

To  his  bright  peers,  while  thus  it  spoke  :— 

"  Come,  pray  with  me,  my  seraph  love, 
My  angel-lord,  come  pray  with  me ; 
In  vain  to-night  my  lip  hath  strove 
To  send  one  holy  prayer  above — 
The  knee  may  bend,  the  lip  may  move, 
But  pray  I  cannot  without  thee ! 

"I've  fed  the  altar  in  my  bower 

With  droppings  from  the  incense-trae  ; 

I  've  shelter'd  it  from  wind  and  shower, 

But  dim  it  burns  the  livelong  hour, 

As  if,  like  me,  it  had  no  power 
Of  life,  or  lustre,  without  thee  ! 

"  ^  boat  at  midnight  sent  alone 
To  drift  upon  the  moonless  sea, 
A  lute,  whose  leading  chord  is  gone, 
A  wounded  bird,  that  hath  but  one 
Imperfect  wing  to  soar  upon, 

Are  like  what  I  am  without  thee! 

"Then  ne'er,  my  spirit-love,  divide, 
In  life  or  death,  thyself  from  me ; 


But  when  again,  in  sunny  pride, 
Thou  walk'st  through  Eden,  let  me  plide, 
A  prostrate  shadow,  by  thy  side — 
Oh,  happier  thus  than  without  thee !" 

The  song  had  ceased,  when  from  the  wood 
Where  curving  down  that  airy  height, 
It  reach'd  the  spot  on  which  they  stood — 

There  suddenly  shone  out  a  light 
From  a  clear  lamp,  which,  as  it  blazed 
Across  the  brow  of  one  who  raised 
The  flame  aloft  (as  if  to  throw 
Its  light  upon  that  group  below,) 
Display'd  two  eyes,  sparkling  between 
The  dusky  leaves,  such  as  are  seen 
By  fancy  only,  in  those  faces, 

That  haun'*a  poet's  walk  at  even, 
Looking  from  out  their  leafy  places 

Upon  his  dreams  of  love  and  heaven. 
'T  was  but  a  moment — the  blush,  brought 
O'er  all  her  features  at  the  thought 

Of  being  seen  thus  late,  alone, 
By  any  but  the  eyes  she  sought, 
Had  scarcely  for  an  instant  shone 
Through  the  dark  leaves  when  she 
Gone,  like  a  meteor  that  o'erhead 
Suddenly  shines,  and,  ere  we  've  said, 
"  Look,  look,  how  beautiful !"— 't  is  fled. 

Yet,  ere  she  went,  the  words,  "  I  come, 
I  come,  my  Nama,"  reach'd  her  ear, 
In  that  kind  voice,  familiar,  dear, 
Which  tells  of  confidence,  of  homo,— 
Of  habit,  that  hath  drawn  hearts  near, 
Till  they  grow  one — of  faith  sincere, 
And  all  that  Love  most  loves  to  hear ! 
A  music,  breathing  of  the  past, 

The  present,  and  the  time  to  be, 

Where  Hope  and  Memory,  to  the  last, 

Lengthen  out  life's  true  harmony  1 

Nor  long  did  he,  whom  call  so  kind 
Summon'd  away,  remain  behind ; 
Nor  did  there  need  much  time  to  tell 

What  they — alas,  more  fallen  than  he 
From  happiness  and  heaven — knew  well, 

His  gentler  love's  short  history  ! 

Thus  did  it  run — not  as  he  told 

The  tale  himself,  but  as  'tis  graved 
Upon  the  tablets  that,  of  old, 

By  Cham  were  from  the  deluge  saved, 
All  written  over  with  sublime 

And  saddening  legends  of  the  unblest 
But  glorious  spirits  of  that  time, 

And  this  young  Angel's  'mong  the  resC 

THIRD  ANGEL'S  STORY. 

AMONG  the  Spirits,  of  pure  flame, 
That  round  the  Almighty  Throne  abide— 

Circles  of  light,  that  from  the  same 
Eternal  centre  sweeping  wide, 
Carry  its  beams  on  every  side 

(Like  spheres  of  air  that  waft  around 

The  undulations  of  rich  sound,) 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


3tW 


Till  the  far-circling  radiance  be 
Diffused  into  infinity ! 
First  and  immediate  near  the  Throne, 
As  if  peculiarly  God's  own, 

The  Seraphs'  stand this  burning  sign 

Traced  on  their  banner,  "  Love  Divine !" 
Their  rank,  their  honours,  far  above 

Even  to  those  high-brow'd  Cherubs  given, 
Though  knowing  all — so  much  doth  Love 

Transcend  all  knowledge,  even  in  heaven! 
'Mong  these  was  Zaraph  once — and  none 

E'er  felt  affection's  holy  fire, 
Or  yearn'd  towards  the  Eternal  One, 

With  half  such  longing,  deep  desire. 
Love  was  to  his  impassion'd  soul 

Not,  as  with  others,  a  mere  part 
Of  its  existence,  but  the  whole — 

The  very  life-breath  of  his  heart ! 

Often,  when  from  the  Almighty  brow 

A  lustre  came  too  bright  to  bear,  , 

And  all  the  seraph  ranks  would  bow 

Their  heads  beneath  their  wings,  nor  dare 

To  look  upon  the  effulgence  there —       • 
This  Spirit's  eyes  would  court  the  blaze 

(Sucn  pride  he  in  adoring  took,) 
And  rather  lose,  in  that  one  gaze, 

The  power  of  looking  than  not  look ! 
Then  too,  when  angel  voices  sung 
The  mercy  of  their  God,  and  strung 
Their  harps  to  hail,  with  welcome  sweet, 

The  moment,  watch'd  for  by  all  eyes, 
When  some  repentant  sinner's  feet 

First  touch'd  the  threshold  of  the  skies, 
Oh  then  how  clearly  did  the  voice 
Of  Zaraph  above  all  rejoice  J 
Love  was  in  every  buoyant  tone, 

Such  love  as  only  could  belong 
To  the  blest  angels,  and  alone 

Could,  even  from  angels,  bring  such  song ! 

Alas,  that  it  should  e'er  have  been 

The  same  in  heaven  as  it  is  here, 
Where  nothing  fond  or  bright  is  seen, 

But  it  hath  pain  and  peril  near — 
Where  right  and  wrong  so  close  resemble, 

That  what  we  take  for  virtue's  thrill 
Is  often  the  first  downward  tremble 

Of  the  heart's  balance  into  ill — 
Where  Love  hath  not  a  shrine  so  pure, 

So  holy,  but  the  serpent,  Sin, 
In  moments  even  the  most  secure, 

Beneath  his  altar  may  glide  in  ! 
So  was  it  with  that  Angel — such 

The  charm  that  sloped  his  fall  along 
From  good  to  ill,  from  loving  much, 

Too  easy  lapse,  to  loving  wrong.— 
Even  so  that  amorous  Spirit,  bound 
By  beauty's  spell,  where'er  't  was  found, 
From  the  bright  things  above  the  moon, 

Down  to  earth's  beaming  eyes  descended, 
Till  love  for  the  Creator  soon 

In  passion  for  the  creature  ended ! 


1  The  Seraphim  are  the  Spirits  of  Divine  Love.— Sec 
Note 


'T  was  first  at  twilight,  on  the  •hore 

Of  the  smooth  sea,  he  heard  the  lute 
And  voice  of  her  he  loved  steal  o'er 

The  silver  waters,  that  lay  mute, 
As  loth,  by  even  a  breath,  to  stay 
The  pilgrimage  of  that  sweet  lay ; 
Whose  echoes  still  went  on  and  or, 
Till  lost  among  the  light  that  shone 
Far  off  beyond  the  ocean's  brim — 

There,  where  the  rich  cascade  of  day 
Had,  o'er  the  horizon's  golden  rim, 

Into  Elysium  roll'd  away ! 
Of  God  she  sung,  and  of  the  mild 

Attendant  Mercy,  that  beside 
His  awful  throne  for  ever  smiled, 

Ready  with  her  white  hand,  to  guide 
His  bolts  of  vengeance  to  their  prey- 
That  she  might  quench  them  on  the  way 
Of  Peace — of  that  Atoning  Love, 
Upon  whose  star,  shining  above 
This  twilight  world  of  hope  and  fear, 

The  weeping  eyes  of  Faith  are  fix'd 
So  fond,  that  with  her  every  tear 

The  light  of  that  love-star  is  mix'd  !— 
All  this  she  sung,  and  such  a  soul 

Of  piety  was  in  that  song, 
That  the  charm'd  Angel,  as  it  stole 

Tenderly  to  his  ear,  along 
Those  lulling  waters,  where  he  lay 
Watching  the  day-light's  dying  ray, 
Thought 't  was  a  voice  from  out  the  wave, 
An  echo  that  some  spirit  gave 
To  Eden's  distant  harmony, 
Heard  faint  and  sweet  beneath  the  tea ! 

Quickly,  however,  to  its  source, 
Tracking  that  music's  melting  course, 
He  saw  upon  the  golden  sand 
Of  the  sea-shore  a  maiden  stand, 
Before  whose  feet  the  expiring  waves 

Flung  their  last  tribute  with  a  sigh — 
As,  in  the  East,  exhausted  slaves 

Lay  down  the  far-brought  gift,  and  die — 
And,  while  her  lute  hung  by  her,  hush'd, 

As  if  unequal  to  the  tide 
Of  song,  that  from  her  lips  still  gush'd, 

She  raised,  like  one  beatified, 
Those  eyes,  whose  light  secm'd  rather  giyet 

To  be  adored  than  to  adore — 
Such  eyes  as  may  have  look'd  from  heaven. 

But  ne'er  were  raised  to  it  before ! 

Oh  Love,  Religion,  Music — all 

That 's  left  of  Eden  upon  earth — 
The  only  blessings,  since  the  fall 
Of  our  weak  souls,  that  still  recaH 

A  trace  of  their  high  glorious  birth — 
How  kindred  are  the  dreams  you  bring ! 

How  Love,  though  unto  earth  so  prone, 
Delights  to  take  Religion's  wing. 

When  time  or  grief  hath  stain'd  his  own1 
How  near  to  Love's  beguiling  brink, 

Too  oft,  entranced  Religion  lies. 
While  Music,  Music  is  the  link 

They  both  still  hold  bv  to  the  slues, 


SIO 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  language  of  their  native  sphere, 
Which  they  had  else  forgotten  here. 

How  then  could  Zaraph  fail  to  feel 
That  moment's  witcheries  ? — one  so  fair 

Breathing  out  music  that  might  steal 
Heaven  from  itself,  and  rapt  in  prayer 
That  seraphs  might  be  proud  to  share  ! 

Oh,  he  did  feel  it— far  too  well— 
With  warmth  that  much  too  dearly  cost — 

Nor  knew  he,  when  at  last  he  fell, 

To  which  attraction,  to  which  spell, 

Love,  Music,  or  Devotion,  most 
His  soul  in  that  sweet  hour  was  lost. 

Sweet  was  the  hour,  though  dearly  won, 

And  pure,  as  aught  of  earth  could  be, 
For  then  first  did  the  glorious  sun 

Before  Religion's  altar  see 
Two  hearts  in  wedlock's  golden  tie 
/    Self-pledged,  in  love  to  live  and  die — • 
Then  first  did  woman's  virgin  brow 

That  hymeneal  chaplet  wear, 
Which,  when  it  dies,  no  second  vow 

Can  bid  a  new  one  bloom  out  there — 
Bless'd  union !  by  that  angel  wove, 

And  worthy  from  such  hands  to  come  ; 
Safe,  sole  asylum,  in  which  Love, 
When  fallen  or  exiled  from  above, 

In  this  dark  world  can  find  a  home. 

And,  though  the  Spirit  had  transgress'd, 
Had,  from  his  station  'mong  the  bless'd, 
Won  down  by  woman's  smile,  allow'd 

Terrestrial  passion  to  breathe  o'er 
The  mirror  of  his  heart,  and  cloud 

God's  image,  there  so  bright  before-— 
Yet  never  did  that  God  look  down 

On  error  with  a  brow  so  mild ; 
Never  did  justice  launch  a  frown 

That,  ere  it  fell,  so  nearly  smiled. 
For  gentle  was  their  love,  with  awe 

And  trembling  like  a  treasure  kept, 
That  was  not  theirs  by  holy  law, 
Whose  beauty  with  remorse  they  saw, 

And  o'er  whose  preciousness  they  wept. 
Humility,  that  low,  sweet  root, 
From  which  all  heavenly  virtues  shoot, 
Was  in  the  hearts  of  both — but  most 

In  Nama's  heart,  by  whom  alone 
Those  charms,  for  which  a  heaven  was  lost, 

Seem'd  all  unvalued  and  unknown ; 
And  when  her  Seraph's  eyes  she  caught, 

And  hid  hers  glowing  on  his  breast, 
Even  bliss  was  humbled  by  the  thought, 

"  What  claim  have  I  to  be  so  bless'd  ?" 

Still  less  could  maid  so  meek  have  nursed 
Desire  of  knowledge — that  vain  thirst, 
With  which  the  sex  hath  all  been  cursed, 
From  luckless  Eve  to  her  who  near 
The  Tabernacle  stole,  to  hear 
The  secrets  of  tho  Angels — no — 

To  love  as  her  own  seraph  loved, 
With  Faith,  the  same  through  bliss  and  woe — 

Faith  that,  were  even  its  light  removed. 


Could,  like  the  dial,  fix'd  remain, 
And  wait  till  it  shone  out  again — 
With  Patience  that,  though  often  bow'd 

By  the  rude  storm,  can  rise  anew, 
And  Hope  that,  even  from  Evil's  cloud, 

Sees  sunny  Good  half  breaking  through' 
This  deep,  relying  Love,  worth  more 
In  heaven  than  all  a  cherub's  lore — 
This  Faith,  more  sure  than  aught  beside, 
Was  the  sole  joy,  ambition,  pride, 
Of  her  fond  heart — the  unreasoning  scope 

Of  all  its  views,  above,  below — 
So  true  she  felt  it  that  to  hope, 

To  trust,  is  happier  than  to  know. 

And  thus  in  humbleness  they  trod, 
Abash'd,  but  pure  before  their  God; 
Nor  e'er  did  earth  behold  a  sight 

So  meekly  beautiful  as  they, 
When,  with  the  altar's  holy  light 

Full  on  their  brows,  they  knelt  to  pray, 
Hand  within  hand,  and  side  by  side, 
Two  links  of  love,  awhile  untied 
From  the  great  chain  above,  but  fast 
Holding  together  to  the  last — 
Two  fallen  Splendors  from  that  tree 
Which  buds  with  such  eternally,1 
Shaken  to  earth,  yet  keeping  all 
Their  light  and  freshness  in  the  fall. 

Their  only  punishment  (as  wrong, 

However  sweet,  must  bear  its  brand,; 
Their  only  doom  was  this — that,  long 

As  the  green  earth  and  ocean  stand, 
They  both  shall  wander  here — the  same 
Throughout  all  time,  in  heart  and  frame — 
Still  looking  to  that  goal  sublime, 

Whose  light,  remote  but  sure,  they  see, 
Pilgrims  of  Love,  whose  way  is  Time. 

Whose  home  is  in  Eternity ! 
Subject,  the  while,  to  all  the  strife 
True  love  encounters  in  this  life — 
The  wishes,  hopes,  he  breathes  in  vain ; 

The  chill,  that  turns  his  warmest  sighs 

To  earthly  vapour,  ere  they  rise ; 
The  doubt  he  feeds  on,  and  the  pain 

That  in  his  very  sweetness  lies. 
Still  worse,  the  illusions  that  betray 

His  footsteps  to  their  shining  brink; 
That  tempt  him  on  his  desert  way 

Through  the  bleak  world,  to  bend  and  drink, 
Where  nothing  meets  his  lips,  alas, 
But  he  again  must  sighing  pass 
On  to  that  far-off  home  of  peace, 
In  which  alone  his  thirst  will  cease. 

All  this  they  bear,  but,  not  the  less, 
Have  moments  rich  in  happiness — 
Bless'd  meetings,  after  many  a  day 
Of  widowhood  past  far  away, 
When  the  loved  face  again  is  seen 
Close,  close,  with  not  a  tear  between— 


1  An  allusion  to  the  Sephiroths  or  Splendors  of  the  Jew 
ish  Cabbala,  represented  aa  a  tree,  ot  which  God  is  tb« 
crown  or  summit. — See  Koto. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS 


311 


Confidings  frank,  without  control, 
Pour'd  mutually  from  soul  to  soul ; 
As  free  from  any  fear  or  doubt 

As  is  that  light  from  chill  or  stain, 
The  sun  into  the  stars  sheds  out, 

To  be  by  them  shed  back  again  ! — 
That  happy  minglement  of  hearts, 

Where,  changed  as  chymic  compounds  are, 
Each  with  its  own  existence  parts, 

To  find  a  new  one,  happier  far ! 
Such  are  their  joys — and,  crowning  all, 

That  blessed  hope  of  the  bright  hour, 
When,  happy  and  no  more  to  fall, 

Their  spirits  shall,  with  freshen'd  power, 
Rise  up  rewarded  for  their  trust 

In  Him,  from  whom  all  goodness  springs, 
And,  shaking  off  earth's  soiling  dust 

From  their  emancipated  wings, 
Wander  for  ever  through  those  skies 
Of  radiance,  where  Love  never  dies  ! 

In  what  lone  region  of  the  earth 

These  pilgrims  now  may  roam  or  dwell, 

God  and  the  Angels,  who  look  forth 
To  watch  their  steps,  alone  can  tell. 

But  should  we,  in  our  wanderings, 


a  young  pair,  whose  beauty  wanu 
But  the  adornment  of  bright  wings, 

To  look  like  heaven's  inhabitants— 
Who  shine  where'er  they  tread,  and  jet 

Are  humble  in  their  earthly  lot, 
As  is  the  way-side  violet, 

That  shines  unseen,  and  were  it  not 

For  its  sweet  breath  would  be  forgot— 
Whose  hearts  in  every  thought  are  one, 

Whose  voices  utter  the  same  wills, 
Answering  as  Echo  doth,  some  tone 

Of  fairy  music  'mong  the  hills, 
So  like  itself,  we  seek  in  vain 
Which  is  the  echo,  which  the  strain — 
Whose  piety  is  love — whose  love, 

Though  close  as  't  were  their  souls'  embrace, 
Is  not  of  earth,  but  from  above — 

Like  two  fair  mirrors,  face  to  face, 
Whose  light,  from  one  to  the  other  thrown, 
In  heaven's  reflection,  not  their  own — 
Should  we  e'er  meet  with  aught  so  pure, 
So  perfect  here,  we  may  be  sure 

There  is  but  one  such  pair  below ; 
And,  as  we  bless  them  on  their  way 
Through  the  world's  wilderness,  may  say, 
"  There  Zaraph  and  his  Nama  go." 


NOTES. 


PREFACE,  p.  295,  line  21. 

An  erroneous  transhtion  by  the  LXX.  of  that  verse  in  the 
sixth  chapter  of  Genesis,  etc. 

THE  error  of  these  interpreters  (and,  it  is  said,  of 
the  old  Italic  version  also)  was  in  making  it  ol  Ayyt-' 
Xoi  TOV  Scov,  "  the  Angels  of  God,"  instead  of  "  the  j 
Sons" — a  mistake  which,  assisted  by  the  allegorising 
comments  of  Philo,  and  the  rhapsodical  fictions  of , 
the  Book  of  Enoch,'  was  more  than  sufficient  to  af- 
fect the  imaginations  of  such  half-Pagan  writers  as 
Clemens  Alexandrinus,  Tertullian,  and  Lactantius, 
who,  chiefly,  among  the  Fathers,  have  indulged 
themselves  in  fanciful  reveries  upon  the  subject.  The' 
greater  number,  however,  have  rejected  the  fiction 
with  indignation.  Chrysostom,  in  his  twenty-second 
Homily  upon  Genesis,  earnestly  exposes  its  absurd- 
ity ;2  and  Cyril  accounts  such  a  supposition  as  tyyuj 
U<I>PKK,  "  bordering  on  folly."1  According  to  these 


Fathers  (ajid  their  opinion  has  been  followed  by  til 
the  theologians,  down  from  St.  Thomas  to  Caryl  and 
Lightfoot,*)  the  term  "  Sons  of  God,"  must  be  under- 
stood to  mean  the  descendants  of  Seth,  by  Enos — a 
family  peculiarly  favoured  by  Heaven,  because  with 
them  men  first  began  to  "call  upon  the  name  of  the 
LORD" — while,  by  "the  daughters  of  men,"  they 
suppose  that  the  corrupt  race  of  Cain  i»  designated. 
The  probability,  however,  is,  that  the  words  in  ques- 
tion ought  to  have  been  translated  "  the  sons  of  the 
nobles  or  great  men,"  as  we  find  them  interpreted  in 
the  Targum  of  Onkelos  (the  most  ancient  and  accu- 
rate of  all  the  Chaldaic  paraphrases,)  and  as,  it  ap- 
pears from  Cyril,  the  version  of  Symmachus  also 
rendered  them.  This  translation  of  the  passage  re- 
moves all  difficulty,  and  at  once  relieves  the  Sacred 
History  of  an  extravagance,  which,  however  it  may 
suit  the  imagination  of  the  poet,  is  inconsistent  with 
all  our  notions,  both  philosophical  and  religious. 


1  It  is  lamontnble  to  think  that  this  nbsurd  production, of 
which  we  now  know  tho  whole  from  Dr.  Laurence'*  trans- 
lation, should  ever  have  been  considered  us  an  inspired  or 
authentic  work.    See  the  Preliminary  Dissertation,  prefixed 
to  the  Translation. 

2  One  of  the  arguments  of  Chrysoato'm  is,  that  .Angels  are 
no  where  else,  in  the  Old  Testament,  called  "  Sons  of  God," — 
but   his  commentator,   Montfaucon,  shows  that  he  is  mis- 
taken, and  that  in  the  Book  of  Joh  they  are  so  designated, 
(c.  i.  v.  6.)  both  in  the  ordinal  Hebrew  and  the  Vulgate, 
though  not  in  the  Septuagint,  which  alone,  he  says,  Chry- 
•os to in  read. 

3  Lib.  ii.  Glaphyrorum. — Phitestrius,  in  his  enumeration 


of  heresies,  classes  this  story  of  the  Angels  among  the  num- 
ber, and  says  it  deserves  only  to  be  ranked  with  those  fic- 
tions about  gods  and  goddesses,  to  which  the  fancy  of  th» 
Paean  poets  gave  birth  : — "  Sicuti  et  Paganorum  et  Foela- 
niiu  mendacia  asserunt  doos  dea«qur  transforniatns  nefanda 
conjngia  rommisisge." — De  Hrpros.  Kdit.  Basil,  p.  101. 

4  I  .iirhtlbot  says,  "  The  sons  of  God,  or  the  im  inborn  of 
the  Church,  and  the  progeny  of  Seth,  marrying  run-Irmly 
and  promiscuously  with  the  daughters  of  men.  or  hrm.d  of 
Cain,"  etc.  I  find  in  Pole  that,  according  to  the  Samaritan 
version,  the  phrase  maybe  understood  as  meaning  "tho 
Sons  of  (Ac  Judges." — So  variously  may  the  Hebrew  word, 
Elohim,  be  interpreted. 


312 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Page  295,  line  81. 
Transmit  each  moment,  night  and  day, 
The  echo  of  K'a  luminous  word  ! 

Dionysius  (De  Coelest.  Hierarch.)  is  of  opinion 
that  when  Isaiah  represents  the  Seraphim  as  crying 
out  "one  unto  the  other,"  his  intention  is  to  describe 
those  communications  of  the  divine  thought  and  will 
which  arc  continually  passing  from  the  higher  orders 
of  the  angels  to  the  lower: — oia  «a«  aurourrouy  -Stora- 
ruvf  Etpa^ip  01  SioXoyoi  Qaatv  ircpov  irpof  TOV  irepov  Kt- 
Kpaycvai,  aaifxaf  tv  roun.j,  KaBancp  oi/iat,  irj^ovvrcs,  t 
ruv  3co\oyiK<i>v  yvitxrciav  ol  irpiaroi  roij  ievrepois  /ura- 
iiioaat. — See  also  in  the  Paraphrase  of  Pachymer 
npon  Dionysius,  cap.  2.  rather  a  striking  passage, 
kn  which  he  represents  all  living  creatures  as  being, 
in  a  stronger  or  fainter  degree,  "  echoes  of  God." 

Page  296,  line  19. 
One  of  earth's  fairest  womankind, 
Half  veil'd  from  view,  or  rather  shrined 
la  the  clear  chrj  stal  of  a  brook. 

This  is  given  upon  the  authority,  or  rather  accord- 
Ing  to  the  fancy,  of  some  of  the  Fathers,  who  sup- 
pose that  the  women  of  earth  were  first  seen  by  the 
angels  in  this  situation ;  and  St.  Basil  has  even  made 
't  the  serious  foundation  of  rather  a  rigorous  rule 
for  the  toilet  of  his  fair  disciples  ;  adding,  Ixavov  yap 
tan  Trapavu/ivou/jcvov  xaXXo;  (cat  vlouf  Stov  rtpo;  TI&O- 
vtjv  yoj/Ttuaai,  Kai  u>j  avOpiairovs  Sia  ratiTfjv  airodviiaKov- 
TO{,  $MITOV{  aro<5afa<. — De  Vera  Virginitat.  torn.  i.  p. 
747.  edit.  Paris.  1618. 

Page  2%,  line  115. 
The  Spirit  of  yon  beauteous  star. 
It  is  the  opinion  of  Kircher,  Ricciolus,  etc.  (and 
was,  I  believe,  to  a  certain  degree,  that  of  Origen)  that 
the  stars  are  moved  and  directed  by  intelligences  or 
u.gels  who  preside  over  them.  Among  other  pas- 
sages from  Scripture  in  support  of  this  notion,  they 
cite  those  words  of  the  Book  of  Job,  "  When  the 
morning  stars  .sang  together." — Upon  which  Kircher 
remarks,  "  Non  de  materialibus  intelligitur."  Itin.  1. 
Isagog.  Astronom.  See  also  Caryl's  most  wordy 
Commentary  on  the  same  text. 

Page  297,  line  33. 

And  the  bright  Watchers  near  the  throne. 
"  The  Watchers,  the  offspring  of  Heaven." — Book 
of  Enoch.    In  Daniel  also  the  angels  are  called 
watchers : — "  And  behold,  a  watcher  and  an  holy  one 
came  down  from  heaven."  iv.  13. 

Page  297,  line  81 
Then,  too,  that  juice  of  earth,  etc.  etc. 

For  all  that  relates  to  the  nature  and  attributes  of 
angels,  the  time  of  their  creation,  the  extent  of  their 
knowledge,  and  the  power  which  they  possess,  or 
can  occasionally  assume,  of  performing  such  human 
functions  as  eating,  drinking,  etc.  etc.  I  shall  refer 
'.hose  who  are  inquisitive  upon  the  subject  to  the  fol- 
lowing works:— The  Treatise  upon  the  Celestial 
Hiorarchy  written  under  the  name  of  Dionysius  the 
Arcopagite,  in  which,  among  much  that  is  heavy  and 
uifliiig,  there  are  some  sublime  notions  concerning 


the  agency  of  these  spiritual  creatures — The  ques- 
tions "de  Cognitione  Angelorum"  of  St.  Thomas, 
where  he  examines  most  prolixly  into  such  puzzling 
points  as  "whether  angels  illuminate  each  other," 
"  whether  they  speak  to  each  other,"  etc.  etc. — The 
Thesaurus  of  Cocceius,  containing  extracts  from 
almost  every  theologian  that  has  written  on  the  sub- 
ject— The  9th,  10th,  and  llth  chapters,  sixth  book, 
ofl'Histoire  des  Juifs,"  where  all  the  extraordinary 
reveries  of  the  Rabbins'  about  angels  and  demons 
are  enumerated — The  Questions  attributed  to  St. 
Athanasius — The  Treatise  of  Bonaveniure  upon  the 
Wings  of  the  Seraphim2 — and,  lastly,  the  ponderous 
folio  of  Suarez  "de  Angelis,"  where  the  reader  wijl 
ind  all  that  has  ever  been  fancied  or  reasoned,  upon 
a  subject  which  only  such  writers  could  have  con- 
trived to  render  so  dull. 

Page  297,  line  89. 

Then  first  the  fatal  wine-cup  rain'd,  etc. 
Some  of  the  circumstances  of  this  story  were  sug- 
gested to  me  by  the  Eastern  legend  of  the  two  angels, 
Harut  and  Marut,  as  it  is  given  by  Mariti,  who  say?, 
hat  the  author  of  the  Taalim  founds  upon  it  the  Ma- 
hometan prohibition  of  wine.  The  Bahardanush  tells 
he  story  differently. 

Page  297,  line  105. 
Why,  why  have  hapless  angels  eyes? 
Tertullian  imagines  that  the  words  of  St.  Paul, 
'  Woman  ought  to  have  a  veil  on  her  head,3  on  ac- 
count of  the  angels"  have  an  evident  reference  to  the 
atal  effects  which  the  beauty  of  women  once  pro- 
duced upon  these  spiritual  beings.     See  the  strange 
>assage  of  this  Father  (de  Virgin.  Velandis,)  begin- 
ling  "  Si  enim  propter  angelos,"  etc.  etc.  where  his 
editor  Pamelius  endeavours  to  save  his  morality,  at 
he  expense  of  his  latinity,  by  substituting  the  word 
excussat"  for  "  excusat."     Such  instances  of  inde- 
corum, however,  are  but  too  common  throughout  the 
Bathers,  in  proof  of  which  I  need  only  refer  to  some 
>assages  in  the  same  writer's  treatise, "  De  Anima," — 
o  the  Second  and  Third  Books  of  the  Psdagogusof 
lemens  Alexandrinus,  and  to  the  instances  which 
Mothe  le  Vayer  has  adduced  from  Chrysostom  in 
is  Hexameron  Rustique,  Journee  Seconde. 


1  The  following  may  serve  aa  specimens  :  —  "  Les  angos 
e  savent  point  la  langue  Chaldaiquc:  c'esl  pourquoi  ils  na 
ortent  pointaDieu  les  oraisonsdeccuxqui  prient  danscette 
angue.  Ils  se  trompent  souvent  ;  i's  font  de*  erreun  danger- 
uses  ;  car  1'Ange  de  la  mori,  qui  cst  charge  de  fa  ire  mourir 
n  humme,  en  prend  quelquefois  un  autre,  ce  qni  cause  de 
rands  desordres  ..........  Ils  sonl  charts  de  chan- 

;r  dcvant  Dieu  le  cantique,  Saint,  Saint  tst  lr  iJini  <!rs 
rmers  ;  mais  ils  ne  remplissent  cet  office  qu'une  fois  le 

our,  dans  une  eemaine,  dans  un  mois,  dans  un  an,  d;ins  un 
ecle,  ou  dans  1'eternite.  L'Ange  qui  Inttoit  contre  Jacob 
e  pressa  de  le  laisser  allor,  lorsque  1'Aurore  parut,  parce 
ue  c'ttoit  son  tour  dej;hnnterle  cantique  ce  jour-la,  ce 
u'il  n'avoit  rncore  jamais  fait." 

2  This  work  (which,  notwithstanding  its  titlp,  is,  proba- 


bly, quite  as  dull  as  the  rost)  I  have  not,  myself, 


nlile 


. 

to  see,  having  searched  for  it  in  vain  throush  the  Kins's  Li- 
brary at  Paris,  tho'igh  assisted  by  lh»  w\\  and  kindness  of 
M.  Langles  and  M.  Vonpra'dt,  whose  liberal  administration 
of  that  most  liberal  establishment,  entitles  them  —  not  onl\ 
for  the  immediate  effect  of  such  conduct,  but  for  the  useful 
anil  civilizing  example  it  holds  forth  —  to  the  most  cordial 
gratiuiile  of  the,  whttlc  Iil»rnry  world. 
3  Corinth  xi.  10.  Dr.  Alacknijht's  Translation. 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


313 


Page  298,  line  75. 
When  Lunfer,  in  fulling,  bnre 

The  third  of  Ilie  bright  -t  .r-  ;:u:iy. 
"  And  his  tail  drew  the  third  part  of  the  stars  of 
heaven,  and  did  cast  them  to  the  earth."  Rcvel.it. 
Vi.  4. — Decent  sancti  (says  Snarez)  supremum  ange- 
lum  traxisse  secum  tertiam  partem  stellarum."  Lib. 
7.  cap.  7. 

Page  298,  line  77. 

l.'i-c,  ill  earth's  beauty,  to  rep-iir 
That  1>»  of  li^'lit  in, 

The  idea  of  the  Fathers  was,  that  the  vacancies 
occasioned  in  the  different  orders  of  angels  by  the 
fall  were  to  be  filled  up  from  the  human  race.  There 
is,  however,  another  opinion,  backed  by  papal  autho- 
rity, that  it  was  only  the  tenth  order  of  the  Celestial 
Hierarchy  that  fell,  and  that,  therefore,'  the  promo- 
tions which  occasionally  take  place  from  earth  are 
intended  for  the  completion  of  that  grade  alone  :  or, 
as  it  is  explained  by  Salonius  (Dial,  in  Eccl.) — "De- 


Page  299,  line  78. 
Summon'cl  hi>  chief  angelic  (toucri 
To  wiincgx,  • 

St.  Augustin,  upon  Genesis,  seems  rather  inclined 
to  admit  that  the  angels  had  son:  iliquod 

ministerium")  in  the  creation  of  Adam  and  Eve. 

Page  300,  line  124. 
I  had  beheld  their  Kir*',  ilieir  Evr, 
I'.oni  in  Ili.it  ..p!i •!.,!.< I  I*. i  ., 

Whether  Eve  was  created  I'M  Paradise  or  not  is  a 
question  that  has  been  productive  of  much  doubt  and 
controversy  among  the  theologians.  With  respect  to 
Adam,  it  is  agreed  on  all  sides  that  he  was  < 
outside;  and  it  is  accordingly  asked,  with  -ome 
warmth,  by  one  of  the  commentators,  "  why  should 
woman,  the  ignobler  creature  of  the  two,  Im  created 
within?1  Others,  on  the  contrary,  consider  this  dis- 
tinction as  but  a  fair  tribute  to  the  superior  beauty 
and  purity  of  women  ;  and  some,  in  their  zeal,  even 
seem  to  think  that,  if  the  scene  of  her  creation  was 


ccm  sunt  ordines  angelorum,  sed  unus  cecidit  per  su-  I  not  already  Paradise,  it  became  so,  immediately  upon 
perbiam,  et  idcirco  boni  angeli  semper  laborant,  ut  de  j  that  event,  in  compliment  to  her.    Josephus  is  one 


hominibus  nurnerus  adimpleatur,  et  proveniat  ad  per- 
fectum  numerum,  id  est,  denarium."  According  to 
some  theologians,  virgins  alone  are  admitted  "  ad  col- 
legium angelorum,"  but  the  author1  of  the  "Speculum 
Peregrinarum  Qua:stionum"  rather  questions  this  ex- 


of  those  who  think  that  Eve  was  formed  outside ; 
Tertullian,  too,  among  the  Fathers — and,  among  the 
Theologians,  Rupcrtus,  who,  to  do  him  Justin 
misses  an  opportunity  of  putting  on  record  his  ill- 
will  to  the  sex.     Pererius,  however  (and  his  opinion 


elusive  privilege:— "Hoc nonvideturverum,quiamul-  seems  to  be  considered  as  the  most  orthodox,'  thinks 
ti,  non  virgines,  ut  Petrus  et  Magdalena,  muliu  etiam  it  much  more  consistent  with  the  order  of  the  .Mu- 
virgiuibus  eniinentiores  sunt."  Decad.  2.  cap.  10.          narration,  as  well  as  with  the  sentiments  of  Basil  and 

other  Fathers,  to  conclude  that  Eve  was  created  ut 
Page  299,  line  38. 

'T  wn.i  Rrm. 

I  might  have  chosen,  perhaps,  some  better  name, 
but  it  is  meant  (like  that  of  Zaraph  in  the  following 


story)  to  define  the  particular  class  of  spirits  to  which 
the  angel  belonged.  The  author  of  the  Book  of 
Enoch,  who  estimates  at  200  the  number  of  angels 
that  descended  upon  Mount  Hermon,  for  the  purpose 
of  making  love  to  the  women  of  earth,  has  favoured 
us  with  the  names  of  their  leader  and  chiefs — Samy- 
aza,  Urakabararneel,  Akibeel,  Tamiel,  etc.  etc. 

In  that  heretical  worship  of  angels  which  prevailed, 
to  a  great  degree,  during  the  first  ages  of  Christianity, 
to  name  them  seems  to  have  been  one  of  the  most 
important  ceremonies ;  for  we  find  it  expressly  for- 
bidden in  one  of  the  Canons  (35th)  of  the  council  of 
Laodicea,  ovopafytv  TOV;  ayycXouy.  Josephus,  too, 
mentions,  among  the  religious  rites  of  the  Essenes, 
their  swearing  to  preserve  the  names  of  the  angels." 
— avvTtjpijactv  ra  ruiv  ayycXuv  ovo/iara.  Bell.  Jud.  lib. 
2.  cap.  8. — See  upon  this  subject  Van  Dale,  de  Ong. 
et  Progress.  Idololat.  cap.  9. 

Page  299,  line  39. 

those  briijlit  erealures  named 

Spirits  of  Knowledge. 

The  word  cherub  signifies  knowledge — TO  yvo^iKov 
mrtav  /cat  SCOTTTHCOV,  says  Dionysius.  Hence  it  is  that 
Ezekiel,  to  express  the  abundance  of  their  knowledge, 
represents  them  as  "full  of  eyes." 


Paradise. 

Page  301,  line  8. 

Her  error,  too. 

The  comparative  extent  of  Eve  s  delinquency,  and 


1  F.  BnrtliolnrnxuB  Sibylla. 
2  R 


the  proportion  which  it  bears  to  that  of  Adam,  is  an- 
other point  which  has  exercised  the  tiresome  inge- 
nuity of  the  Commentators ;  and  they  seem  generally 
to  agree  (with  the  exception  always  of  Ruperlu*) 
that,  as  she  was  not  yet  created  when  the  prohibition 
was  issued,  and  therefore  could  not  have  heard  it,  (a 
conclusion  remarkably  confirmed  by  the  inaccurate 
way  in  which  she  reports  it  to  the  serpent, *)  her  share 
in  the  crime  of  disobedience  is  considerably  lighter 
than  that  of  Adam.1  In  corroboration  of  this  view 
of  the  matter,  Pererius  remarks  that  it  is  to  Adam 
alone  the  Deity  addresses  his  reproaches  for  having 
eaten  of  the  forbidden  tree,  because  to  Adam  alone 
the  order  had  been  originally  promulgated.  - 
indeed,  does  the  gallantry  of  another  commentator, 
Hugh  de  St.  Victor,  carry  him,  that  he  looks  upon  the 
words  "  I  will  put  enmity  between  thcc  and  the  wo- 
man" as  a  proof  that  the  sex  was  from  that  moment 
enlisted  into  the  service  of  Heaven,  as  the  chief  foe 
and  obstacle  which  the  Spirit  of  Evil  would  have  to 
contend  with  in  his  inroads  on  this  world  : — " 


1   "Cnr  .I- M..III.  I'vnm,  quiB  Adamo  ignobil.ur  iia!,  for- 
mavit  intrn  I'miidixiiin  1" 

•2  Kiipeitiirt  eoi'siilers  these  variants  at  intentional  and 
(iri'varn  utory,   and   art  thu   lirsl   instai.ce   u|>on   if  '  nl   i-l   n 
wilful  vitiation  of  the  words  of  Coil,  tin    • 
fuiiinj;  the  corrupt  views  and  propensities  of  human  nature. 
—  !)••  Triiiitut.  lit",  iii.  rap.  5. 

3  Caielanus,  indeed,  pronounces  it  to  be  "  minimum  pee 
catum  " 


314 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


ceps  Eva  inimica  Diabolo,  ergo  fuit  grata  et  arnica 
Deo." 

Page  301,  line  36. 
Call  her— think  what— his  Life !  his  Life ! 

Chavah  (or,  as  it  is  in  the  Latin  version,  Eva)  has 
*ie  same  signification  as  the  Greek,  Zoe. 

Epiphanius,  among  others,  is  not  a  little  surprised 
at  the  application  of  such  a  name  to  Eve,  so  immedi- 
ately, too,  after  that  awful  denunciation  of  death, 
44  dust  thou  art,"  etc.  etc.1  Some  of  the  commenta- 
tors think  that  it  was  meant  as  a  sarcasm,  and  spoken 
by  Adam,  in  the  first  bitterness  of  his  heart,— in  the 
same  spirit  of  irony  (says  Pererius)  as  that  of  the 
Greeks  in  calling  their  Furies,  Eumenides,  or  Gentle.2 
But  the  Bishop  of  Chalon  rejects  this  supposition : — 
14  Explodendi  sane  qui  id  nominis  ab  Adamo  per  iro- 
niain  inditum  uxori  suae  putant;  atque  quod  mortis 
causa  esset,  amaro  ioco  vitam  appellasse.* 

With  a  similar  feeling  of  spleen  against  women, 
some  of  these  "  distillateurs  des  Saintes  Lettres"  (as 
Bayle  calls  them,)  in  rendering  the  text  "  I  will  make 
him  a  help  meet  for  him,"  translate  these  words 
44  against  or  contrary  to  him"  (a  meaning  which,  it 
appears,  the  original  will  bear,)  and  represent  them 
as  prophetic  of  those  contradictions  and  perplexities 
which  men  experience  from  women  in  this  life. 

It  is  rather  strange  that  these  two  instances  of  per- 
verse commentatorship  should  have  escaped  the  re- 
searches of  Bayle,  in  his  curious  article  upon  Eve. 
He  would  have  found  another  subject  of  discussion, 
equally  to  his  taste,  in  Gataker's  whimsical  disserta- 
tion upon  Eve's  knowledge  of  the  rt^vn  iiQavriKt), 
and  upon  the  notion  of  Epiphanius  that  it  was  taught 
her  in  a  special  revelation  from  Heaven. — Aliscellan. 
lib.  ii.  cap.  3.  p.  200. 

Page  302,  line  113. 

Oh,  idol  of  my  dreams !  whate'er 
Thy  nature  be — human,  divine, 

Or  but  half  heavenly. 

In  an  article  upon  the  Fathers,  which  appeared, 
some  years  since,  in  the  Edinburgh  Review  (No. 
XLVII,)  and  of  which  I  have  made  some  little  use  in 
these  notes  (having  that  claim  over  it — as  "  quiddam 
notuin  propriumque" — which  Lucretius  gives  to  the 
cow  over  the  calf,)  there  is  the  following  remark : — 
44  The  belief  of  an  intercourse  between  angels  and 
women,  founded  upon  a  false  version  of  a  text  in 
Genesis,  is  one  of  those  extravagant  notions  of  St. 
Justin  and  other  Fathers,  which  show  how  little  they 
had  yet  purified  themselves  from  the  grossness  of 
heathen  mythology,  and  in  how  many  respects  their 
heaven  was  but  Olympus,  with  other  names.  Yet  we 
can  hardly  be  angry  with  them  for  this  one  error, 
when  we  recollect  that  possibly  to  their  enamoured 
angels  we  owe  the  fanciful  world  of  sylphs  and 
gnomes,  and  that  at  this  moment  we  might  have 
wanted  Pope's  most  exquisite  poem,  if  the  version  of 
the  LXX.  had  translated  the  Book  of  Genesis  cor- 
rectly." 


1  Ka«    fiir*   TO    axouirsti,  y*  u,  x«i   u{  y,»   «?riXiuo->i, 
HIT*  -rtjv  r*fmtmft9,  xxi  >|v  d«u^a<TTO»  OTI  fttr*  T<V  trxpx- 
/S»<ri»  T««Ti|»  T>I»  fitfx^Hv  ury,tv  ivwv/cixv.  HacresTt).  sue, 
la  loin.  i.  edit.  Paris,  1G22.  ) 

2  Lib.  6.  p.  234. 

3  PonUu  Tyard.  de  recta  nominum  impositione,  p.  14. 


The  following  is  one  among  many  passages,  which 
may  be  adduced  from  the  Comte  de  Gabalis,  in  con- 
firmation of  this  remark : — "Ces  enfans  du  ciel  engeu- 
drerent  les  geans  fameux,  s'etant  fait  aimer  aux  lilies 
des  hommes ;  et  les  mauvais  cabalistes  Joseph  et  Pliilo 
(comme  tous  les  Juifs  sont  ignorans,)  et  apres  eux 
tous  les  auteurs  que  j'ai  nommes  tout  a  1'heure,  ont 
dit  que  c'etoit  des  anges,  et  n'ont  pas  su  que  c'etait 
les  sylphes  et  les  autres  peuples  des  elemens,  qui, 
sous  le  nom  d'enfans  d'Eloim,  sont  distingues  des 
enfans  des  hommes." — See  Entret.  Second. 

Page  303,  line  110. 
So  high  she  deem'd  her  Cherub's  love  ! 
"  Nihil  plus  desiderare  potuerint  quz  angclos  pos- 
sidebant — magno  scilicet  nupserant.1'     Tertull.  de 
Habitu  Mulieb.  cap.  2. 

Page  304,  line  14. 
Then  first  were  diamonds  caught,  etc. 

"  Quelques  gnomes,  desireux  de  devenir  immortels, 
avoient  voulu  gagner  les  bonnes  graces  de  nos  filles, 
et  leur  avaient  apporte  des  pierreries  dont  ils  sont 
gardiens  naturels  :  et  ses  auteurs  ont  cru,  s'appuyant 
sur  le  livre  d'Enoch  mal  entendu,  que  c'etaient  dea 
pieges  que  les  anges  amoureux,"  etc.  etc. — Compte 
de  Gabalis. 

Tertullian  traces  all  the  chief  luxuries  of  female 
attire,  the  necklaces,  armlets,  rouge,  and  the  black 
powder  for  the  eye-lashes,  to  the  researches  of  these 
fallen  angels  into  the  inmost  recesses  of  nature,  and 
the  discoveries  they  were,  in  consequence,  enabled 
to  make,  of  all  that  could  embellish  the  beauty  of 
their  earthly  favourites.  The  passage  is  so  remark- 
able that  I  shall  give  it  entire  : — "  Nam  et  illi  qui  ea 
constituerant,  damnati  in  pznam  mortis  deputantur : 
illi  scilicet  angeli,  qui  ad  filias  hominum  de  ccelo  rue- 
runt,  ut  hffic  quoque  ignominia  foeminaj  accedut.  Nam 
cum  et  materias  quasdam  bene  occultas  et  artes  pie- 
rasque  non  bene  revelatas,  szculo  multo  magis  inipe- 
rito  prodidissent  (siquidem  et  metallorum  opera  nuda- 
verant,  et  herbarum  ingenia  traduxerant  et  iucanta- 
tionum  vires  provulgaverant,  et  omnem  curiositatem 
usque  ad  stellarum  interpretationem  designaverant) 
proprie  et  quasi  peculiariter  foeminis  instrumentum 
istud  muliebris  gloria;  contulerunt :  lumiua  lapillorum 
quibus  monilia  variantur,  et  circulos  ex  auro  quibus 
brachia  arctantur ;  et  medicamenta  ex  fuco,  quibus 
lans  colorantur,  et  ilium  ipsum  nigrum  pulverem, 
quo  oculorum  exordia  producuntur."  De  Habitu 
Mulieb.  cap.  2. — See  him  also  "  De  Cultu  Fceni.  cap  10. 

Page  304,  line  28. 

tho  mighty  magnet,  set 

In  Woman's  form. 

The  same  figure,  as  applied  to  female  attractions, 
occurs  in  a  singular  passage  of  St.  Basil,  of  which  the 
following  is  the  conclusion  : — Aia  rtjv  tvuioav  Kara 
TOV  ap'ptvos  avrr/;  (pvaiKrjv  tivvas-ttav,  cl>£  aionpos,  <plpt, 
Ttopfiiadtv  [tayveTis,  TOVTO  irpof  ia"jov  fiayyavtvi.  De 
Vera  Virginitat.  torn.  i.  p.  727.  It  is  but  fair,  however, 
to  add,  that  Hermant,  the  biographer  of  Basil,  has  pro- 
nounced this  most  unsanctified  treatise  to  be  spurious. 

Page  304,  line  37. 

I've  said,  "  Nay,  look  not  tberp,  my  love,"  etc. 
I  am  aware  that  this  happv  saying  of  Lord  Albe- 


THE  LOVES  OF  THE  ANGELS. 


315 


marle's  loses  much  of  its  grace  and  playfulness,  by 
being  put  into  the  mouth  of  any  but  a  human  lover. 

Page  304  —  Note. 

Clemens  Alexandrinus  is  one  of  those  who  suppose 
that  the  knowledge  of  such  sublime  doctrines  was 
derived  from  the  disclosure  of  the  angels.  Stromat. 
lib.  v.  p.  48.  To  the  same  source  Cassianus  and 
others  trace  all  impious  and  daring  sciences,  such 
as  magic,  alchemy,  etc.  "  From  the  fallen  angels 
(says  Zosimus)  came  all  that  miserable  knowledge 
which  is  of  no  use  to  the  soul." — Havra  ra  irovripa 
KO.I  PI&CV  u(j>t\avvra  ri/v  i^u^r/v. — Ap  Photium. 

Page  304,  line  91. 

light 

Escaping  from  the  Zodiac's  signs. 
"  La  lumiere  Zodiacale  n'est  autre  chose  que  1'at- 
mosphere  du  soleil." — Lalande. 

Page  308,  line,  108. 

-  ;is  't  is  graved 


of  the  manner  in  which  God  s  ray  is  communicated, 
first  to  the  Intelligences  near  him,  and  then  to  thoM 
more  remote,  gradually  losing  iu  own  brightnett  a* 
it  passes  into  a  denser  medium. — irpoa{i<i\\ov<ra  it  ran 
yrcpaif  tXaif,  apviportpati  f%ti  rtjv  impartial*  itr- 
<fta.vuav. 

Page  310,  line  20. 

Then  first  did  woman's  virgin  brow 

That  hymeneal  chaplet  wear, 
Which,  when  it  die*,  no  second  vow 

Can  bid  a  new  one  bloom  out  there. 

In  the  Catholic  church,  when  a  widow  is  married, 
she  is  not,  I  believe,  allowed  to  wear  flowers  on  her 
head.  The  ancient  Romans  honoured  with  a  "corona 
pudicitiac,"  or  crown  of  modesty,  those  who  entered 
but  once  into  the  marriage  state. 

Page  310,  line  57. 


Upon  the  tablets  that,  of  old, 

By  CHAM  were  from  the  Deluge  saved. 
The  pillars  of  Seth  are  usually  referred  to  as  the 
depositories  of  ante-diluvian  knowledge;  but  they 
were  inscribed  with  none  but  astronomical  secrets. 
I  have,  therefore,  preferred  here  the  tablets  of  Cham 
as  being,  at  least,  more  miscellaneous  in  their  infor- 
mation. The  following  account  of  them  is  given  in  | 
Jablonski  from  Cassianus  :— "  Quantum  enim  antiqus 
traditiones  ferunt  Cham  filius  Nox,  qui  superstitioni- 
bus  ac  profanis  fuerit  artibus  institutus,  sciens  nullum 
se  posse  superbis  memorialem  librum  in  arcam  inferre, 
in  quam  erat  ingressurus,  sacrilegas  artes  ac  profana 
commenta  durissimis  insculpsit  lapidibus." 

Page  303,  line  114. 

And  this  young  Angel's  'mong  the  rest. 

Pachymer,  in  his  Paraphrase  on  the  Book  de  Divi- 
nis  Nominibus  of  Dyonysius,  speaking  of  the  incarna- 
tion of  Christ,  says,  that  it  was  a  mystery  ineffable 
from  all  time,  and  "  unknown  even  to  the  first  and 
oldest  angel,"— justifying  this  last  phrase  by  the  au- 
thority of  St.  John  in  die  Revelation. 

Page  303,  line  4. 
Circles  of  light  that  from  the  same 
Eternal  centre  sweeping  wide, 
Carry  iu  beams  on  every  side. 
See  the  13th  chapter  of  Dionysius  for  his  notions 


her,  who  near 

The  Tabernacle  stole  to  hear 
The  secrets  of  the  Angels. 


Sara. 


Page  310,  line  86. 
Two  fallen  Splendors. 

The  Sephiroths  are  the  higher  orders  of  emanativc 
i  being,  in  the  strange  and  incomprehensible  system  of 
the  Jewish  Cabbala.  They  are  called  by  various 
names,  Pity,  Beauty,  etc.  etc.;  and  their  influences 
are  supposed  to  act  through  certain  canals,  which 
communicate  with  each  other.  The  reader  may 
judge  of  the  rationality  of  the  system  by  the  follow- 
ing explanation  of  part  of  the  machinery: — "Les 
canaux  qui  sortent  de  la  Misericorde  et  de  la  Force,  et 
qui  vont  aboutir  a  la  Beaute,  sont  charges  d'un  grand 
nombre  d'Anges.  II  y  en  a  trente-cinq  sur  le  canal 
de  la  Misericorde,  qui  recompensent  et  qui  couronnent 
la  vertu  des  Saints,"  etc.  etc.  For  a  concise  account 
of  the  Cabalistic  Philosophy,  see  Enfield's  very  useful 
compendium  of  Brucker. 

Page  310,  line  86. 

from  that  tree 

Which  buds  with  such  eternally. 

u  On  les  represente  quelquefois  sous  la  figure  d*OE 

arbre 1'Ensoph  qu'on  met  au-dessus  de  1'arbrfj 

Sephirotique  ou  des  Splendeurg  dhrines,  est  1  Infini 
—L'Histoire  des  Juifs,  liv.  ix.  11. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


THOUGH  the  beauties  of  the  National  Music  of  Ire 
»and  have  been  very  generally  felt  and  acknowlcdgec 
yet  it  has  happened,  through  the  want  of  appropriat 
English  words,  and  of  the  arrangement  necessary  t 
adapt  them  to  the  voice,  that  many  of  the  most  excel 
lent  compositions  have  hitherto  remained  in  obscurity 
It  is  intended,  therefore,  to  form  a  Collection  of  the 
best  Original  IRISH  MELODIES,  with  characteristii 
Symphonies  and  Accompaniments,  and  with  Word 
containing  as  frequent  as  possible  allusions  to  the 
manners  and  history  of  the  country. 

In  the  poetical  part,  the  Publisher  has  had  promise 
of  assistance  from  several  distinguished  Literary  Cha 
racters,  particularly  from  MR.  MOORE,  whose  lyrica 
talent  is  so  peculiarly  suited  to  such  a  task,  and  whos 
zeal  in  the  undertaking  will  be  best  understood  from 
the  following  extract  of  a  letter  which  he  has  address 
ed  to  Sir  JOHN  STEVENSON  (who  has  undertaken  the 
arrangement  of  the  airs)  on  the  subject : — 

"  I  feel  very  anxious  that  a  Work  of  this  kind  shouh 
be  undertaken.  We  have  too  long  neglected  the  onlj 
talent  for  which  our  English  neighbours  ever  deignec 
to  allow  us  any  credit.  Our  National  Music  has  never 
been  properly  collected;1  and,  while  the  composers 
of  the  Continent  have  enriched  their  operas  ant 
sonatas  with  melodies  borrowed  from  Ireland — very 
often  without  even  the  honesty  of  acknowledgment — 
we  have  left  these  treasures  in  a  great  degree  un- 
claimed and  fugitive.  Thus  our  airs,  like  too  many 
of  our  countrymen,  for  want  of  protection  at  home 
have  passed  into  the  service  of  foreigners.  But  we 
are  come,  I  hope,  to  a  better  period  both  of  politics 
and  music ;  and  how  much  they  are  connected,  in 
Ireland  at  least,  appears  too  plainly  in  the  tone  of 
sorrow  and  depression  which  characterises  most  of 
our  early  songs. — The  task  which  you  propose  to  me, 
of  adapting  words  to  these  airs,  is  by  no  means  easy. 
The  poet,  who  would  follow  the  various  sentiments 
which  they  express,  must  feel  and  understand  that 
rapid  fluctuation  of  spirits,  that  unaccountable  mixture 
of  gloom  and  levity,  which  composes  the  character 
of  my  countrymen,  and  has  deeply  tinged  their  music. 
Even  in  their  liveliest  strains  we  find  some  melan- 
choly note  intrude — some  minor  third  or  flat  seventh 
— which  throws  its  shade  as  it  passes,  and  maki  _ 
even  mirth  interesting.  If  BURNS  had  been  an  Irish- 
man (and  I  would  willingly  give  up  all  our  claims 
upon  OSSIAN  for  him,)  his  heart  would  have  been 
proud  of  such  music,  and  his  genius  would  have  made 
it  immortal. 


1  The  writer  forgot,  when  he  made  this  assertion,  that  the 
Public  arc'  in<l.-l.l,,l  M  Mr.  limiting  f,,r  a  very  valuable  col- 
lection ol  Irish  Music;  ami  that  the  patriotic  genius  of  Miss 
Oweuson  has  been  employed  uj>on  some  ot  our  Bnest  Airs. 


"Another  difficulty  (which  is,  however,  purely 
mechanical)  arises  from  the  irregular  structure  of 
many  of  those  airs,  and  the  lawless  kind  of  metre 
which  it  will  in  consequence  be  necessary  to  adapt 
to  them.  In  these  instances  the  poet  must  write  not 
to  the  eye  but  to  the  ear ;  and  must  be  content  to  have 
his  verses  of  that  description  which  CICERO  mentions, 
'  Quos  si  cantu  spolunxris,  nuda  remanebit  oratio.' 
That  beautiful  air,  '  The  Twisting  of  the  Rope,'  which 
has  all  the  romantic  character  of  the  Swiss  Ram  des 
Vaches,  is  one  of  those  wild  and  sentimental  rakes 
which  it  will  not  be  very  easy  to  tie  down  in  sober 
wedlock  with  poetry.  However,  notwithstanding  all 
these  difficulties,  and  the  very  little  talent  which  J 
can  bring  to  surmount  them,  the  design  appears  to 
me  so  truly  national,  that  I  shall  feel  much  pleasure 
in  giving  it  all  the  assistance  in  my  power 

'Leicestershire,  Feb.  1801." 


IRISH  MELODIES. 
No.  I. 


GO  WHERE  GLORY  WAITS  THEE 

AIR — Maid  of  (he  Valley. 
Go  where  glory  waits  thee, 
But,  while  fame  elates  thee, 

Oh !  still  remember  me. 
When  the  praise  thou  meetest 
To  thine  ear  io  sweetest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 
Other  arms  may  press  thee, 
Dearer  friends  caress  thee, 
All  the  joys  that  bless  thee 

Sweeter  far  may  be ; 
But  when  friends  are  nearest, 
And  when  joys  are  dearest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 

When  at  eve  thou  rovest 
By  the  star  thou  lovest, 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 
Think,  when  home  returning, 
Bright  we've  seen  it  burning — 

Oh  !  thus  remember  me. 
Oft  as  summer  closes, 
When  thine  eye  reposes, 
On  its  lingering  roses, 

Once  so  loved  by  thee — 
Think  of  her  who  wove  them, 
Her  who  made  thee  love  them— 

Oh  !  then  remember  me. 

When,  around  thee  dying, 
Autumn  leaves  are  lying, 
Oh  !  then  remember  me 


IRISH  MELODIES 


11: 


And,  at  night,  when  gazing 
On  the  gay  hearth  blazing, 

Oh  !  still  remember  me. 
Then  should  music,  stealing 
All  the  souJ  of  feeling, 
To  thy  hean  appealing, 

Draw  one  tear  from  thee , 
Then  let  memory  bring  thee 
Strains  I  used  to  sing  thee — 

Oh !  then  remember  me. 


WAR  SONG. 

REMEMBER  THE  GLORIES  OF  BRIEN  THE 
BRAVE.' 

AIR — Molly  Macalpin. 
REMEMBER  the  glories  of  BRIEN  the  brave, 

Though  the  days  of  the  hero  are  o'er ; 
Though  lost  to  Mononia3  and  cold  in  the  grave, 

He  returns  to  Kinkora3  no  more  ! 
That  star  of  the  field,  which  so  often  has  pour'd 

Its  beam  on  the  battle,  is  set; 
But  enough  of  its  glory  remains  on  each  sword 

To  light  us  to  victory  yet ! 

Mononia!  when  nature  embellisW  the  tint 

Of  thy  fields  and  thy  mountains  so  fair, 
Did  she  ever  intend  that  a  tyrant  should  print 

Th»?  footstep  of  Slavery  there  1 
No,  Freedom  !  whose  smile  we  shall  never  resign, 

Go,  tell  our  invaders,  the  Danes, 
That 't  is  sweeter  to  bleed  for  an  age  at  thy  shrine, 

Than  to  sleep  but  a  moment  in  chains ! 

Forget  not  our  wounded  companions  who  stood* 

In  the  day  of  distress  by  our  side  ; 
While  the  moss  of  the  valley  grew  red  with  their  blood 

They  stirr'd  not,  but  conquer'd  and  died  ! 
The  sun  that  now  blesses  our  arms  with  his  light, 

Saw  them  fall  upon  Ossory's  plain  ! — 
Oh !  let  him  not  blush,  when  he  leaves  us  to-night, 

To  find  that  they  fell  there  in  vain ! 


ERIN!  THE  TEAR  AND  THE  SMILE  IN 

THINE  EYES. 
AIR — Ailcen  Aroon. 

ERIN  !  the  tear  and  the  smile  in  thine  eyes 
Blend  like  the  rainbow  that  hangs  in  thy  skies ! 


Shining  through  sorrow's  stream, 
Saddening  through  pleasure's  beam. 
Thy  suns,  with  doubtful  gleam, 
Weep  while  they  rise ! 

Erin  !  thy  silent  tear  never  shall  cease, 
Erin !  thy  languid  smile  ne'er  shall  increase, 

Till,  like  the  rainbow's  light, 

Thy  various  tints  unite. 

And  form,  in  Heaven'*  sight, 
One  arch  of  peace ! 


OH!  BREATHE  NOT  HIS  NAME. 
AIR — The  Brown  Maid. 

!  breathe  not  his  name,  let  it  sleep  in  the  shade 
iVhere  cold  and  unhonour'd  his  relics  are  laid : 
Sad,  silent,  and  dark  be  the  tears  that  we  shed, 
As  the  night-dew  that  falls  on  the  grass  o'er  his  head ! 

But  the  night-dew  that  falls,  though  in  silence  it 

weeps, 

hall  brighten  with  verdure  the  grave  where  he  sleeps; 
And  the  tear  that  we  shed,  though  in  secret  it  rolls, 
Shall  long  keep  his  memory  green  in  our  soul*. 


1  Brien  Borombe,  the  »ro:it  Momrch  oflreland,  who  wag 
killed  at  the  battle  of  Ciontarf,  in  ihe- beginning  of  the  II U 
century,  after  having  defeated  the  Dane*  in  twcnty-fivr 

TvTC  3  Thence,  of  Brim. 

4  This  alludes  to  an  intere'tin"  circumstance  related  ol 
the  Dal-ai*.  the  favourite  troops  of  Brinn,  when  they  were 
into rrai-ud  in  their  return  from  the  ha-tle  of  Clonlarf,  by 
Fitzna  rick,  Prince  ofO^ory.  The  wnunded  men  entreated 
that  they  ini-ht  be  allowed  to  fis;,t  with  the  resl .-»  1st 
Mtakc,  (they  said)  be  ttutk  •»  thr<rr,nln*  "**  ,"/?,? 
of  »,  tird  and  supported  by  art  of  throe  *tak«,  to  b 
Placed  in  AM  rank  hy  thr  *idt  of  a  MM4  man.  Be- 
tween .even  and  eight  hundred  wound*.!  njrn  (ndd. 
loran,1)  pale,  emaciated,  nnd  mipportort  in  this  manner,  up 
£a"cd  mixed  with  the  foremost  of  the  troop,  t-nrwrw.. 
inch  another  sight  ex»iibitcd."-//w«ory  of  Ireland,  Book 
K,  t'hm.  1 


WHEN  HE  WHO  ADORES  THEE. 

AIR— The  Fox'g  Sleep. 
WHEN  he  who  adores  thee  has  left  but  the  name 

Of  his  fault  and  his  sorrows  behind, 
Oh  !  say,  wilt  thou  weep,  when  they  darken  the  fame 

Of  a  life  that  for  thee  was  resign'd  1 
Yes,  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  condemn, 

Thy  tears  shall  efface  their  decree ; 
For  Heaven  can  witness,  though  guilty  to  them, 

I  have  been  too  faithful  to  thee  ! 

With  thee  were  the  dreams  of  my  earliest  lore 

Every  thought  of  my  reason  was  thine  ; 
In  my  last  humble  prayer  to  the  Spirit  above 

Thy  name  shall  be  mingled  with  mine  ! 
Oh !  blest  are  the  lovers  and  friends  who  shall  lire 

The  days  of  thy  glory  to  see ; 
But  the  next  dearest  blos?ing  that  Heaven  can  give 

Is  the  pride  of  thus  dying  for  thee ! 


THE  HARP  THAT  ONCE  THROUGH 
TARA'S  HALLS. 

AIR — Gramnrh  rrt. 

THF  harp  that  once  through  Tara's  hall« 

The  soul  of  music  shed, 
Now  hangs  as  mute  on  Tara'u  walls 

As  if  that  soul  were  fled. 
So  sleeps  the  pride  of  former  days, 

So  glory's  thrill  is  o'er, 
And  hearts  that  once  beat  high  for  prawe 

Now  feel  that  pulse  no  more  ! 


918 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


No  more  to  chiefs  and  ladies  bright 

The  harp  of  Tara  swells ; 
The  chord  alone,  that  breaks  at  night, 

Its  tale  of  ruin  tells. 
Thus  Freedom  now  so  seldom  wakes, 

The  only  throb  she  gives 
Is  when  some  heart  indignant  breaks, 

To  show  that  still  she  lives  ! 


FLY  NOT  YET. 

AIR— Planxty  Kelly. 
FLY  not  yet,  't  is  just  the  hour 
When  pleasure,  like  the  midnight  flower 
That  scorns  the  eye  of  vulgar  light, 
Begins  to  bloom  for  sons  of  night, 

And  maids  who  love  the  moon ! 
'T  was  but  to  bless  these  hours  of  shade 
That  beauty  and  the  moon  were  made ; 
*Tis  then  their  soft  attractions  glowing 
Set  the  tides  and  goblets  flowing. 

Oh  !  stay— Oh !  stay- 
Joy  so  seldom  weaves  a  chain 
Like  this  to-night,  that  oh  !  't  is  pain 

To  break  its  links  so  soon. 

Fly  not  yet,  the  fount  that  play'd 

In  times  of  old  through  Ammon's  shade,1 

Through  icy  cold  by  day  it  ran, 

Yet  still,  like  souls  of  mirth,  began 

To  ourn  when  night  was  near : 
And  thus  should  woman's  heart  and  looks 
At  noon  be  cold  as  winter  brooks, 
Nor  kindle  till  the  night,  returning, 
Brings  their  genial  hour  for  burning. 

Oh !  stay — Oh  !  stay — 
When  did  morning  ever  break, 
And  find  such  beaming  eyes  awake 

As  those  that  sparkle  here ! 


OH!  THINK  NOT  MY  SPIRITS  ARE  AL- 
WAYS AS  LIGHT. 

AIR — John  O'Reilly  the  Active. 

On !  think  not  my  spirits  are  always  as  light, 

And  as  free  from  a  pang  as  they  seem  to  you  now ; 
Nor  expect  that  the  heart-beaming  smile  of  to-night 

Will  return  with  to-morrow  to  brighten  my  brow. 
No— life  is  a  waste  of  wearisome  hours, 

Which  seldom  the  rose  of  enjoyment  adorns ; 
And  the  heart  that  is  soonest  awake  to  the  flowers 

Is  always  the  first  to  be  touch'd  by  the  thorns  ! 
But  send  round  the  bowl,  and  be  happy  awhile  ; 

May  we  never  meet  worse,  in  our  pilgrimage  here, 
Than  the  tenr  that  enjoyment  can  gild  with  a  smile, 

And  the  smile  that  compassion  can  turn  to  a  tear. 

ITie  thread  of  our  life  would  be  dark,  Heaven  knows, 
If  it  were  not  with  friendship  and  love  intertwined ; 

\nd  I  care  not  how  soon  I  may  sink  to  repose, 
When  these  blessings  shall  cease  to  be  dear  to  my 
mind  ! 


SolU  Font,  near  the  temple  of  Aimnon. 


But  they  who  have  loved  the  fondest,  the  purest, 

Too  often  have  wept  o'er  the  dream  they  believed , 
And  the  heart  that  has  slumber'd  in  friendship  securest 

Is  happy  indeed  if  't  Were  never  deceived. 
But  send  round  the  bowl — while  a  relic  of  truth 

Is  in  man  or  in  woman,  this  prayer  shall  be  mine,— • 
That  the  sun-shine  of  love  may  illumine  our  youth, 

And  the  moonlight  of  friendship  console  our  de- 
cline. 


THOUGH  THE  LAST  GLIMPSE  OF  ERIN 
WITH  SORROW  I  SEE 

AIR — Coulin. 

THOUGH  the  last  glimpse  of  Erin  with  sorrow  I  see, 
Yet  wherever  thou  art  shall  seem  Erin  to  me ; 
In  exile  thy  bosom  shall  still  be  my  home, 
And  thine  eyes  make  my  climate  wherever  we  roam 

To  the  gloom  of  some  desert  or  cold  rocky  shore, 
Where  the  eye  of  the  stranger  can  haunt  us  no  more, 
I  will  fly  with  my  Coulin,  and  think  the  rough  wind 
Less  rude  than  the  foes  we  leave  frowning  behind 

And  I'll  gaze  on  thy  gold  hair,  as  graceful  it  wreathes, 
And  hang  o'er  thy  soft  harp,  as  wildly  it  breathes ; 
Nor  dread  that  the  cold-hearted  Saxon  will  tear 
One  chord  from  that  harp,  or  one  lock  from  that  hair.1 


RICH  AND  RARE  WERE  THE  GEMS  SHE 
WORE.2 

AIR — The  Summer  is  coming. 
RICH  and  rare  were  the  gems  she  wore, 
And  a  bright  gold  ring  on  her  wand  she  bore ; 
But  oh  !  her  beauty  was  far  beyond 
Her  sparkling  gems  or  snow-white  wand. 

"  Lady  !  dost  thou  not  fear  to  stray, 

So  lone  and  lovely,  through  this  bleak  way? 

Are  Erin's  sons  so  good  or  so  cold 

As  not  to  be  tempted  by  woman  or  gold  ?" 


1  "In  the  twenty-eighth  year  of  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
an  act  was  made  respecting  the  habits,  and  dress  in  general 
of  the  Irish,  whereby  all  persons  were  restrained  from  being 
shorn  or  shaven  above  the  ears,  or  from  wearing  glibbes,  ot 
Coulins  (long  locks,)  on  their  heads,  or  hair  on  their  upper 
lip,  called  Crommeal.     On  this  occasion  a  song  was  written 
by  one  of  our  bards,  in  which  an  Irish  virgin  is  made  to  give 
the  preference  to  her  dear  Coulin  (or  the  youth  with  the 
flowing  locks,)  to  til  strangers  (by  which  the  English  were 
meant,)  or  those  who  wore  their  habits.     Of  this  song  tht 
air  alone  has  reached  us,  and  is  universally  admired."— 
Walkrr'g  Hiflorical  Memoirs  of  [risk  Bards,  page  134. 
Mr.  Walker  informs  us  also,  that,  about  the  same  period, 
wem  tome  h»rsh  measures  taken  against  the  Irish  Minstrels 

2  This  ballad  is  founded  upon  the  following  anecdote : 
"  The  people  were  inspired  with  such  a  spirit  of  honour 
virtue,  and  religion,  by  the  great  example  of  Brien,  and  by 
his  excellent  administration,  that,  as  a  proof  of  it,  we  are 
informed  that  a  young  lady  of  great  beauty,  adorned  with 
jewels  and  a  costly  dress,  undertook  a  journey  alone  from 
one  end  of  the  kingdom  lo  the  other,  with  a  wand  only  in 
hi  r  h  nd,  at  the  top  of  which  was  a  ring  of  exceeding  great 
valuo;  and  such  an  impression  hail  the  law  sand  government 
of  this  Monarch  made  on  the  minds  of  all  the  people,  that 
no  attempt  was  mnde  upon  lier  honour,  nor  was  she  robbed 
of  her  clothes  or  jewels." — Warner's  History  of  Inland. 
Vol.  i.  Book  10. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


3J9 


"  Sir  Knight !  I  feel  not  the  least  alarm, 
No  son  of  Erin  will  offer  me  harm — 
For  though  they  love  woman  and  golden  store, 
Sir  Knight !  they  love  honour  and  virtue  more !' 

On  she  went,  and  her  maiden  smile 
In  safety  lighted  her  round  the  green  isle. 
And  blest  for  ever  is  she  who  rclit-d 
Upon  Erin's  honour  and  Erin's  pride  ! 


AS  A  BEAM  O'ER  THE  FACE  OF  THE 
WATERS  MAY  GLOW. 

AIR — The  Young  Man's  Dream. 
As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  may  glow 
While  the  tide  runs  in  darkness  and  coldness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  tinged  with  a  warm  sunny  smile 
Though  the  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  while 

One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes, 
To  which  life  nothing  darker  or  brighter  can  bring, 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm,  and  affliction  no  sting! — 

Oh !  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stay 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's  bright  ray 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  round  it  in  vain, — 
It  may  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again ! 


THE  MEETING  OF  THE  WATERS.1 

Am—  The  Old  Head  of  Denis. 
THERE  is  not  in  the  wide  world  a  valley  so  sweet 
As  that  vale  in  whose  bosom  the  bright  waters  meet  ;2 
Oh  !  the  last  ray  of  feeling  and  life  must  depart, 
Ere  the  bloom  of  that  valley  shall  fade  from  my  heart 

Yet  it  was  not  that  nature  had  shed  o'er  the  scene 
Her  purest  of  crystal  and  brightest  of  green ; 
'T  was  not  the  soft  magic  of  streamlet  or  hill — 
Oh  !  no — it  was  something  more  exquisite  still. 

'Twas  that  friends  the  beloved  of  my  bosom  were  near, 
Who  made  every  dear  scene  of  enchantment  more  dear, 
And  who  felt  how  the  best  charms  of  nature  improve 
When  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love. 

Sweet  vale  of  Avoca  !  how  calm  could  I  ro>t 

In  thy  bosom  of  shade,  with  the  friends  1  love  best, 

Where  the  storms  that  we  feel  in  this  cold  world 

should  cease, 
And  our  hearts,  like  thy  waters,  be  mingled  in  peace. 


No.  II. 

ST.  SENANUS  AND  THE  LADY. 
AIR — The  Brown  Thorn. 

ST.  SKNANUS. 

"  Oh  !  haste,  and  leave  this  sacred  isle, 
Unholy  bark,  ere  morning  smile  ; 


1  "Tlif   Mci'lin!!   of  iht!  Waters"   I'onns  n   purl   of  that 
beautiful   scenery  whick    lies  between   Kml.drmn  and  Ark- 
low    in  the  county  of  Wicklow,  and  these  lines  were  sug- 
gested liy  a  visit  to  this  romantic  spot,  in  the  summer  of  18U7. 

2  The  rivers  Avon  and  Avoca. 


For  on  thy  deck,  though  dark  it  be, 

A  female  form  I  see ; 
And  I  have  sworn  this  Haintr.i  sod 
Shall  ne'er  by  woman's  feel  be  trod '"' 

THE    LADY. 

"  Oh !  Father,  send  not  hence  my  bark 
Through  wintry  winds  and  billows  dark 
I  come,  with  humble  heart,  to  share 

Thy  morn  and  evening  prayer ; 
Nor  mine  the  feet,  oh !  holy  Saint, 
The  brightness  of  thy  sod  to  taint." 

The  lady's  prayer  Senanus  spurn'd ; 
The  winds  blew  fresh,  the  bark  rrtiirn'd 
But  legends  hint,  that  had  the  maid 

Till  morning's  light  delay'd, 
And  given  the  saint  one  rosy  smile, 
She  ne'er  had  left  his  lonely  isle 


HOW  DEAR  TO  ME  THE  HOUR. 

AIR—  The  Twisting  of  the  Rope. 
low  dear  to  me  the  hour  when  day-light  dies, 

And  sun-beams  melt  along  the  silent  sea, 
''or  then  sweet  dreams  of  other  days  arise, 
And  memory  breathes  her  vesper  sigh  to  thoe. 

And,  as  I  watch  the  line  of  light  that  plays 
Along  the  smooth  wave  toward  the  burning  west, 
long  to  tread  that  golden  path  of  rays, 
And  think  "t  would  lead  to  some  bright  isle  ol  rest 


TAKE  BACK  THE  VIRGIN  PAGE. 

WRITTEN   ON   RETURNING    A   BLANK   BOOK. 

AIR — Dermott. 
TAKE  back  the  virgin  page, 

White  and  unwritten  still ; 
Some  hand  more  calm  and  sage 

The  leaf  must  fill. 
Thoughts  come  as  pure  as  light, 

Pure  as  even  you  require: 
But  oh  !  each  word  1  write 

Love  turns  to  fire. 

Yet  let  me  k'eep  the  book ; 
Oft  shall  my  heart  renew, 


1  In  a  metrical  Hfo  of  St.  Senanui,  taken  from  an  oM 
ilkenny  M3.  and  which  may  be  found  among  the  .ieln 
,111,-lnruiH  Ililierniir,  we  are  to'd  of  In*  flight  to  the  inland 
iv,  and  hm  resolution  n  it  to  admit  any  woman  of 
e  party;  ho  refused  to  receive  ivcn  n  «i»tnr  mint.  Ht.  ('«n 
•r;i,  whom  im  angel  had  taken  In  the  island,  fi.r  Ibe  ejpreai 
irpose  of  introducing  her  to  him.  The  following  wait  lh« 
ijjrurioim  answer  of  Sunanui,  according  to  hut  uouticd 
ngruphur: 

Cui  PrTnul,  quid  faminif 
Commune  esl  cum  moiiHcmgt 
Nee  te  HIT  ullam  aliitm 
A'liiiittunus  in  iiisiihitn. 

See  the  Jtcta  Sanrt.  Hib.  pn»c  fild. 

According  to  Pr.  !,<•,]«  ic-l>,  Ht.  Sennmn  wu»  no  lc«  • 
•linn  the  river  Shannon  ;  )>iit  <  > 'Connor,  and  oil** 
iiiuuarimiB  deny  thin  metamorphose  indignantly 


320 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  on  its  leaves  I  look, 

l>nr  thoughts  of  you! 
Like  you,  't  is  fair  and  bright; 

Like  you,  too  bright  and  fair 
To  let  wild  passion  write 

One  wrong  wish  there ! 

Haply,  when  from  those  eyes 

Far,  far  away  I  roam, 
Should  calmer  thoughts  arise 

Towards  you  and  home, 
Fancy  may  trace  some  line 

Worthy  those  eyes  to  meet ; 
Thoughts  that  not  burn,  but  shine 

Pure,  calm,  and  sweet ! 

And,  as  the  records  are. 

Which  wandering  seamen  ceeps 
Led  by  their  hidden  star 

Through  the  cold  deep — 
So  may  the  words  I  write 

Tell  through  what  storms  I  stray 
You  still  the  unseen  light 

Guiding  my  way ! 


THE  LEGACY. 
AIR —  Unknown. 
WHEN  in  death  I  shall  calm  recline, 

O  bear  my  heart  to  my  mistress  dear ; 
Tell  her  it  lived  upon  smiles  and  wine 

Of  the  brightest  hue,  while  it  linger'd  here : 
Bid  her  not  shed  one  tear  of  sorrow 

To  sully  a  heart  so  brilliant  and  light ; 
But  balmy  drops  of  the  red  grape  borrow, 

To  bathe  the  relic  from  morn  till  night. 

When  the  light  of  my  song  is  o'er, 

Then  take  my  harp  to  your  ancient  hall 
Hang  it  up  at  that  friendly  door, 

Where  weary  travellers  love  to  call.1 
Then  if  some  bard,  who  roams  forsaken, 

Revive  its  soil  note  in  passing  along, 
Oh  !  let  one  thought  of  its  master  waken 

Your  warmest  smile  for  the  child  of  song 

Keep  this  cup,  which  is  now  o'erflowing, 

To  grace  your  revel  when  I'm  at  rest; 
Never,  oh !  never  its  balm  bestowing 

On  lips  that  beauty  hath  seldom  blest ! 
But  when  some  warm  devoted  lover 

To  her  he  adores  shall  bathe  its  brim, 
Then,  then  my  spirit  around  shall  hover, 

And  hallow  each  drop  that  foams  for  him. 


HOW  OFT  HAS  THE  BENSHEE  CRIED. 

AIR— The  Dear  Black  Maid. 
How  oft  has  the  Benshee  cried ! 
How  oft  has  death  untied 


1  "  In  every  house  wa*  one  or  two  harps,  free  to  all  tra- 
vellers, who  were  the  more  caressed  the  more  they  excelled 
n  music." — O' Jlalloran. 


Bright  links  that  Glory  wove, 

Sweet  bonds,  entwined  by  Love  ! 
Peace  to  each  manly  soul  that  sleepeth! 
Rest  to  each  faithful  eye  that  weepeth  ! 

Long  rmy  the  fair  and  brave 

Sigh  o'er  the  hero's  grave. 

We're  fallen  upon  gloomy  days,1 

Star  after  star  decays, 

Every  bright  name,  that  shed 

Light  o'er  the  land,  is  fled. 
Dark  falls  the  tear  of  him  who  mourneth 
Lost  joy,  or  hope  that  ne'er  returneth ; 

But  brightly  flows  the  tear 

Wept  o'er  a  hero's  bier ! 

Oh  !  quench'd  are  our  beacon-lights— 
Thou,  of  the  hundred  fights  !2 
Thou,  on  whose  burning  tongue9 
Truth,  peace  and  freedom  hung ! 
Both  mute — but  long  as  valour  shineth, 
Or  mercy's  soul  at  war  repineth, 
So  long  shall  Erin's  pride 
Tell  how  they  lived  and  died. 


WE  MAY  ROAM  THROUGH  THIS  WORLD 
AIR — Garyone. 

WE  may  roam  through  this  world  like  a  child  at  a 
feast, 

Who  but  sips  of  a  sweet,  and  then  flies  to  the  rest; 
And  when  pleasure  begins  to  grow  dull  in  the  east, 

We  may  order  our  wings  and  be  off  to  the  west  • 
But  if  hearts  that  feel,  and  eyes  that  smile, 

Are  the  dearest  gifts  that  Heaven  supplies, 
We  never  need  leave  our  own  green  isle, 

For  sensitive  hearts  and  for  sun-bright  eyes. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  wcstwa-d 

you  roam, 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round 

Oh !  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home 

In  England,  the  garden  of  beauty  is  kept 

By  a  dragon  of  prudery,  placed  within  call; 
But  so  oft  this  unamiable  dragon  has  slept, 

That  the  garden 's  but  carelessly  watch'd  after  all 
Oh  !  they  want  the  wild  sweet  briery  fence, 

Which  round  the  flowers  of  Erin  dwells, 
Which  warms  the  touch,  while  winning  the  sense, 

Nor  charms  us  least  when  it  most  repels. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  westward 
you  roam, 


1 1  have  endeavoured  here,  withoutlosing  that  Irish  charac- 
ter winch  it  is  my  objecl  to  preserve  throughout  this  work, 
to  allude,  to  the  IT  id  ;md  ominous  fatality  by  whirl:  ' 
has  l»j  -n  deprived  of  so  many  irreat  and  good  men  at  a  mo- 
ni'-nt  when  she  most  requires  all  the  aids  of  talent  and  in- 
tegrity. 

2  This  de^snation,  wh'ch  has  been  applied  to  T,ord  Nel- 
son before,  'H  'he  lit!e  piven  to  a  celebrated  Irish  hero,  in  a 
poem  hv  O'Gnive,  the  bard  of  O'Niel,  which  is  quoted  in 
the  "Philosophical  Survey  of  the  South  of  Irelarul,"  pnge> 
43:1.  "  dm,  of  the  hundred  fishte,  sleep  in  thy  rraes-grown 
'>,  ami  uphra:d  nut  our  defeats  with  thy  victories!* 
Fox,  "ultitnus  Romanoruuv.'" 


tomb 
3  F 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


321 


When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round 
Oli !  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home 

In  France,  when  the  heart  of  a  woman  sets  sail, 

On  Uir.  oc.Mn  of  wedlock  its  fortune  to  try, 
Love  seldom  goes  fur  in  a  vessel  so  frail, 

But  just  pilots  her  off,  and  then  bids  her  good-bye 
While  the  daughters  of  Erin  keep  the  boy 

Ever  smiling  beside  his  faithful  oar, 
Through  billows  of  woe  and  beams  of  joy 

The  same  as  he  look'd  when  he  left  the  shore. 
Then  remember,  wherever  your  goblet  is  crown'd, 

Through  this  world  whether  eastward  or  westwarc 

you  roam, 
When  a  cup  to  the  smile  of  dear  woman  goes  round 

Oh !  remember  the  smile  which  adorns  her  at  home 


EVELEEN'S  BOWER 

A  i  R —  Unknown. 
On  !  weep  for  the  hour, 
When  to  Eveleen's  bower 

The  Lord  of  the  valley  with  false  vows  came; 
The  moon  hid  her  light 
From  the  heavens  that  night, 

And  wept  behind  her  clouds  o'er  the  maiden's  shame. 
The  clouds  pass'd  soon 
From  the  chaste  cold  moon, 

And  Heaven  smiled  again  with  her  vestal  flame ; 
But  none  will  see  the  day, 
When  the  clouds  shall  pass  away, 

Which  that  dark  hour  left  upon  Eveleen's  fame. 

The  white  snow  lay 

On  the  narrow  path-way, 
Where  the  Lord  of  the  valley  cross'd  over  the  moor ; 

And  many  a  deep  print 

On  the  white  snow's  tint 
Show'd  the  track  of  his  footstep  to  Eveleen's  door. 

The  next  sun's  ray 

Soon  melted  away 
Every  trace  on  the  path  where  the  false  Lord  came ; 

But  there 's  a  light  above 

Which  alone  can  remove 
That  stain  upon  the  snow  of  fair  Eveleen's  fame. 


LET  ERIN  REMEMBER  THE  DAYS  OF  OLD. 

Am—  The  Red  Fox. 
LET  Erin  rrmember  the  days  of  old, 

Ere  her  faithless  sons  betray'd  her ; 
When  Malachi  wore  the  collar  of  gold,1 

Which  he  won  from  her  proud  invader ; 
When  her  kinjrs,  with  standard  of  green  tmfurl'd, 

Led  the  Red-Branch  Knights  to  danger ; — * 
Ere  the  emerald  gem  of  the  western  world 

Was  set  in  the  crown  of  a  stranger. 


1  "This  brought  on  an  encounter  between  Malachi  (the 
Monarch  of  Ireland  in  the  tenth  century)  and  the  Dane*,  in 
which  Malachi  defeated  two  of  their  champion*,  whom  he 
encountered  successively  hand  to  hand,  taking  a  collar  of 
gold  from  the  neck  of  one,  and  carryinz  off  the  sword  of  the 
other,  as  trophies  of  his  victory." — Warner's  History  of 
Ireland,  vol.  i.  book  9. 

2  "  Military  orders  of  kniphts  were  very  early  established 

2S 


On  Lough  Neagh's  bank  as  the  fishermen  strayg,1 

When  the  clear,  cold  eve  *s  declining, 
He  sees  the  round  towers  of  other  days, 

In  the  ware  beneath  him  shining  ! 
Thus  shall  memory  often,  in  dreams  sublime. 

Catch  a  glimpse  of  the  days  that  are  ore  r ; 
Thus,  sighing,  look  through  the  waves  of  tiioa 

For  the  long-faded  glories  they  cover ! 


THE  SONG  OF  FIONNUALA.* 

Am — Arrah  my  dear  Etxleen. 
SILENT,  oh  Moyle !  be  the  roar  of  thy  wtter, 

Break  not,  ye  breezes,  your  chain  of  repose, 
While  murmuring  mournfully,  Lir's  lonely  daughter 

Tells  to  the  night-star  her  tale  of  woes. 
When  shall  the  swan,  her  death-note  singing, 

Sleep  with  wings  in  darkness  furl'd  ? 
When  will  Heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing, 

Call  my  spirit  from  this  stormy  world  ? 

Sadly,  oh  Moyle !  to  thy  winter  wave  weeping, 

Fate  bids  me  languish  long  ages  away ; 
Yet  still  in  her  darkness  doth  Erin  lie  sleeping, 

Still  doth  the  pure  light  its  dawning  delay  1 
When  will  that  day-star,  mildly  springing, 

Warm  our  isle  with  peace  and  love  t 
iVhen  will  Heaven,  its  sweet  bell  ringing, 

Call  my  spirit  to  the  fields  above  7 


COME,  SEND  ROUND  THE  WINE. 

AIR — We  brought  the  Summer  trith  us. 

'OME,  send  round  the  wine,  and  leave  points  of  b». 

lief 

To  simpleton  sages,  and  reasoning  fools ; 
Phis  moment 's  a  flower  too  fair  and  brief, 
To  be  withered  and  stain'd  by  the  dust  of  the 
schools. 


n  Ireland.  Long  before  the  birth  ot  Christ,  we  find  a  here- 
litary  order  of  chivalry  in  Ulster,  called  Cura  itkr  **  Cro- 

ibhe  ruat/h,  or  the  knights  of  the  Red  Branch,  from  their 

hief  seat  in  Emania,  adjoining  to  the  palace  of  the  Ulster 
kinz<,  railed  Teagk  na  Craoitke  nadk,  or  the  Academy  of 
he  Red  Branch ;  and  contiguous  to  which  was  •  largo  hoc 
iiml,  founded  for  the  sick  knights  and  soldiers,  eallrd  Bm~ 

hcarg,  or  the  house  of  the  sorrowful  soldier." — U'litllr 

an's  Introduction,  etc.  part.  i.  chap.  5. 

1  It  was  an  old  tradiUpn,  in  the  time  of  Giraldns,  that 
.•ough  Neagh  had  been  originally  a  fountain,  by  whose  cud- 
en  overflowing  the  country  was  inundated,  and  a  whole  re- 
gion, like  the  Atlantis  of  Plato,  overwhelmed.   He  says  that 

he  fishermen,  in  clear  weather,  used  to  point  out  to  sttaa- 
irs  the  tall  ecclesiastical  towers  under  the  water.  "  Pisca 
ore*  aqua-  illius  turret  ecclesiastical,  qusj  more  patrin-  are- 
nunt  et  alias,  necnon  et  rotunda-,  sub  undis  manifesto, 
creno  tempore  conspiciunt  et  extrancis  transeuotibuf,  rei- 
ue  causas  admirantibus,  frequenter  ostendunt"—  Toftgr. 
Hib.  Hist.  2.  c.  9. 

2  To  make  this  «tory  intelligible  in  a  song,  wmild  require 
much  greater  number  of  verses  than  anyone  is  authorised 

o  inflict  upon  an  audience  at  once;  the  reader  mu*t  there- 
'  re  be  content  to  learn,  in   a  note,  that  Fionnnala,  the 
niL'hTcr  of  Lir,  wa?,  by  some  supernatural  power,  transform- 
ed into  a  swan,  and  condemned  to  wander,  tor  nianv 
ears,  over   certain   lakes   and   rivers   in    Ir<  Inmf,  till   Ihn 
oming  of  Christianity,  when  the  firnt  Found  of  tlie  n 
iva*  to  be  the  sijrnalof  her  releaw. — I  found  this  faneifW 
iction  amonssoine  manuscript  translation*  from  the  Iri»h, 
ifhich  were  beffun  under  the  direction  of  that  enlighten** 
riend  of  Ireland,  the  late  Countwk  of  Moira. 


322 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Your  glass  may  be  purple  and  mine  may  be  blue, 
But,  while  they  are  filled  from  the  same  bright  bowl, 

The  fool  who  would  quarrel  for  difference  of  hue 
Deserves  not  the  comforts  they  shed  o'er  the  soul, 

Shall  I  ask  the  brave  soldier,  who  fights  by  my  side 

In  the  cause  of  mankind,  if  our  creeds  agree  ? 
Shall  I  give  up  the  friend  I  have  valued  and  tried, 

If  he  kneel  not  before  the  same  altar  with  me  ? 
From  the  heretic  girl  of  my  soul  shall  I  fly, 

To  seek  somewhere  else  a  more  orthodox  kiss  ? 
No !  perish  the  hearts  and  the  laws  that  try 

Truth,  valour,  or  love,  by  a  standard  like  this ! 


SUBLIME  WAS  THE  WARNING. 

AIR—  The  Mack  Joke. 

SUBLIME  was  the  warning  which  Liberty  spoke, 
And  grand  was  the  moment  when  Spaniards  awoke 
Into  life  and  revenge  from  the  conqueror's  chain ! 
Oh,  Liberty  !  let  not  this  spirit  have  rest, 
Till  it  move,  like  a  breeze,  o'er  the  waves  of  the 

west — 

Give  the  light  of  your  look  to  each  sorrowing  spot, 
Nor,  oh !  be  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  forgot, 
While  you  add  to  your  garland  the  Olive  of  Spain ! 

If  the  fane  of  our  fathers  bequeath'd  with  their  rights, 
Give  to  country  its  charm,  and  to  home  its  delights, 

If  deceit  be  a  wound  and  suspicion  a  stain — 
Then,  ye  men  of  Iberia !  our  cause  is  the  same : 
And  oh !  may  his  tomb  want  a  tear  and  a  name, 
Who  would  ask  for  a  nobler,  a  holier  death, 
Than  to  turn  his  last  sigh  into  victory's  breath 

For  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain ! 

Ye  Blakes  and  O'Donnels,  whose  fathers  resigned 
The  green  hills  of  their  youth,  among  strangers  to  find 

That  repose  which  at  home  they  had  sigh'd  for  in 

vain, 

Join,  join  in  our  hope  that  the  flame,  which  you  light, 
May  be  felt  yet  in  Erin,  as  calm  and  as  bright, 
And  forgive  even  Albion,  while  blushing  she  draws, 
Like  a  truant,  her  sword,  in  the  long-slighted  cause 

Of  the  Shamrock  of  Erin  and  Olive  of  Spain ! 

God  prosper  the  cause  !— oh !  it  cannot  but  thrive, 
While  the  pulse  of  one  patriot  heart  is  alive, 

Its  devotion  to  feel,  and  its  rights  to  maintain. 
Then  how  sainted  by  sorrow  its  martyrs  will  die ! 
The  finger  of  Glory  shall  point  where  they  lie. 
While,  far  from  the  footstep  of  coward  or  slave, 
The  young  Spirit  of  Freedom  shall  shelter  their 
grave, 

Beneath  Shamrocks  of  Erin  and  Olives  of  Spain. 


BELIEVE  3IE.IF  ALL  THOSE  ENDEARING 

YOUNG  CHARMS. 
AIR — 'My  Lodging  is  on  the  cold  Ground. 
BELIEVE  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young  charms, 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day, 
Were  to  rharijc  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my  arms, 
Like  fairy  gifts  fading  away  ! 


Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored,  as  this  moment  thou 
art, 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will, 
And  around  the  dear  ruin,  each  wi»h  of  my  heart 

Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still ! 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine  own, 

And  thy  cheeks  unprofaned  by  a  tear, 
That  the  fervour  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be  known, 

To  which  time  will  but  mike  thee  more  dear ! 
Oh !  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved,  never  forgets, 

But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close, 
As  the  sun-flower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets, 

The  same  look  which  she  turn'd  when  he  rose ! 


No.  III. 


TO  THE  MARCHIONESS  DOWAGER  OF 
DONEGAL. 

WHILE  the  Publisher  of  these  Melodies  very  pro- 
perly inscribes  them  to  the  Nobility  and  Gentry  of 
Ireland  in  general,  I  have  much  pleasure  in  selecting 
one  from  that  number  to  whom  my  share  of  the  Work 
is  particularly  dedicated.  Though  your  Ladyship  has 
been  so  long  absent  from  Ireland,  I  know  that  VOD 
remember  it  well  and  warmly — that  you  have  not 
allowed  the  charm  of  English  society,  like  the  taste 
of  the  lotus,  to  produce  oblivion  of  your  country,  but 
that  even  the  humble  tribute  which  I  offer  derives  its 
chief  claim  upon  your  interest  from  the  appeal  which 
it  makes  to  your  patriotism.  Indeed,  absence,  how- 
ever fatal  to  some  affections  of  the  heart,  rather 
strengthens  our  love  for  the  land  where  we  were 
born ;  and  Ireland  is  the  country,  of  all  others,  which 
an  exile  must  remember  with  enthusiasm.  Those  few 
darker  and  less  amiable  traits,  with  which  bigotry 
and  misrule  have  stained  her  character,  and  which 
are  too  apt  to  disgust  us  upon  a  nearer  intercourse, 
become  softened  at  a  distance,  or  altogether  invisible  ; 
and  nothing  is  remembered  but  her  virtues  and  her 
misfortunes — the  zeal  with  which  she  has  always 
loved  liberty,  and  the  barbarous  policy  which  has 
always  withheld  it  from  her — the  ease  with  which 
her  generous  spirit  might  be  conciliated,  and  the  cruel 
ingenuity  which  has  been  exerted  to  "  wring  her  into 
undutifulness."1 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  and  oftener  felt,  that 
our  music  is  the  truest  of  all  comments  upon  our  his- 
tory. The  tone  of  defiance,  succeeded  by  the  lan- 
guor of  despondency — a  burst  of  turbulence  dying 
away  into  softness — the  sorrows  of  one  moment  lost 
in  the  levity  of  the  next — and  all  that  romantic  mix- 
ture of  mirth  and  sadness,  which  is  naturally  pro- 
duced by  the  efforts  of  a  lively  temperament,  to  shake 
off,  or  forget,  the  wrongs  which  lie  upon  it : — such 
are  the  features  of  our  history  and  character,  which 
we  find  strongly  and  faithfully  reflected  in  our  music  . 
and  there  are  many  airs  which,  I  think,  it  is  difficult 


1  A  phrase  which  occurs  in  a  lettT  from  thi*  Knrl  of 
mond  to  the  Earl  o!"  Ormond,  in  Lltziilielh'i  time.  — 
nia  Sacra,  as  quoted  by  Cutry 


f  Des- 
Sen 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


323 


to  listen  to,  without  recalling  some  period  or  event  to 
which  their  expression  seems  peculiarly  applicable. 
Sometimes,  when  the  strain  is  open  and  spirited,  yet 
shaded  here  and  there  by  a  mournful  recollection,  we 
can  fancy  that  we  behold  the  brave  allies  of  Mon- 
trose,1  marching  to  the  aid  o^the  royal  cause,  notwith- 
standing all  the  perfidy  of  Chsrles  and  his  ministers, 
ind  remembering  just  enough  o."  past  sufferings  to 
enhance  the  generosity  of  their  p-esent  sacritice. 
The  plaintive  melodies  of  Carolantake  us  back  to  the 
times  in  which  he  lived,  when  our  poor  countrymen 
were  driven  to  worship  their  God  in  caves,  or  to  quit 
for  ever  the  land  of  their  birth  (like  the  bird  that 
abandons  the  nest  which  human  touch  has  violated ;) 
and  in  many  a  song  do  we  hear  the  last  farewell  of 
the  exile,2  mingling  regret  for  the  ties  he  leaves  at 
home,  with  sanguine  expectations  of  the  honours 
that  await  him  abroad — such  honours  as  were  >von  on 
the  field  of  Fontenoy,  where  the  valour  of  Irish 
Catholics  turned  the  fortune  of  the  day  in  favour  of 
the  French,  and  extorted  from  George  the  Second 
that  memorable  exclamation,  "  Cursed  be  the  laws 
which  deprive  me  of  such  subjects  !" 

Though  much  has  been  said  of  the  antiquity  of  our 
music,  it  is  certain  that  our  finest  and  most  popular 
airs  are  modern;  and  perhaps  we  may  look  no  fur- 
ther than  the  last  disgraceful  century  for  the  origin 
of  most  of  those  wild  and  melancholy  strains,  which 
were  at  once  the  offspring  and  solace  of  grief,  and 
which  were  applied  to  the  mind,  as  music  was  for- 
merly to  the  body,  "decantare  loca  dolentia."  Mr. 
Pinkerton  is  of  opinion5  that  none  of  the  Scotch 
popular  airs  are  as  old  as  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century;  and,  though  musical  antiquaries  refer  us, 
for  some  of  our  melodies,  to  so  early  a  period  as  the 
fifth  century,  I  am  persuaded  that  there  are  few,  of  a 
drill -rd  description  (and  by  this  I  mean  to  exclude 
all  the  savage  Ceanans,  cries,4  etc.)  which  can  claim 
quite  so  ancient  a  date  as  Mr.  Pinkerton  allows  to 
the  Scotch.  But  music  is  not  the  only  subject  upon 
which  our  taste  for  antiquity  is  rather  unreasonably 
indulged ;  and,  however  heretical  it  may  be  to  dis- 
sent from  these  romantic  speculations,  I  cannot  help 


1  There  are  some  gratifying  accounts  of  the  gallantry  of 
these  Irish   auxiliaries  in   "The  Complete  HUuiry  of  the 
Wars  in  Scotland,  under  Mon'rose"  (NViO  )  See  particularly, 
for  the  conduct  of  an  Irishman  at  the  battle  of  Aberdeen, 
chnp.  6.  p.  49;  and,  lor  a  tribute  to  the  liravery  of  Colonel 
O'Kyan,  chap.  7.  p.  55.  Clarendon  owns  that  the  Marquis 
of  Monlrose  was  indebted  for  much  of  his  miraculous  suc- 
cess tn  this  small  band  ofliish  hero.-s  under  Macdonnell. 

2  The  associations  of  the  Hindu  Music,  i hough  more  ob- 
vious and  defined,  were  far  less  lunching  and  characteristic. 
They  divided  their  son?s  according  to  the  seasons  of  the 
year,  hy  which  (says  Sir  William  Jones)  "they  were  able 
to  recal  the  memory  of  autumnal  merriment,  at  the  close  of 
the  hnrvest,  or  of  separation  and  melancholy  during  the  cold 
months,"  etc.     JJ.--intic  T^ranaactinns,  vol.  3,  on  the  Musi- 
cal M.id"«  of  the  Hindus.     What  the  Abbe  du  Bus  says  of 
the  symphonies  of  Lully,  may  bo  asserted,  with  much  more 
probability,  of  our  hold  and  impassioned  airs: — "  F.lles  au- 
roieut  pnxluit  de  ces  elleix,  (;iii  nous   imminent  fabnleux 
dans  le  reeit  des  anciens,  si  on  les  avoit  fait  entendre  ft  des 
not.imes  d'tm  natural  nn«i  vif  quo  IPS  Atheniens."— Rfjlcx. 
tur  la  Printure,  etc.  torn.  1.  sect.  45. 

3  Dissertation,  prefixed  to  the  second  volume  of  hi*  Scot- 
tish r,:i!la.!s. 

4  Of  which  some  genuine  specimens  may  be  found  at  the 
end  of  Mr.  Walker's  work  upon  the  Irish  Bards.    Mr.  Bun- 
fing  has  di,.n-<:nred  his  las)  sjih.-ndid  volume  by  too  many  of 
these  barbarous  rhapsodies. 


thinking  that  it  is  possible  to  love  our  country  very 
zealously,  and  to  feel  deeply  interested  in  her  honour 
and  happiness,  without  believing  that  Irish  .was  the 
language  spoken  in  Paradise  ;'  that  our  ancestors  werv 
kind  enough  to  take  the  trouble  of  polishing  the 
Greeks ;'  or  that  Abaris,  the  Hyperborean,  was  a  na 
live  of  the  North  of  Ireland.1 

By  some  of  these  archaeologists,  ft  has  been  ima- 
gined that  the  Irish  were  early  acquainted  with  coun- 
ter-point ;*  and  they  endeavour  to  support  this  con- 
jecture by  a  well-known  passage  in  Giraldus,  where 
he  dilates,  with  such  elaborate  praise,  upon  the  beau- 
ties of  our  national  minstrelsy.  But  the  terms  of  this 
eulogy  are  too  vague,  too  deficient  in  technical  accu- 
racy, to  prove  that  even  Giraldus  himself  knew  any 
thing  of  the  artifice  of  counter-point.  There  are 
many  expressions  in  the  Greek  and  Latin  writer* 
which  might  be  cited,  with  much  more  plausibility, 
to  prove  that  they  understood  the  arrangement  oi 
music  in  parts  ;5  yet  I  believe  it  is  conceded  in  gene- 
ral by  the  learned,  that,  however  grand  and  pathetic 
the  melodies  of  the  ancients  may  have  been,  it  was 
reserved  for  the  ingenuity  of  modern  Science  to 
transmit  the  "light  of  Song''  through  the  variegating 
prism  of  Harmony. 

Indeed  the  irregular  scale  of  the  early  Irish  (in 
which,  as  in  the  music  of  Scotland,  the  interval  of 
the  fourth  was  wanting)6  must  have  furnished  but 
wild  and  refractory  subjects  to  the  harmonist.  It  was 
only  when  the  invention  of  Guide  began  to  be  known, 


1  See  Advertisement  to  the  Transactions  of  the  Gaelic 
Society  of  Dublin. 

2  O'Hallorao,  vol.  1.  part  1.  chap.  6. 

3  Id.  ib.  chap.  7. 

4  It  is  also  supposed,  but  with  as  little  proof,  that  they 
understood  the  diesis,  or  enharmonic  interval. — The  Greeks 
seem  to  have  formed  their  ears  to  this  delicate  gradation  of 
sound:  and,  whatever  difficulties  or  objections  may  1'e  in 
the  way  of  its  practical  use,  we  must  agree  with  Mersenne 
(Preludes  de  1'Harmonie,  quest  7,)  that  the  theory  of  music 
would  be  imperfect  without  it;  and,  even  in  p-actice  (as 
Tosi,  among  others,  very  justly  remarks,  Observations  on 
Florid  Song,  chap.  1.  sec.  16,)  there  is  no  good  performer 
on  the  violin  who  does  not  make  a  sensible  difference  be 
tween  D  sharp  and  E  flat,  though,  from  the  imperfection 
of  the  instrument,  they  are  the  same  notes  upon  the  piano 
forte.    The  effect  of  modulation  by  enharmonic  transitions 
is  also  very  striking  and  beautiful. 

5  The  words  jra«»iXA.i«  and  iTisofitri*,  in  a  passage  of 
Plato,  and  some  expressions  of  Cicero,  in  Fragment  lib.  ii 
de  Republ.  induced  the  Abbe  Fragnier  to  maintain  that  the 
ancients  had  a  knowledge  of  counter-point.     M.  Burette, 
however,  has  answered  him,  I  think,  satisfactorily. — (Exa- 
men  d'  un  passage  de  Platon,  in  the  3d  vol.  of  ifistoire  de 
I'Acid.)     M.  lluet  is  of  opinion  'Pensees  Divcntes)   that 
what  Cicero  says  of  the  music  of  the  spheres,  in  his  dream 
of  Scipio,  is  sufficient  to  prove  an  acquaintance  with  har- 
mony ;  but  one  of  the  strongest  passages  which  I  • 

in  favour  of  the  supp<>'i<i"n>  occurs  in  the  Treatise,  attributed 
to  Aristotle,  ITipi  Ita-pim— MavriM  tt  e(ii{  a/»a  xai  £•- 
piif,  x.  T.  X. 

6  A  not'ior  lawless  peculiarity  of  our  music  is  the  frequency 
of  what  composers  call  consecutive  fifths;  but  this  is  an 
irregularity  which  can  hardly  be  avoided   by  person*  not 
very  i-i'iiveraant  with  the  rules  of  composition  ;  indeed,  if  I 

rnre  to  cite  my  own  wild  attempts  in  this  way,  it  is 

a  fault  which   I   find  'myself  continually  eommiitine,  and 

which  has  sometime*  appeared  so  pleasing  to  niv  enr,  that 

I  have  surrendered  it  to  the  critic  »  i 

tance.  May  there  not  be  a  little  pedantry  in  adhering  loo 
•  this  rule?— I  Inve  b-en  told  ihn!  tli.  re  n-e  instan- 
'  iviln  of  an  nudissu,-  -  noffiAhs;  and 

Mr.  Shield,  in  his  Introduction  to  H 

mate  that  Handel  has  been  sometimes  guilty  of  the  sums) 

irregularity. 


S24 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


and  the  powers  of  the  harp1  were  enlarged  by  addi- 
tional strings,  that  our  melodies  took  the  sweet  cha- 
racter which  interests  us  at  present ;  and,  while  the 
Scotch  persevered  in  the  old  mutilation  of  the  scale,2 
our  music  became  gradually  more  amenable  to  the 
laws  of  harmony  and  counter-point. 

In  profiting,  however,  by  the  improvements  of  the 
moderns,  our  style  still  kept  its  originality  sacred  from 
their  refinements ;  and,  though  Carolan  had  frequent 
opportunities  of  hearing  the  works  of  Geminiani,  and 
other  masters,  we  but  rarely  find  him  sacrificing  his 
native  simplicity  to  the  ambition  of  their  ornaments, 
or  affectation  of  their  science.  In  that  curious  com- 
position, indeed,  called  his  Concerto,  it  is  evident  that 
he  laboured  to  imitate  Corelli;  and  this  union  of  man- 
ners, so  very  dissimilar,  produces  the  same  kind  of 
uneasy  sensation  which  is  felt  at  a  mixture  of  different 
styles  of  architecture.  In  general,  however,  the  artless 
flow  of  our  music  has  preserved  itself  free  from  all 
tinge  of  foreign  innovation,3  and  the  chief  corruptions, 
of  which  we  have  to  complain,  arise  from  the  unskil- 
ful performance  of  our  own  itinerant  musicians,  from 
whom,  too  frequently,  the  airs  are  noted  down,  en- 
cumbered by  their  tasteless  decorations,  and  respon- 
sible for  all  their  ignorant  anomalies.  Though  it  be 
sometimes  impossible  to  trace  the  original  strain,  yet, 
in  most  of  them,  "  auri  per  ramos  aura  refulget,"4  the 
pure  gold  of  the  melody  shines  through  the  ungrace- 
ful foliage  which  surrounds  it ;  and  the  most  delicate 
and  difficult  duty  of  a  compiler  is  to  endeavour,  as 
much  a  possible,  by  retrenching  these  inelegant  super- 
fluities, and  collating  the  various  methods  of  playing 

1  A  singular  oversight  occurs  in  an  Essay  upon  the  Irish 
Harp,  by  Mr.  Beauford,  which  is  inserted  in  the  Appendix 
to  Walker's  Historical  Memoirs. — "  The  Irish  (says  he,) 
according  to  Bromton,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  II.  had  two 
kinds  of  harps,  '  Hibernici  tamen  in  duobus  musici  generis 
instruments,  quaruvis  pracipitem  et  velocem,  suavem  lumen 
ct  jucundam,'  the  one  greatly  bold  and  quick,  the  other  soft 
and  pleasing." — How  a  man  of  Mr.  Beauford's  learning 
could  so  mistake  the  meaning,  and  mutilate  the  grammatical 
construction  of  this  extract,  is  unaccountable.  The  follow- 
ing is  the  passage  as  I  find  it  entire  in  Brompton,  and  it  re- 
quires but  little  Latin  to  perceive  the  injustice  which  has 
been  dune  to  the  words  of  the  old  chronicler : — "  Et  cum 
Scotia,  huius  terra;  filia,  utatur  lyra,  tympano  et  choro,  ac 
Wallia  cUhara,  tubis  et  cboro  Hibernici  tamen  in  duobus 
musici  generis  instruments,  quamvis  pr&cipitem  et  vclo- 
cfrn,  guaoem  tamen  et  jucundam,  crilRatis  modulis  et  iniri- 
catis  notulis,  effieiunt  harmoniam." — Hist.  Anglic.  Script. 
pag.  1075.     I  should  not  have  thought  this  error  worth  re- 
marking, but  that  the  compiler  of  the  Dissertation  on  the 
Harp,  prefixed  to  Mr.  Bunting's  last  Work,  has  adopted  it 
implicitly. 

2  The  Scotch  lay  claim  to  some  of  our  beat  airs,  but  there 
•re  strong  traits  of  difference  between  their  melodies  and 
auri.    They  had  formerly  the  same  passion  for  robbing  us 
of  our  Saints,  and  the  learned  Dempster  was,  for  this  offence, 
called  "  The  Saint  Stealer."  I  suppose  it  was  an  Irishman, 
who,  by  way  of  reprisal,  stole  Dempster's  beautiful  wife 
from  him  at  Pisa. — See  this  anecdote  in  the  I'inacvthcca  of 
Erythraen*,  part  i.  page  2o. 

3  Among  other  false  refinements  of  the  art,  our  music 
(with  the  exception  perhaps  of  the  air  called  "  Mamma, 
Mamma,"  and  one  or  two  more  of  the  same  ludicrous  de- 
scription,) has  avoided  that  puerile  mimickry  of  natural 
noi*es,  motions,  etc.  which  disgraces  so  often  the  works  of 
even  the  great  Handel  himself.     D'Alembert  ought  to  have 
had  better  taste  than  to  become  the  patron  of  this  imitative 
affectation. — Discaurs.    I'rcliminaire   de   V  Encyclopedic. 
The  reader  may  find  some  good  remarks  on  the  subject  in 
Avison  upon  Musical  Expression;  a  work  which,  though 
under  the  numo  of  Avisuii,  was  written,  it  is  saiil,  by  Dr. 
Brown. 

4  Virgil,  jEneid,  lib.  6.  v.  204. 


or  singing  each  air,  to  restore  the  regularity  of  ils 
brm,  and  the  chaste  simplicity  of  its  character. 

I  must  again  observe,  that,  in  doubting  the  anti 
quity  of  our  music,  my  scepticism  extends  but  to  those 
nolished  specimens  of  the  art,  which  it  is  difficult  to 
conceive  anterior  to  the  dawn  of  modern  improve- 
ment ;  and  that  I  would  by  no  means  invalidate  the 
claims  of  Ireland  to  as  early  a  rank  in  the  annals  of 
minstrelsy  as  the  most  zealous  antiquary  may  be  in- 
clined to  allow  her.  In  addition,  indeed,  to  the  power 
which  music  must  always  have  possessed  over  the 
minds  of  a  people  so  ardent  and  susceptible,  the  sti- 
mulus of  persecution  was  rot  wanting  to  quicken  our 
taste  into  enthusiasm ;  the  charms  of  song  were  en- 
nobled with  the  glories  of  martyrdom,  and  the  acts 
iguinst  minstrels,  in  the  reigns  of  Henry  VIII.  and 
Elizabeth,  were  as  successful,  I  doubt  not,  in  making 
my  countrymen  musicians,  as  the  penal  laws  have 
aeen  in  keeping  them  Catholics. 

With  respect  to  the  verses  which  I  have  written 
Tor  these  Melodies,  as  they  are  intended  rather  to  be 
sung  than  read,  I  can  answer  for  their  sound  with 
somewhat  more  confidence  than  their  sense  ;  yet,  it 
would  be  affectation  to  deny  that  I  have  given  much 
attention  to  the  task,  and  that  it  is  not  through  want 
of  zeal  or  industry,  if  I  unfortunately  disgrace  the 
sweet  airs  of  my  country,  by  poetry  altogether  un- 
worthy of  their  taste,  their  energy,  and  their  ten 
derness. 

Though  the  humble  nature  of  my  contributions  to 
this  work  may  exempt  them  from  the  rigours  of  lite- 
rary criticisms,  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  those 
touches  of  political  feeling,  those  tones  of  national 
complaint,  in  which  the  poetry  sometimes  sympa- 
thizes with  the  music,  would  be  suffered  to  pass  with- 
out censure  or  alarm.  It  has  been  accordingly  said, 
that  the  tendency  of  this  publication  is  mischievous,1 
and  that  I  have  chosen  these  airs  but  as  a  vehicle  of 
dangerous  politics — as  fair  and  precious  vessels  (to 
borrow  an  image  of  St.  Augustin2)  from  which  the 
wine  of  error  might  be  administered.  To  those  who 
identify  nationality  with  treason,  and  who  see,  in 
every  effort  for  Ireland,  a  system  of  hostility  towards 
England, — to  those  too,  who,  nursed  in  the  gloom  ol 
prejudice,  are  alarmed  by  the  faintest  gleam  of  libe- 
rality that  threatens  to  disturb  their  darkness  (like  that 
Demophon  of  old,  who,  when  the  sun  shone  upon 
him,  shivered!3) — to  such  men  I  shall  not  deign  to 
apologize  for  the  warmth  of  any  political  sentiment 
which  may  occur  in  the  course  of  these  pages.  But, 
as  there  are  many,  among  the  more  wise  and  tole- 
rant, who,  with  feeling  enough  to  mourn  over  the 
wrongs  of  their  country,  and  sense  enough  to  per- 
ceive all  the  danger  of  not  redressing  them,  may  yet 
think  that  allusions  in  the  least  degree  bold  or  inflam- 
matory should  be  avoided  in  a  publication  of  this 
popular  description — I  beg  of  these  respected  per 


1  See  Letters,  under  the  signatures  of  Timajus,  etc.  in  the 
Morning  Post,  Pilot,  and  other  papers. 

2  "  Non  accuso  verba,  quasi  vasa  electa  atque  pretiosa ; 
sod  vinum  crrnris,  quod  cum  eis  nobis  propinatur." — Lib.  L 
Confess,  cap.  16. 

3  This  emblem  of  modern  bigots  was  head-butler  (rfat- 
!7-i£o3-!>i3;)  to  Alexander  the  Great. — Sext.  Empir.  1'yrr^, 
Hypot/i.  lib.  i. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


sons  to  believe,  that  there  is  no  one  who  deprecates 
more  sincerely  than  I  do  any  appeal  to  the  passions 
of  an  ignorant  and  angry  multitude;  but,  that  it  is 
not  through  that  gross  and  inflammable  region  of 
eociety  a  work  of  this  nature  could  ever  have  been 
intended  to  circulate.  It  looks  much  higher  for  its 
audience  and  readers — it  is  found  upon  the  piano- 
fortes of  the  rich  and  the  educated — of  those  who 
can  afford  to  have  their  national  zeal  a  little  stimula- 
ted, without  exciting  much  dread  of  the  excesses  into 
which  it  may  hurry  them ;  and  of  many,  whose 
nerves  may  be,  now  and  then,  alarmed  with  advan- 
tage, as  much  more  is  to  be  gained  by  their  fears, 
lhan  could  ever  be  expected  from  their  justice. 

Having  thus  adverted  to  the  principal  objection 
which  lias  been  hitherto  made  to  the  poetical  part  of 
this  work,  allow  me  to  add  a  few  words  in  defence 
of  my  ingenious  coadjutor,  Sir  John  Stevenson,  who 
has  been  accused  of  having  spoiled  the  simplicity  of 
the  airs,  by  the  chromatic  richness  of  his  symphonies, 
and  the  elaborate  variety  of  his  harmonies.  We  might 
cite  the  example  or  the  admirable  Haydn,  who  has 
sported  through  all  the  mazes  of  musical  science,  in 
his  arrangement  of  the  simplest  Scottish  melodies ; 
but  it  appears  to  me,  that  Sir  John  Stevenson  has 
brought  a  national  feeling  to  this  task,  which  it  would 
be  in  vain  to  expect  from  a  foreigner,  however  taste- 
ful or  judicious.  Through  many  of  his  own  compo- 
sitions \ve  trace  a  vein  of  Irish  sentiment,  which 
points  him  out  as  peculiarly  suited  to  catch  the  spirit 
of  his  country's  music  ;  and,  far  from  agreeing  with 
those  critics  who  think  that  his  symphonies  have  no- 
thing kindred  with  the  airs  which  they  introduce,  I 
would  say  that,  in  general,  they  resemble  those  illu- 
minated initials  of  old  manuscripts,  which  are  of  the 
«ame  character  with  the  writing  which  follows, 
•hough  more  highly  coloured1  and  more  curiously 
ornamented. 

In  those  airs  which  are  arranged  for  voices,  his 
ikill  has  particularly  distinguished  itself;  and,  though 
«t  cannot  be  denied  that  a  single  melody  most  natu- 
rally expresses  the  language  of  feeling  and  passion, 
yet,  often,  when  a  favourite  strain  has  been  dismissed, 
as  having  lost  its  charm  of  novelty  for  the  ear,  it  re- 
turns, in  a  harmonized  shape,  with  new  claims  upon 
our  interest  and  attention ;  and  to  those  who  study 
•he  delicate  artifices  of  composition,  the  construction 
)f  the  inner  parts  of  theso  pieces  must  afford,  I  think, 
•.onsidcrable  satisfaction  Every  voice  has  an  air  to 
tself,  a  flowing  succession  of  notes,  which  might  be 
Acard  with  pleasure,  independent  of  the  rest,  so  art- 
lully  has  the  harmonist  (if  I  may  thus  express  it)  ga- 
vetted  the  melody,  distributing  an  equal  portion  of  its 
sweetness  to  every  part. 

If  your  Ladyship  s  love  of  Music  were  not  known 
to  me,  I  should  not  have  hazarded  so  long  a  letter 
upon  the  subject ;  but  as,  probably,  I  may  have  pre- 
sumed -oo  far  upon  your  partiality,  the  best  revenge 
vou  can  take  is  to  write  me  just  as  long  a  letter  upon 
Painting;  and  I  promise  to  attend  to  your  theory  of 
the  art,  with  a  pleasure  only  surpassed  by  that  which 
I  have  so  often  derived  from  your  practice  of  it. — 


1  Tho  word  "chromatic"  misht  have  been  usud  here, 
rilheiit  any  violence  to  its  moaning. 


May  the  mind  which  such  talents  adorn,  continue 
calm  as  it  is  bright,  and  happy  as  it  is  virtuous  ! 
Believe  me,  your  Ladyship's 
Grateful  Friend  and  Servant, 

THOMAS  MOORE 
Dublin,  January,  1810. 


ERIN!  OH  ERIN! 

AIR — Thamama  Hulla. 

LIKE  the  bright  lamp  that  shone  in  Kildarc'*  hol\ 

fane,1 
And  burn'd  through  long  ages  of  darkness  and 

storm, 

Is  the  heart  that  afflictions  have  come  o'er  in  vain, 
Whose  spirit  outlives  them,  unfading  and  warm ! 
Erin  !  oh  Erin !  thus  bright,  through  the  tears 
Of  a  long  night  of  bondage,  thy  spirit  appears ! 

The  nations  have  fallen,  and  thou  still  art  young, 

Thy  sun  is  but  rising,  when  others  are  set ; 
And  though  slavery's  cloud  o'er  thy  morning  hath 

hung, 
The  full  moon  of  freedom  shall  beam  round  then 

yet. 

Erin  !  oh  Erin !  though  long  in  the  shade, 
Thy  star  will  shine  out,  when  the  proudest  shall  fade 

Unchill'd  by  the  rain,  and  unwaked  by  the  wind, 
The  lily  lies  sleeping  through  winter's  cold  hour, 

Till  spring,  with  a  touch,  her  dark  slumber  unbind. 
And  day-light  and  liberty  bless  the  young  flower.* 

Erin  !  oh  Erin !  My  winter  is  past, 

And  the  hope  that  lived  through  it  shall  blossom  at 
last. 


DRINK  TO  HER. 
AIR — Heigh  oh  .'  my  Jackcy 
DRINK  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh ; 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy. 
Oh  !  woman's  heart  was  made 

For  minstrel  hands  alone  ; 
By  other  fingers  play'd, 

It  yields  not  half  the  tone. 
Then  here  's  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy ! 

At  Beauty's  door  of  glass 

When  Wealth  and  Wit  once  stood, 
Thry  ask'd  her  "which  might  pass?" 

She  answer'd,  "  he  who  could." 


1  The  inoxiin-miahnblo  fire  of  St.   Rrid 

iifldiis  HP  nil,. i, s,  "Aj.nd  K  "it  rflti* 

in   iiioxtiii'in!'!  '  ""  '""" 

r\liii"iii  non  l«MMt,Mdq<Md  tain  »olicilc  moninleo n  »«ncl» 
,,  suppetcnte  ma«Ti:i,  fovi-nt  i-t  nniriiiiil,  m  a 
;. -in JII.M'  \ir-ni.s  JUT  lot  nnnoruni  curricula  «cm|M-r  mnn-it 
in- -MKirtns."— (JiraU.  Camb.  de  Mirabil.  tiibem.  DL.  2. 
c  'M 

2  Mrs.  H.  Tishe,  in  her  exquisite  linei  on  the  lily.huap 
plied  thia  image  to  a  still  more  important  fubject 


326 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


With  golden  key  Wealth  thought 

To  pass — but 't  would  not  do : 
While  Wit  a  diamond  brought, 

Which  cut  his  bright  way  through  ! 
So  here  'a  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
The  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy ! 

The  love  that  seeks  a  home, 

Where  wealth  or  grandeur  shines, 
Is  like  the  gloomy  gnome 

That  dwells  in  dark  gold  mines. 
But  oh  !  the  poet's  love 

Can  boast  a  brighter  sphere ; 
It's  native  home  's  above, 

Though  woman  keeps  it  here  ! 
Then  drink  to  her,  who  long 

Hath  waked  the  poet's  sigh, 
fhe  girl  who  gave  to  song 

What  gold  could  never  buy ! 


OH !  BLAME  NOT  THE  BARD.1 

Am— Kitty  Tyrrel. 
On  !  blame  not  the  bard,  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers, 

Where  Pleasure  lies  carelessly  smiling  at  Fame; 
He  was  born  for  much  more,  and  in  happier  hours 

His  soul  might  have  burn'd  with  a  holier  flame. 
The  string,  that  now  languishes  loose  o'er  the  lyre, 

Might  have  bent  a  proud  bow  to  the  warrior's  dart,2 
And  the  lip,  which  now  breathes  but  the  song  of  desire, 

Might  have  pour'd  the  full  tide  of  a  patriot's  heart. 

But  alas  !  for  his  country — her  pride  is  gone  by, 

And  that  spirit  is  broken  which  never  would  bend ; 
O'er  the  ruin  her  children  in  secret  must  sigh, 

For  't  is  treason  to  love  her,  and  death  to  defend. 
Unprized  are  her  sons,  till  they  've  learn'd  to  betray  ; 
Undistinguish'd  they  live,  if  they  shame  not  their 

sires ; 
And  the  torch,  that  would  light  them  through  dignity's 

way, 

Must  be  caught  from  the  pile  where  their  country 
expires ! 

Then  blame  not  the  bard,  if,  in  pleasure's  soft  dream, 
He  should  try  to  forget  what  he  never  can  heal ; 

Oh !  give  but  a  hope — let  a  vista  but  gleam 
Through  the  gloom  of  his  country,  and  mark  how 
he'll  feel ! 

That  instant  his  heart  at  her  shrine  would  lay  down 
Every  passion  it  nursed,  every  bliss  it  adored, 


1  We  may  suppose  this  apology  to  have  been  uttered  by 
one  of  those  wandering  bards,  whom  Spencer  so  severely,  and, 
perhaps,  truly,  describes  in  his  State  of  Ireland,  and  whose 
poems,  he  tell*  ui,  "  were  sprinkled  with  some  pretty  tlowi-rs 
of  their  natural  device,  which  gave  good  grace  and  comeli- 
ness unto  them,  the  which  it  is  great  pity  to  see  abused  to 
the  gracin;  of  wickedness  and  vice,  which,  with  good  usage, 
would  aerveto  adorn  and  beautify  virtue." 

2  It  is  conjectured  by  Wormius,  that  the  name  of  Ireland 
if  derived  from  Kr,  the  Runic  for  a  Aow,  in  the  use  of  which 
weapon  the  Irish  were  once  very  expert.    This  derivation 
M  certainly  more  creditable  to  us  than  the  following  :  "  So 
that  Ireland  (called  the  land  of  Irt,  for  the  constant  lirni! 
(herein  for  40(1  years)  was  now  become  the  land  of  concord.' 

Uoyd't  State  Worthies,  Art.  The  Lord  Grandisan. 


While  the  myrtle,  now  idly  entwined  with  his  crown. 
Like  the  wreath  of  Harmodius,  should  cover  hn 
sword.1 

But,  though  glory  be  gone,  and  though  hope  fade  away 

Thy  name,  loved  Erin !  shall  live  in  his  songs  ; 
Not  even  in  the  hour  when  his  heart  is  most  gay 

Will  he  lose  the  remembrance  of  thee  and  thy 

wrongs ! 
The  stranger  shall  hear  thy  lament  on  his  plains ; 

The  sigh  of  thy  harp  shall  be  sent  o'er  the  deep, 
Till  thy  masters  themselves,  as  they  rivet  thy  chains, 

Shall  pause  at  the  song  of  their  captive,  and  weep 


WHILE  GAZING  ON  THE  MOON'S  LIGHT 

AIR — Oonagh. 
WHILE  gazing  on  the  moon's  light, 

A  moment  from  her  smile  I  turn'd, 
To  look  at  orbs  that,  more  bright, 
In  lone  and  distant  glory  burn'd. 
But,  too  far, 
Each  proud  star, 

For  me  to  feel  its  warming  flame — 
Much  more  dear 
That  mild  sphere, 

Which  near  our  planet  smiling  came  ;z 
Thus,  Mary,  be  but  thou  my  own — 

While  brighter  eyes  unheeded  play, 
I'll  love  those  moon-light  looks  alone, 
Which  bless  my  home  and  guide  my  way ! 

The  day  had  sunk  in  dim  showers, 

But  midnight  now,  with  lustre  meek, 
Illumined  all  the  pale  flowers, 

Like  hope,  that  lights  a  mourner's  cheek 
I  said  (while 
The  moon's  smile 

Play'd  o'er  a  stream  in  dimpling  bliss,) 
"The  moon  looks 
On  many  brooks 

The  brook  can  see  no  moon  but  this ;"' 
And  thus,  I  thought,  our  fortunes  run, 

For  many  a  lover  looks  to  thee, 
While  oh  !  I  feel  there  is  but  one, 
One  Mary  in  the  world  for  me. 


ILL  OMENS. 

AIR — Kitty  of  Coleraine ;  or,  Paddy's  Resource 

WHEN  daylight  was  yet  sleeping  under  the  billow, 

And  stars  in  the  heavens  still  lingering  shone, 


1  See  the  Hymn,  attributed  to  Alcxtis,  E»  yuupro*  x*.»J« 
T»    £1*05    $ofi[<ri» — "I  will  carry  my  sword,   hidden   m 
myrtles,  like  Harmodius  and  Aristogiton,"  etc. 

2  "  Of  such  celestial  bodies  as  are  visible,  the  sun  excepted, 
the  single  moon,  as  despicable  ns  it  is  in  comparison  to  most 
of  the  other?,  is  much  more  beneficial  than  they  all  put  to- 
gether."—  WhisloiCg  Theory,  etc. 

In  the  Fntreticns  d'.lriste,  among  other  ingenious  em- 
t>lcms,  we  find  a  st:irry  sky  without  a  moon,  with  the  wordi, 
jVl.n  millr,  quod  absma. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


327 


Young  Kitty,  all  blushing,  rose  up  from  her  pillow, 
The  last  time  she  e'er  was  to  press  ii  alone. 

For  the  youth,  whom  she  treasured  her  heart  and  her 

soul  in,  « 

Had  promised  to  link  the  last  tie  before  noon ; 

Anil,  when  once  the  young  heart  of  a  maiden  is  stolen, 
The  maiden  herself  will  steal  after  it  soon ! 

As  she  look'd  in  the  glass,  which  a  woman  ne'er 
misses, 

Nor  ever  wants  time  for  a  sly  glance  or  two, 
A  butterfly,  fresh  from  the  night-flower's  kisses, 

Flew  over  the  mirror,  and  shaded  her  view. 
Enraged  with  the  insect  for  hiding  he/  graces, 

She  brush'd  him — he  fell,  alas  !  never  to  rise — 
"  Ah  !  such,"  said  the  girl,  "  is  the  pride  of  our  faces, 

For  which  the  soul's  innocence  too  often  dies!' 

While  she  stole  through  the  garden,  where  heart's- 

ease  was  growing, 

She  cull'd  some,  and  kiss'd  off  its  night-fallen  dew ; 
And  a  rose,  further  on,  look'd  so  tempting  and  glow- 
ing, 

That,  spite  of  her  haste,  she  must  gather  it  too ; 
But,  while  o'er  the  roses  too  carelessly  leaning, 

Her  zone  flew  in  two,  and  the  heart's-ease  was  lost — 
"  Ah  !  this  means,"  said  the  girl  (and  she  sigh'd  at  its 

meaning,) 
That  love  is  scarce  worth  the  repose  it  will  cost !" 


BEFORE  THE  BATTLE. 

AIR — The  Fairy  Queen. 
Bv  the  hope  within  us  springing, 

Herald  of  to-morrow's  strife  ; 
By  that  sun  whose  light  is  bringing 

Chains  or  freedom,  death  or  life — 
Oh  !  remember  life  can  be 
No  charm  for  him  who  lives  not  free ! 

Like  the  day-star  in  the  wave, 

Sinks  a  hero  to  his  grave, 
'Midst  the  dew-fall  of  a  nation's  tears  ! 

Happy  is  he  o'er  whose  decline 

The  smiles  of  home  may  soothing  shine, 
And  light  him  down  the  steep  of  years  :— 

But  oh  !  how  grand  they  sink  to  rest 

Who  close  their  eyes  on  Victory's  breast ! 

O'er  his  watch-fire's  fading  embers 
Now  the  foeman's  cheek  turns  white, 

When  his  heart  that  field  remembers, 
Where  we  dimm'd  his  glory's  light ! 

Never  let  him  bind  again 

A  chain  like  that  we  broke  from  then. 
Hark  !  the  horn  of  combat  calls — 
Ere  the  golden  evening  falls, 

May  we  pledge  that  horn  in  triumph  round !' 
Many  a  heart,  that  now  beats  high, 
In  slumber  cold  at  night  shall  lie, 

Nor  waken  even  at  victory's  sound  : — 


1  "The  Irish  Corna  wan  not  entirely  devoted  to  in:ir1i»] 
purposes.  In  the  heroic  iigi's  our  anci'-tors  quaffed  Meadh 
out  of  them,  us  the  Danish  hunters  Uo  their  beverage  at  this 
dav."—  Walker. 


But  oh  !  how  bless'd  that  hero's  sleep, 
O'er  whom  a  wondering  world  shall  weep' 


AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

AIR — Thy  Fair  Bosom. 
NIGHT  closed  around  the  conqueror's  way 

And  lightnings  show'd  the  distant  hill, 
Where  those  who  lost  that  dreadful  Juy 

Stood,  few  and  faint,  but  fearless  still ! 
The  soldier's  hope,  the  patriot's  zeal, 

For  ever  dimm'd,  for  ever  cross'd — 
Oh !  who  shall  say  what  heroes  feel, 

When  all  but  life  and  honour 's  lost ! 

The  last  sad  hour  of  freedom's  dream, 

And  valour's  task,  moved  slowly  by, 
While  mute  they  watch'd,  till  morning's  beam 

Should  rise,  and  give  them  light  to  die ' — 
There  is  a  world  where  souls  are  free, 

Where  tyrants  taint  not  nature's  bliss ; 
If  death  that  world's  bright  opening  be, 

Oh !  who  would  live  a  slave  in  this  ? 


OH !  'T  IS  SWEET  TO  THINK. 

AIR — Thady,  you  Gander. 
On !  "t  is  sweet  to  think  that,  wherever  we  rovo, 

We  are  sure  to  find  something  blissful  and  dear : 
And  that,  when  we're  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near  I 
The  heart,  like  a  tendril,  accustom'd  to  cling, 

Let  it  grow  where  it  will,  cannot  flourish  alone. 
But  will  lean  to  the  nearest  and  loveliest  thing 

It  can  twine  with  itself,  and  make  closely  its  own. 
Then  oh  !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  be  doom'd  to  find  something,  still,  that  is  dcai 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  near 

'T  were  a  shame,  when  flowers  aronnd  us  rise, 

To  make  light  of  the  rest,  if  the  rose  is  not  there ; 
And  the  world 's  so  rich  in  resplendent  eyes, 

'T  were  a  pity  to  limit  one's  love  to  a  pair. 
Love's  wing  and  the  peacock's  are  nearly  alike, 

They  are  both  of  them  bright,  but  they're  change- 
able too, 
And,  wherever  a  new  beam  of  beauty  can  strike. 

It  will  tincture  Love's  plume  with  a  different  hue ! 
Then  oh !  what  pleasure,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  be  doom'd  to  find  something,  stillf  that  is  dear 
And  to  know,  when  far  from  the  lips  we  love, 

We  have  but  to  make  love  to  the  lips  we  are  neat 


1  I  believe  it  ii  Marmontel,  who  says  "  lifvanil  on  n'  a 
atu  ce  i/uc  Von  aimc,  il  /out  aimer  ce  que  Ton  A." — Them 
are  so  many  matter-of  fnct  people,  who  lake  itich  jrux 
ti'rfi>rit  as  this  defence  of  inconstancy,  to  be  the  nciuulnml 
genuine  sentiments  of  him  who  writes  them,  thai  Ui«'y  emu 
jx'l  one,  in  self-defence,  to  be  as  mattcr-uf-fact  a«  ilu-m 
selves,  and  to  remind  them,  thut  Democritus  wna  not  ilr« 
worse  physiologist  for  having  playfully  contrnd'"*  thai  tnuv* 
was  black  ;  nor  ErasmiH  in  nnv  decree  the  less  wiw  loi 
having  written  an  ingenious  encomium  of  lollr. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  IRISH  PEASANT  TO  HIS  MISTRESS 

THROUGH  grief  and  through  danger  thy  smile  hath 

cheer'd  my  way, 
Till  hope  seem'd  to  bud  from  each  thorn  that  round 

me  lay ; 
The  darker  our  fortune,  the  brighter  our  pure  love 

burn'd, 

Till  shame  into  glory,  till  fear  into  zeal  was  turn'd : 
Oh !  slave  as  I  was,  in  thy  arms  my  spirit  felt  free, 
And  bless'd  even  the  sorrows  that  made  me  more 

dear  to  thee. 

Thy  rival  was  honour'd,  while  thou  wert  wrong'd 

and  scorn'd ; 
Thy  crown  was  of  briers,  while  gold  her  brows 

adorn'd ; 
She  woo'd  me  to  temples,  while  thou  lay'st  hid  in 

caves ; 
Her  friends  were  all  masters,  while  thine,  alas!  were 

slaves ; 

Yet,  cold  in  the  earth,  at  thy  feet  I  would  rather  be, 
Than  wed  what  I  loved  not,  or  turn  one  thought 

from  thee. 

They  slander  thee  sorely,  who  say  thy  vows  are 

frail— 
Hadst  thou  been  a  false  one,  thy  cheek  had  look'd 

less  pale ! 
They  say,  too,  so  long  thou  hast  worn  those  lingering 

chains, 
That  deep  in  thy  heart  they  have  printed  their  servile 

stains — 
Oh !  do  not  believe  them — no  chain  could  that  soul 

subdue — 
Where  shineth  thy  spirit,  there  liberty  shineth  too !' 


ON  MUSIC. 
Am — Banks  of  Banna. 
WHEN  through  life  unbless'd  we  rove, 

Losing  all  that  made  life  dear, 
Should  some  notes,  we  used  to  love 

In  days  of  boyhood,  meet  our  ear, 
Oh  how  welcome  breathes  the  strain ! 

Wakening  thoughts  that  long  have  slept ; 
Kindling  former  smiles  again, 

In  faded  eyes  that  long  have  wept ! 

Like  the  gale  that  sighs  along 

Beds  of  oriental  flowers, 
Is  the  grateful  breath  of  song, 

That  once  was  heard  in  happier  hours. 
Fill'd  with  balm  the  gale  sighs  on, 

Though  the  flowers  have  sunk  in  death ; 
So,  when  pleasure's  dream  is  gone, 

Its  memory  lives  in  Music's  breath ! 

Music  !— oh !  how  faint,  how  weak, 
Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 


Why  should  feeling  ever  speak, 

When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well  ? 
Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 

Love's  are  even  more  false  than  they ; 
Oh !  't  is  only  Music's  strain 

Can  sweetly  sooth,  and  not  betray ! 


IT  IS  NOT  THE  TEAR  AT  THIS  MOMENT 

SHED.' 

AIR — The  Sixpence. 
IT  is  not  the  tear  at  this  moment  shed, 

When  the  coU  turf  has  just  been  laid  o'er  him, 
That  can  tell  how  beloved  was  the  friend  that 's  fled, 

Or  how  deep  in  our  hearts  we  deplore  him 
'T  is  the  tear  through  many  a  long  day  wept, 

Through  a  life  by  his  loss  all  shaded ; 
'T  is  the  sad  remembrance,  fondly  kept, 

When  all  lighter  griefs  have  faded ! 

Oh !  thus  shall  we  mourn,  and  his  memory's  light, 

While  it  shines  through  our  heart,  will  improve 

them; 
For  worth  shall  look  fairer,  and  truth  more  bright, 

When  we  think  how  he  lived  but  to  love  them ! 
And,  as  buried  saints  have  given  perfume 

To  shrines  where  they've  been  lying, 
So  our  hearts  shall  borrow  a  sweetening  bloom 

From  the  image  he  left  there  in  dying ! 


THE  ORIGIN  OF  THE  HARP 

AIR — Gage  Fane. 

T  is  believed  that  this  harp,  which  I  wake  now  for 

thee, 

Was  a  Siren  of  old,  who  sung  under  the  se^ , 
And  who  often,  at  eve,  through  the  bright  billow 

roved, 
To  meet,  on  the  green  shore,  a  youth  whom  she  loved 

But  she  loved  him  in  vain,  for  he  left  her  to  weep, 
And  in  tears,  all  the  night,  her  gold  ringlets  to  steep, 
Till  Heaven  look'd  with  pity  on  true-love  so  warm, 
And  changed  to  this  soft  harp  the  sea-maiden's  form . 

Still  her  bosom  rose  fair — still  her  cheek  smiled  the 

same — 
While  her  sea-beauties  gracefully  curl'd  round  the 

frame ; 
And  her  hair,  shedding  tear-drops  from  all  its  bright 

rings, 
Fell  over  her  white  arm,  to  make  the  gold  strings  !a 

rlence  it  came,  that  this  soft  harp  so  long  hath  been 

known 

To  mingle  love's  language  with  sorrow's  sad  tone ; 
Pill  thou  didst  divide  them,  and  teach  the  fond  lay 
To  be  love  when  I'm  near  thee,  and  grief  when  away1 


1  "  Whom  the  Spirit  of  (he  Lord  is,  there  is  liberty  ' 
St.  Paul,  2  Corimhians,  iii.  17. 


1  These  lines  were  occasioned  by  the  death  of  a  very 
ear  and  dear  relative. 

2  This  thought  was  suggested  by  an   ingenious  design. 
in-fixed  to  an  ode  upon  St.  Cecilia,  published  some  yean 
iince,by  Mr.  Hudson  of  Dublin. 


IRISH  MELODIES 


NO.  IV. 


THIS  Number  of  The  Melodies  ought  to  have  ap- 
peared much  earlier ;  and  the  writer  of  the  words  is 
ashamed  to  confess,  that  the  delay  of  its  publication 
must  be  imputed  chiefly,  if  not  entirely,  to  him.  He 
finds  it  necessary  to  make  this  avowal,  not  only  for 
the  purpose  of  removing  all  blame  from  the  publisher, 
but  in  consequence  of  a  rumour,  which  has  been  cir- 
culated industriously  in  Dublin,  that  the  Irish  Govern- 
ment had  interfered  to  prevent  the  continuance  of 
the  Work.  This  would  be,  indeed,  a  revival  of 
Henry  the  Eighth's  enactments  against  Minstrels,  and 
it  is  very  flattering  to  find  that  so  much  importance  is 
attached  to  our  compilation,  even  by  such  persons  as 
the  inventors  of  the  report.  Bishop  Lowth,  it  is  true, 
was  of  this  opinion,  that  one  song,  like  the  Hymn  to 
Harmodius,  would  have  done  more  towards  rousing 
the  spirit  of  the  Romans  than  aZZ  the  philippics  of 
Cicero.  But  we  live  in  wiser  and  less  musical  times ; 
ballads  have  long  lost  their  revolutionary  powers, 
and  we  question  if  even  a  "  Lillibullero"  would  pro- 
duce any  very  serious  consequences  at  present.  It  is 
needless,  therefore,  to  add,  that  there  is  no  truth  in 
the  report ;  and  we  trust  that  whatever  belief  it  ob- 
tained was  founded  more  upon  the  character  of  ttie 
Government  than  of  the  Work. 

The  Airs  of  the  last  Number,  though  full  of  origi- 
nality and  beauty,  were  perhaps,  in  general,  too  cu- 
riously selected  to  become  all  at  once  as  popular  as, 
we  think,  they  deserve  to  be.  The  Public  are  re- 
markably reserved,  towards  new  acquaintances  in 
music,  which,  perhaps,  is  one  of  the  reasons  why 
many  modern  composers  introduce  none  but  old 
friends  to  their  notice.  Indeed,  it  is  natural  that  per- 
sons who  love  music  only  by  association,  should  be 
slow  in  feeling  the  charms  of  a  new  and  strange 
melody;  while  those  who  have  a  quick  sensibility  for 
this  enchanting  art,  will  as  naturally  seek  and  enjoy 
novelty,  because  in  every  variety  of  strain  they  find  a 
fresh  combination  of  ideas,  and  the  sound  has  scarcely 
reached  the  ear,  before  the  heart  has  rapidly  trans- 
lated it  into  sentiment.  After  all,  however,  it  can- 
not be  denied  that  the  most  popular  of  our  national 
Airs  are  also  the  most  beautiful ;  and  it  has  been  our 
wish,  in  the  present  Number,  to  select  from  those 
Melodies  only  which  have  long  been  listened  to  and 
admired.  The  least  known  in  the  collection  is  the 
Air  of  "  Jsnxfs  young  Dream ;"  but  it  is  one  of  those 
easy,  artless  strangers,  whose  merit  the  heart  ac- 
knowledges instantly. 

T.  M. 

Bury  Street,  St.  James's, 
Nov.  1811. 


LOVE'S  YOUNG  DREAM. 

Am—  The  Old  Woman. 
OH  !  the  days  are  gone,  when  Beauty  bright 

My  heart's  chain  wove  ! 
When  my  dream  of  life,  from  morn  till  night, 
\Va*  love,  still  love  ! 
2T 


New  hope  may  bloom, 

And  days  may  come 
Of  milder,  calmer  beam, 
But  there  'a  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  drr;irn  ! 
Oh !  there 's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life 

As  love's  young  dream  ! 

Though  the  bard  to  purer  fame  may  soar, 

When  wild  youth 's  past ; 
Though  he  win  the  wise,  who  frown'd  before, 

To  smile  at  last ; 

He'll  never  meet 
(  A  joy  so  sweet, 

In  all  his  noon  of  fame, 
As  when  first  he  sung  to  woman's  ear 

His  soul-felt  flame, 
And,  at  every  close,  she  blush'd  to  hear 

The  one  loved  name ! 

Oh !  that  hallow'd  form  is  ne'er  forgot, 

Which  first-love  traced ; 
Still  it  lingering  haunts  the  greenest  spot 

On  memory's  waste ! 

'T  was  odour  fled 

As  soon  as  shed ; 
'T  was  morning's  winged  dream ; 
'Twas  a  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream  ! 
Oh !  't  was  light  that  ne'er  can  shine  again 

On  life's  dull  stream. 


THE  PRINCE'S  DAY.1 

AIR— St.  Patrick »  Day. 

THOUGH  dark  are  our  sorrows,  to-day  we  *I1  forgtf 

them, 
And  smile  through  our  tears,  like  a  sun-beam  10 

showers ; 

There  never  were  hearts,  if  our  rulers  would  let  them, 
More  form'd  to  be  grateful  and  bless'd  than  ours ! 
But,  just  when  the  chain 
Has  ceased  to  pain, 

And  Hope  has  enwreathed  it  round  with  Bowers, 
There  comes  a  new  link 
Our  spirits  to  sink — 
Oh !  the  joy  that  we  taste,  like  the  light  of  the  pole*. 

Is  a  flash  amid  darkness,  too  brilliant  to  stay , 

But,  though  't  were  the  last  little  spark  in  our  souls, 

We  must  light  it  up  now  on  our  Prince's  Day. 

Contempt  on  the  minion  who  calls  you  disloyal ! 
Though  fierce  to  your  foe,  to  your  friends  you  are 

true; 

And  the  tribute  most  high  to  a  head  that  is  royal 
Is  love  from  a  heart  that  loves  liberty  too. 

\Vliilo  cowards  who  blight 

Your  fame,  your  right, 
Would  shrink  from  the  blaze  of  the  battle  array, 

The  Standard  of  (in  cu 

In  front  would  be  seen — 


1  Tlii«si>ns  was  writti-n  tor  a  !'••'••  in  h.m.-iir  »f  !"••  I'rinc* 
,,f  Wales'*  Uirtli-Diiy,  irivi-n  by  my  tru-ml,  Major  Uivan,  a« 
liis  seat  in  tlie  cuunly  of  K.lkuiuv. 


330 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh !  my  life  on  your  faith !  were  you  stunmon'd  this 
mipute, 

You'd  cast  every  bitter  remembrance  away. 
And  show  what  the  arm  of  old  Erin  has  in  it, 

When  roused  by  the  foe,  on  her  Prince's  Day. 

He  loves  the  Green  Isle,  and  his  lore  is  recorded 

In  hearts  which  have  suifer'd  too  much  to  forget ; 
And  hope  shall  be  crown'd,  and  attachment  rewarded, 
And  Erin's  gay  jubilee  shine  out  yet ! 
The  gem  may  be  broke 
By  many  a  stroke, 

But  nothing  can  cloud  its  native  ray ; 
Each  fragment  will  cast 
A  light,  to  the  last ! — 

And  thus,  Erin,  my  country !  though  broken  thou  art, 
There 's  a  lustre  within  thee  that  ne'er  will  decay ; 
A  spirit  which  beams  through  each  suffering  part, 
And  now  smiles  at  their  pain,  on  the  Prince's  Day ! 


WEEP  ON,  WEEP  ON. 

AIR — The  Song  of  Sorrow. 
WEEP  on,  weep  on,  your  hour  is  past, 

Your  dreams  of  pride  are  o'er ; 
The  fatal  chain  is  round  you  cast, 

And  you  are  men  no  more ! 
In  vain  the  hero's  heart  h<ith  bled, 

The  sage's  tongue  hath  warn'd  in  vain  ; — 
Oh,  Freedom !  once  thy  flame  hath  fled, 

It  never  lights  again ! 

Weep  on — perhaps  in  after  days 

They'll  learn  to  love  your  name ; 
When  many  a  deed  shall  wake  in  praise 

That  now  must  sleep  in  blame  ! 
And,  when  they  tread  the  ruin'd  isle, 

Where  rest,  at  length,  the  lord  and  slave, 
They'M  wond'ring  ask,  how  hands  so  vile 

Could  conquer  hearts  so  brave. 

"  'T  was  fate,"  they'll  say,  "  a  wayward  fate 

Your  web  of  discord  wove ; 
And,  while  your  tyrants  join'd  in  hate, 

You  never  join'd  in  love! 
But  hearts  fell  off  that  ought  to  twine, 

And  man  profaned  what  God  hath  given, 
Till  some  were  heard  to  curse  the  shrine 

Where  others  knelt  to  Heaven !" 


LESBIA  HATH  A  BEAMING  EYE. 

AIR — Nora  Creina, 
LESBIA  hath  a  beaming  eye, 

But  no  one  knows  for  whom  it  beameth ; 
Right  and  left  its  arrows  fly, 

But  what  they  aim  at  no  one  drcameth ! 
Sweeter  't  is  to  gaze  upon 

My  Nora's  lid,  that  seldom  rises  ; 
Few  its  looks,  but  every  one, 
Like  unexpected  light,  surprises  ! 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear ! 
Mv  gentle,  bashful  Nora  Creina  ' 


Beauty  lies 
In  many  eyes, 
But  love  in  yours,  my  Nora  Creina  ! 

Lesbia  wears  a  robe  of  gold, 

But  all  so  close  the  nymph  hath  laced  it, 
Not  a  charm  of  Beauty's  mould 

Presumes  to  stay  where  Nature  placed  it ! 
Oh  !  my  Nora's  gown  for  me, 

That  floats  as  wild  as  mountain  breezes, 
Leaving  every  beauty  free 
To  sink  or  swell,  as  Heaven  pleases 

Yes,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear  ! 
My  simple,  graceful  Nora  Creina ! 
Nature's  dress 
Is  loveliness — 
The  dress  you  wear,  my  Nora  Creina  ! 

Lesbia  hath  a  wit  refined, 

But,  when  its  points  are  gleaming  round  us, 
Who  can  tell  if  they're  design'd 

To  dazzle  merely  or  to  wound  us  ? 
Pi'low'd  on  my  Nora's  heart, 

In  safer  slumber  Love  reposes — 

Bed  of  peace  !  whose  roughest  part 

Is  but  the  crumbling  of  the  roses. 

Oh,  my  Nora  Creina,  dear ! 
My  mild,  my  artless  Nora  Creina ! 
Wit,  though  bright, 
Hath  not  the  light 
That  warms  your  eyes,  my  Nora  Creina ! 


I  SAW  THY  FORM  IN  YOUTHFUL  PRIME 

AIR — Domhnatt. 
I  SAW  thy  form  in  youthful  prime, 

Nor  thought  that  pale  decay 
Would  steal  before  the  steps  of  time, 

And  waste  its  bloom  away,  Miry  ! 
Yet  still  thy  features  wore  that  light 

Which  fleets  not  with  the  breath  ; 
And  life  ne'er  look'd  more  truly  bright 

Than  in  thy  smile  of  death,  Mary ! 

As  streams  that  run  o'er  golden  mines, 

Yet  humbly,  calmly  glide, 
Nor  seem  to  know  the  wealth  that  shines 

Within  their  gentle  tide,  Mary ! 
So,  veil'd  beneath  the  simplest  guise, 

Thy  radiant  genius  shone, 
And  that  which  charm'd  all  other  eyes 

Seem'd  worthless  in  thy  own,  Mary ! 

If  souls  could  always  dwell  above, 

Thou  ne'er  hadst  left  that  sphere  ; 
Or,  could  we  keep  the  souls  we  love, 

We  ne'er  had  lost  the^  here,  Mary  ! 
Though  many  a  gifted  mind  we  meet, 

Though  fairest  forms  we  see, 
To  live  with  them  is  far  less  sweet 

Than  to  remember  thee,  Mary !' 


1  I  have  here  made  a  feeble  effort  to  imitate  that  exqui 
site  inscription  of  Shenstone's,  "  Heu !  quauto  minus  erf 
curn  reliquis  versari  quam  tui  menuiiisse '" 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


n 


BY  THAT  LAKE,  WHOSE  GLOOMY  SHORE. 

Am — The  Brown  Irish  Girl 
BY  that  lake,  whose  gloomy  shore 
Sky-lark  never  warbles  o'er,2 
Where  the  clin"  hangs  high  and  steep, 
Young  Saint  Kevin  stole  to  sleep. 
"  Here  at  least,"  he  calmly  said, 
"  Woman  ne'er  shall  find  my  bed." 
Ah  !  the  good  saint  little  knew 
What  that  wily  sex  can  do. 

"T  was  from  Kathleen's  eyes  he  flew — 
Eyes  of  most  unholy  blue! 
She  had  loved  him  well  and  long, 
Wish'd  him  her's,  nor*  thought  it  wrong 
Wheresoe'er  the  saint  would  fly, 
Still  he  heard  her  light  foot  nigh ; 
East  or  west,  where'er  he  turn'd, 
Still  her  eyes  before  him  burn'd. 

On  the  bold  cliff's  bosom  cast, 
Tranquil  now  he  sleeps  at  last ; 
Dreams  of  heaven,  nor  thinks  that  e'er 
Woman's  smile  can  haunt  him  there. 
But  nor  earth,  nor  heaven  is  free 
From  her  power,  if  fond  she  be  : 
Even  now,  while  calm  he  sleeps, 
Kathleen  o'er  him  leans  and  weeps. 

Fearless  she  had  track'd  his  feet 
To  this  rocky  wild  retreat ; 
And  when  morning  met  his  view, 
Her  mild  glances  met  it  too. 
Ah !  your  saints  have  cruel  hearts! 
Sternly  from  his  bed  he  starts, 
And,  with  rude  repulsive  shock, 
Hurls  her  from  the  beetling  rock. 

Glendalough !  thy  gloomy  wave 
Soon  was  gentle  Kathleen's  grave , 
Soon  the  saint  (yet,  ah !  too  late) 
Felt  her  love,  and  mourn'd  her  fate. 
WThen  he  said,  "  Heaven  rest  her  soul !" 
Round  the  lake  light  music  stole  ; 
And  her  ghost  waa  seen  to  glide, 
Smiling,  o'er  the  fatal  tide  ! 


SHE  IS  FAR  FROM  THE  LAND. 

AIR — Open  the  Door. 
SHE  is  far  from  the  land  where  her  young  hero  sleeps, 

And  lovers  are  round  her  sighing  ; 
But  coldly  she  turns  from  their  gaze,  and  weeps, 

For  her  heart  in  his  grave  is  lying  ! 

She  sings  the  wild  song  of  her  dear  native  plains, 
Every  note  which  he  loved  awaking. — 

Ah  !  little  they  think,  who  delight  in  her  strains, 
How  the  heart  of  the  Minstrel  is  breaking ! 


1  T\-.\<  ballad  is  founded  upon  one  of  the  many  stories  ro- 
Iiitn!  of  St.  Kevin,  whose  hod  in  tlio  rock  is  to  be  Been  at 
(Jli-inliilniiili,  a  most  gloomy  and  romantic  spot  in  the  county 
of  Wicklow. 

2  There  are.  mnny  other  curious  tradition;  concerning  this 
lake,  wlii'.-h  may  bo  found  in  Giraldus,  Colgau,  etc. 


He  had  lived  for  his  love  for  his  country  he  died 
They  were  all  that  to  life  had  entwined  liim,- 

Nor  soon  shall  the  tears  of  his  country  bo  dried, 
Nor  long  will  his  love  «tay  behind  him. 

Oh !  make  her  a  grave  where  the  sun-beams  rest. 
When  they  promise  a  glorious  morrow  ; 

They'll  shine  o'er  her  sleep  like  a  smile  from  the  We»i 
From  her  own  loved  Island  of  Sorrow ! 


NAY  TELL  ME  NOT. 

AIR — Dennis,  don't  be  threatening. 
NAT,  tell  me  not,  dear!  that  the  goblet  drown* 

One  charm  of  feeling,  one  fond  regret ; 
Believe  me,  a  few  of  thy  angry  frowns 
Are  all  I've  sunk  hi  its  bright  wave  yet. 
Ne'er  hath  a  beam 
Been  lost  in  the  stream 
That  ever  was  shed  from  thy  fore?  or  soul ; 
The  balm  of  thy  sighs, 
The  light  of  thine  eyes, 
Still  float  on  the  surface  and  hallow  my  bowl ! 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest !  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me  ! 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal, 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee ! 

They  tell  us  that  Love  in  his  fairy  bower 

Had  two  blush-roses,  of  birth  divine; 
He  sprinkled  the  one  with  a  rainbow's  shower, 
But  bathed  the  other  with  mantling  wine. 
Soon  did  the  buds, 
That  drank  of  the  floods 
Distill'd  by  the  rainbow,  decline  and  fade ; 
While  those  which  the  tide 
Of  ruby  had  dyed 

All  blush'd  into  beauty,  like  thec,  sv»  tct  maid  t 
Then  fancy  not,  dearest !  that  wine  can  steal 
One  blissful  dream  of  the  heart  from  me ; 
Like  founts  that  awaken  the  pilgrim's  zeal, 
The  bowl  but  brightens  my  love  for  thee. 


AVENGING  AND  BRIGHT 

Am — Crooghan  a  Venae. 

AVENGING  and  bright  fell  the  swift  sword  of  Erin 
On  him  who  the  brave  sons  of  L'sna  betray'd ! — 


1  The  words  of  this  tone  were  suggested  by  the  very 
ancient  Irish  story,  called  "  Ueirdri,  or  Die  lamentable  fat* 
of  the  sons  of  Usnach,"  which  has  been  translated  literally 
from  the  Gaelic,  by  Mr.  O'Flanagan  (see  vol.  1.  of  Trans- 
acLiuns  of  the  (lactic  Society  of  Dublin,)  and  upon  winch 
It  appears  that  the  "  Darthula''  of  Macpheraon  is  founded. 
The  treachery  of  Conor,  King  of  Ulster,  in  putting  to  dealt- 
ihr  three  sons  of  Usna,  was  the  cause  of  a  desuluting  war 
a;rninHt  Ulster,  which  terminated  in  the  dcwtruction  . 
"This  story  (says  Mr.  O'Flanugan)  has  been  from  lime  mi 
memorial  held  in  high  repute  as  one  of  the  three  tragio 
stories  of  tlio  Iri>h,  These  are,  'The  death  of  Ilie  rl.ildn>n 
of  Toiinin;'  'The  death  of  the  children  of  Lear*  (both  re- 
garding Tualha  de  Danans;)  and  this,  'The  death  of  lira 
ehiKtren  of  Usnach,'  which  is  a  MH  In  No. 

[I.  of  these  Melodies  there  is  a  ballad  upon  the  story  of  the 
children  of  Lear  or  Lir:  "Silent,  oh  Movie!"  ere. 

Whatever  may  be  thought  of  those  sanguine  claims  tu 
antiquity,  which  Mr.  O'Kliinjijiin  an, I  oihen  mhann.-  in' 
the  literature  of  Ireland,  it  would  be  a  very  hutting  reproach 


332 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  every  fond  eye  hath  waken'd  a  tear  in, 
A  drop  from  nis  heart-wounds  shall  weep  o'er  he 
blade. 

By  the  red  cloud  that  hung  over  Conor's  dark  dwel 

lin?,1 
When   Ulad's  three  champions   lay  sleeping 

gore — * 

By  the  billows  of  war  which,  so  often,  high  swelling 
Have  wafted  these  heroes  to  victory's  shore  ! — 

We  swear  to  revenge  them ! — no  joy  shall  be  tasted 
The  harp  shall  be  silent,  the  maiden  unwed ; 

Our  halls  shall  be  mute,  and  our  fields  shall  lie  wasted 
Till  vengeance  is  wreak'd  on  the  murderer's  head 

Yes,  monarch !  though  sweet  are  our  home  recollec 

tions, 
Though  sweet  are  the  tears  that  from  tenderness 

fall; 
Though  sweet  are  our  friendships,  our  hopes,  our  af 

fections, 
Revenge  on  a  tyrant  is  sweetest  of  all ! 


WHAT  THfi  BEE  IS  TO  THE  FLOWERET 

AIR— The  Yellow  Horse. 
He. — WHAT  the  bee  is  to  the  floweret, 
When  he  looks  for  honey-dew 
Through  the  leaves  that  close  embower  it, 
That,  my  love,  I'll  be  to  you ! 

She. — What  the  bank,  with  verdure  glowing, 

Is  to  waves  that  wander  near, 
Whisppring  kisses,  while  they're  going, 
That  I'll  be  to  you,  my  dear ! 

She. — But  they  say,  the  bee 's  a  rover, 

That  he'll  fly  when  sweets  are  gone ; 
And,  when  once  the  kiss  is  over, 
Faithless  brooks  will  wander  on  ! 

He. — Nay,  if  flowers  witt  lose  their  looks, 

If  sunny  banks  will  wear  away, 
'T  is  but  right  that  bees  and  brooks 
Should  sip  and  kiss  them,  while  they  may. 


LOVE  AND  THE  NOVICE. 

AIR— Cean  Dubh  Delish. 
"HrRE  we  dwell,  in  holiest  bowers, 

Where  angels  of  light  o'er  our  orisons  bend  ; 
Where  sighs  of  devotion  and  breathings  of  flowers 
To  Heaven  in  mingled  odour  ascend  ! 
Do  not  disturb  our  calm,  oh  Love ! 
So  like  is  thy  form  to  the  cherubs  above, 
It  well  might  deceive  such  hearts  as  ours." 


upon  our  nationality  if  the  Gaelic  researches  of  (his  gentle 
man  did  not  meet  with  nil  the  liberal  encouragement  which 
they  merit. 

1  "Oh  \ni-i !  view  the  cloud  that  I  here  we  in  the  sky !  I 
•ee  over  Emun  preen  a  chilling  cloud  of  blood-tinged  red." 
-lirirdrit  Svng. 
8  UUter. 


Love  stood  near  the  Novice  and  listen'd, 

And  Love  is  no  novice  in  taking  a  hint ; 
His  laughing  blue  eyes  now  with  piety  glisten'd; 
His  rosy  wing  turn'd  to  heaven's  own  tint. 
"Who  would  have  thought,"  the  urchin  cries, 
"That  Love  could  so  well,  so  gravely  disguise 
His  wandering  wings  and  wounding  eyes  ?" 

Love  now  warms  thee,  waking  and  sleeping, 
Young  Novice ;  to  him  all  thy  orisons  rise ; 
He  tinges  the  heavenly  fount  with  his  weeping, 
He  brightens  the  censer's  flame  with  his  sighs. 
Love  is  the  saint  enshrined  in  thy  breast, 
And  angels  themselves  would  adrrjt  such  a  guest 
If  he  came  to  them  clothed  in  Piety's  vest. 


THIS  LIFE  IS  ALL  CHEQUER'D  WITH 
PLEASURES  AND  WOES. 

AIR — The  Bunch  of  Green  Rushes  that  grew  at  1hi 
Brim. 

THIS  life  is  all  chequer'd  with  pleasures  and  woes, 

That  chase  one  another,  like  waves  of  the  deep, — 
Each  billow,  as  brightly  or  darkly  it  flows, 

Reflecting  our  eyes  as  they  sparkle  or  weep. 
So  closely  our  whims  on  our  miseries  tread, 

That  the  laugh  is  awaked  ere  the  tear  can  be  dried; 
And,  as  fast  as  the  rain-drop  of  Pity  is  shed, 

The  goose-feathers  of  folly  can  turn  it  aside. 
But  pledge  me  the  cup — if  existence  would  cloy, 

With  hearts  ever  happy,  and  heads  ever  wise, 
Be  ours  the  light  Grief  that  is  sister  to  Joy, 

And  the  short  brilliant  Folly  that  flashes  and  diej ! 

When  Hylas  was  sent  with  his  urn  to  the  fount, 
Through  fields  full  of  sun-shine,  with  heart  full  of 

play, 
Light  rambled  the  boy  over  meadow  and  mount, 

And  neglected  his  task  for  the  flowers  on  the  way.1 
Thus  some  who,  like  me,  should  have  drawn  and 

have  tasted 

The  fountain  that  runs  by  Philosophy's  shrine, 
time  with  the  flowers  on  the  margin  have 

wasted, 

And  left  their  light  urns  all  as  empty  as  mine ! 
iut  pledge  me  the  goblet — while  Idleness  weaves 

Her  flowerets  together,  if  Wisdom  can  see 
One  bright  drop  or  two,  that  has  fallen  on  the  leaves 
From  her  fountain  divine,  't  is  sufficient  for  me ! 


No.  V. 

IT  is  but  fair  to  those  who  take  an  interest  in  this 
Vork,  to  state  that  it  is  now  very  near  its  termination! 
nd  that  the  Sixth  Number,  which  shall  speedily  ap- 
ear,  will,  most  probably,  be  the  last  of  the  series. 

It  is  not  so  much  from  a  want  of  materials,  and 
till  less  from  any  abatement  of  zeal  or  industry,  that 
we  have  adopted  the  resolution  of  bringing  our  task 
o  a  close ;  but  we  feel  so  proud,  for  our  country'! 


1  Proposito  florcm  pnetulit  officio. — Propert.  1.  i.  elr^  2Q 


IRISH  MELODIES 


eake  rind  our  own,  of  the  interest  which  this  purely 
Irish  Work  has  excited,  and  so  anxious  lest  a  particle 
of  that  interest  should  be  lost  by  any  ill-judged  pro- 
traction of  its  existence,  that  we  think  it  wiser  to  take 
away  the  cup  from  the  lip,  while  its  flavour  is  yet, 
we  trust,  fresh  and  sweet,  than  to  risk  any  longer 
trial  of  the  charm,  or  give  so  much  as  not  to  leave 
gome  wish  for  more.  In  speaking  thus  I  allude  en- 
tirely to  the  Airs,  which  are,  of  course,  the  main  at- 
traction of  these  volumes ;  and,  though  we  have  still 
many  popular  and  delightful  Melodies  to  produce,' 
yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that  we  should  soon  expe- 
rience some  difficulty  in  equalling  the  richness  and 
novelty  of  the  earlier  Numbers,  for  which,  as  we  had 
the  choice  of  all  before  us,  we  naturally  selected  only 
the  most  rare  and  beautiful.  The  Poetry,  too,  would 
be  sure  to  sympathize  with  the  decline  of  \he  Music, 
and,  however  feebly  my  words  have  kept  pace  with 
the  excellence  of  the  Airs,  they  would  follow  their 
foiling  off,  I  fear,  with  wonderful  alacrity.  So  that, 
altogether,  both  pride  and  prudence  counsel  us  to 
stop,  while  the  Work  is  yet,  we  believe,  flourishing 
and  attractive,  and,  in  the  imperial  attitude,  u  stantes 
nwri,"  before  we  incur  the  charge  either  of  altering 
for  the  worse,  or,  what  is  equally  unpardonable,  con- 
tinuing too  long  the  same. 

We  beg,  however,  to  say,  it  is  only  in  the  event  of 
our  failing  to  find  Airs  as  exquisite  as  most  of  those 
we  have  given,  that  we  mean  thus  to  anticipate  the 
natural  period  of  dissolution,  like  those  Indians  who 
put  their  relatives  to  death  when  they  become  feeble. 

T.  M. 

Mai/field  Cottage,  Ashbourne, 
Dectmber,  1813. 


OH,  THE  SHAMROCK! 
AIR — AUey  Croker. 

THROUGH  Erin's  Isle, 

To  sport  awhile, 
As  Love  and  Valour  wander' d, 

With  Wit,  the  sprite, 

Whose  quiver  bright 
A  thousand  arrows  squander'd ; 

Where'er  they  pass, 

A  triple  grass1 
Shoots  up,  with  dew-drops  streaming, 

As  softly  green 

As  emeralds,  seen 
Through  purest  crystal  gleaming ! 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock, 


1  Among  these  is   Savouma  Deelisk,   which    I    have 
hitherto  ouly  withheld,  from  the  diffidence  I  feel  in  treading 
upon  the  same  ground  with  Mr.  Campbell,  whose  beautifu 
words  to  this  fine  air  have  takeo  loo  strong  possession  of  al 
ears  and  hearts,  for  me  to  think  of  producing  any  imprewion 
after  him.     I  suppose,  however,  I  must  attempt  it  for  thr 
next  Number. 

2  Saint  Patrick  is  said  to  have  made  use  of  that  fpen( 
of'the  trefoil,  in  Ireland  called  the  Shamrock,  in  expliunms 
the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity  to  the  pagan  Irish.     I  do  no 
know  if  there  be  any  other  reason  for  our  adoption  of  tr 
plant  as  a  national  emblem.    HOPE,  amonz  the  anc.ems 
was  sometimes  represented  as  a  beautiful  child,     standing 
upon  tip-toes,  and  a  trefoil  or  three-coloured  gra»  in  he 
hand." 


Chosen  leaf 
Of  bard  and  chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 

Say.  Valour, "  See, 

They  spring  for  me, 
Those  leafy  gems  of  morning !" 

Says  Love,  "  No,  no, 

For  me  they  grow, 
My  fragrant  path  adorning  !** 

But  Wit  perceives 

The  triple  leaves, 
And  cries,  "  Oh !  do  not  sever 

A  type  that  blends 

Three  god-like  friends, 
Love,  Valour,  Wit,  for  ever '." 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  Shamrock 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  bard  and  chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 

So,  firmly  fond 

May  last  the  bond 
They  wove  that  morn  together, 

And  ne'er  may  fall 

One  drop  of  gall 
On  Wit's  celestial  feather ! 

May  Love,  as  shoot 

His  flowers  and  fruit, 
Of  thorny  falsehood  weed  'em  ! 

May  Valour  ne'er 

His  standard  rear 
Against  the  cause  of  Freedom ! 
Oh,  the  Shamrock,  the  green,  immortal  (Shamrock ! 

Chosen  leaf 

Of  bard  and  chief, 
Old  Erin's  native  Shamrock ! 


AT  THE  MID  HOUR  OF  NIGHT. 

AIR— 3fofly,  my  Dear. 
AT  the  mid  hour  of  night,  when  ttari  are  weeping,  I  fly 
To  the  lone  vale  we  loved  when  life  wa«  warm  ia 

thine  eye, 
And  I  think  that  if  spirits  can  steal  from  the  regions) 

of  air 
To  revisit  past  scenes  of  delight,  thou  wilt  come  to 

me  there, 
And  tell  me  our  love  ia  remember'd,  even  in  the  iky ! 

Thon  I  sing  the  wild  song  it  once  was  rapture  to  hear 
When  our  voices,  commingling,  breathed  like  one  on 

the  ear, 
And,  as  Echo  far  off  through  the  Tale  my  tad  ori 

son  rolls, 

I  think,  oh,  my  love  !  't  is  thy  Toice  from  the  king- 
dom of  souls,1 

Faintly  answering  still  the  notes  that  once  were  to 
dear. 


1  "There  are  countries,"  §ay»  Montaigne,  '  wn«re  they 
believe  the  »<>nU  of  the  happy  live  in  all  manner  of  liberty 
in  delizhtful  Win  and  that  it  i«  those  foul*,  repe»Unf  Ib* 
words  we  utter,  which  we  call  Echo." 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


ONE  BUMPER  AT  PARTING. 
AIR— Moll  Roe  in  the  Morning. 
ONE  bumper  at  parting ! — though  many 

Have  circled  the  board  since  we  met, 
The  fullest,  the  saddest  of  any 

Remains  to  be  crown'd  by  us  yet. 
The  sweetness  that  pleasure  has  in  i 

Is  always  so  slow  to  come  forth, 
That  seldom,  alas,  till  the  minute 

It  dies,  do  we  know  half  its  worth ! 
But  fill — may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up ; 
They're  born  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 
As  onward  we  journey,  how  pleasant 

To  pause  and  inhabit  awhile 
Those  few  sunny  spots,  like  the  present, 

That  'mid  the  dull  wilderness  smile ! 
But  Time,  like  a  pitiless  master, 

Cries,  "  Onward !"  and  spurs  the  gay  hours ; 
And  never  does  Time  travel  faster 

Than  when  his  way  lies  among  flowers. 
But,  come — may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Be  all  of  such  moments  made  up ; 
They  're  born  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure, 

They  die  'midst  the  tears  of  the  cup. 

This  evening  we  saw  the  sun  sinking 

In  waters  his  glory  made  bright — 
Oh !  trust  me,  our  farewell  of  drinking 

Should  be  like  that  farewell  of  light. 
You  saw  how  he  finish' d,  by  darting 

His  beam  o'er  a  deep  billow's  brim — 
80  fill  up ! — let 's  shine,  at  our  parting, 

In  full  liquid  glory,  like  him. 
And  oh !  may  our  life's  happy  measure 

Of  moments  like  this  be  made  up  ; 
T  was  born  on  the  bosom  of  pleasure, 

It  dies  'mid  the  tears  of  the  cup ! 


TIS  THE  LAST  ROSE  OF  SUMMER 

Am — Groves  of  Blarney. 
T  is  the  last  rose  of  summer, 

Left  blooming  alone ; 
All  her  lovely  companions 

Are  faded  and  gone ; 
No  flower  of  her  kindred, 

No  rose-bud  is  nigh, 
To  reflect  back  her  blushes, 

Or  give  sigh  for  sigh ! 

I  '11  not  leave  thee,  thou  lone  one  . 

To  pine  on  the  stem ; 
Since  the  lovely  are  sleeping,  , 

Go,  sleep  thou  with  them. 
Thus  kindly  I  scatter 

Thy  leaves  o'er  the  bed, 
Where  thy  mates  of  the  garden 

Lie  scentless  and  dead. 

So  soon  may  7  follow, 

When  friendships  decay, 
And  from  Love's  shining  circle 

The  gems  drop  away  ! 


When  true  hearts  lie  wither'd, 
And  fond  ones  are  flown, 

Oh  !  who  would  inhabit 
This  bloak  world  alone  ? 


THE  YOUNG  MAY-MOON 

AIR—  The  Dandy  O! 
THE  young  May-moon  is  beaming,  love . 
The  glow-worm's  lamp  is  gleaming,  love ! 
How  sweet  to  rove 
Through  Morna's  grove,1 
While  the  drowsy  world  is  dreaming,  love . 
Then  awake ! — the  heavens  look  bright,  my  dear! 
'T  is  never  too  late  for  delight,  my  dear ! 
And  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days, 
Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my  dear ! 

Now  all  the  world  is  sleeping,  love ! 
But  the  sage,  his  star-watch  keeping,  love  i 
And  I,  whose  star, 
More  glorious  far, 
Is  the  eye  from  that  casement  peeping,  love . 
Then  awake  ! — till  rise  of  sun,  my  dear ! 
The  sage's  glass  we  '11  shun,  my  dear ! 

Or,  in  watching  the  flight 

Of  bodies  of  light, 
He  might  happen  to  take  thee  for  one,  my  dear ! 


THE  MINSTREL-BOY 

AIR — The  Moreen. 
THE  Minstrel-Boy  to  the  war  is  gone, 

In  the  ranks  of  death  you  '11  find  him, 
His  father's  sword  he  has  girded  on, 

And  his  wild  harp  slung  behind  him. — 
"Land  of  song!"  said  the  warrior-bard, 

"  Though  all  the  world  betrays  thee, 
One  sword,  at  least,  thy  rights  shall  guard, 

One  faithful  harp  shall  praise  thee  !" 

The  Minstrel  fell ! — but  the  foeman's  chain 

Could  not  bring  his  proud  soul  under! 
The  harp  he  loved  ne'er  spoke  again, 

For  he  tore  its  chords  asunder ; 
And  said,  "  No  chains  shall  sully  thee, 

Thou  soul  of  love  and  bravery  ! 
Thy  songs  were  made  for  the  pure  and  free 

They  shall  never  sound  in  slavery  !" 


THE  SONG  OF  O'RUARK,  PRINCE  OF 
BREFFNI.* 

AIR — The  pretty  Girl  milking  her  Cow. 
THE  valley  lay  smiling  before  me, 
Where  lately  I  left  her  behind ; 


1  "  Steals  silently  to  Morna's  grove." 

See  a  trnnslation  from  the  Irish,  in  Mr.  Bunting's  collec- 
ion,  by  John  Brown,  one  of  my  earliest  rolleee  companion* 
nil  friends,  whoso  ileath  was  ns  singularly  melancholy  and 
iiiforiiinaie  as  his  life  had  been  amiable,  honourable,  and 
xcinnlary. 

2  Thrse  stanzas  are  founded  upon  an  event  of  most  me- 
ancholy  importance  to  Ireland,  if,  as  we  are  told  by  our 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


Yet  I  trembled,  and  something  hung  o'er  me, 
That  sadden'd  the  joy  of  my  mind. 

I  look'd  for  the  lamp,  which  she  told  me 
Should  shine  when  her  pilgrim  return'd ; 

But,  though  darkness  began  to  infold  me, 
No  lamp  from  the  battlements  burn'd ! 

I  flew  to  her  chamber — 't  was  lonely 

As  if  the  loved  tenant  lay  dead ! — 
Ah !  would  it  were  death,  and  death  only ! 

But  no — the  young  fake  one  had  fled. 
And  there  hung  the  lute,  that  could  soften 

My  very  worst  pains  into  bliss, 
While  the  hand  that  had  waked  it  so  often 

Now  throbb'd  to  a  proud  rival's  kiss 

There  was  a  time,  falsest  of  women  ! 

When  Breffni's  good  sword  would  have  sought 
That  man,  through  a  million  of  foemen, 

Who  dared  but  to  doubt  thee  in  tlwught! 
While  now — oh,  degenerate  daughter 

Of  ERIN  ! — how  fall'n  is  thy  fame ! 
And,  through  ages  of  bondage  and  slaughter, 

Our  country  shall  bleed  for  thy  shame. 

Already  the  curse  is  upon  her, 

And  strangers  her  Tallies  profane  ; 
They  come  to  divide— to  dishonour, 

And  tyrants  they  long  will  remain  ! 
But,  onward  1 — the  green  banner  rearing, 

Go,  flesh  every  sword  to  the  hilt ; 
On  our  side  is  VIRTUE  and  ERIN  ! 

On  theirs  is  THE  SAXON  and  GUILT. 


OH !  HAD  WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LITTLE  ISLE 
OF  OUR  OWN. 

AIR — Sheela  no.  Guira. 

OH  !  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own, 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean,  far  off  and  alone, 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still-blooming  bowers 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  o 

flowers ; 
Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fond  a  delay, 
That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day ; 

Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live, 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give ! 


Irish  historian?,  it  save  Kni'l  ind  the  first  opportunity  of  pro 
fitinc  bv  our  divisions  and  subduing  us.    J  lie  folio 
the  circumstances  as  related  by  O'llallonm.    "  The  hmg  p 
Leinster  had  Ions  conceived  a  violent  atlcction  for  Dearb 
hofil  d:ni»hter  to  tlie.dCins;  of  Meath,  and  though  she  hu 
been  for  some  time  married  to  O'Ruark,  Prince  of  Hrenn 
vet  it  could  not  restrain  hu  passion.    They  carried  on  a  pr 
vale  correspondence,  and   she   informed   him  that  O 
intended  soon  to  eo  on  a  pilgrimage  (an  act  of  piety  freqnei 
i,,  those  dnvs,)  and  conjured  him  to  embrace 
nitv  of  cmivcvms  her  from  a  husband  ihe  detested    <i 
Wershe  adore.l.    Mae  Murchad  too  punclua  ly  obeved  t! 
summons,    and   hnd  the   lady  conveyed   to    hn   capital  ( 
Fern,  "JThe   Monarch    Roderick    e-|mus,-d    tlie 
O'Ruark,  whi'c  Ma    Murclmd  fled  to  England,  and  obtain 
cd  the  assistance  of  Henry  II. 

"Such,"  adds  Giralrlui.  C.imbrpnsis,  (an  I  find  him  in  n 
old  iranslation,)  "is  the  variable  ud  fickle 
,nai-  hv  who'i.  all  mischie's  in  the  world  (tor  the  most  pa. 
do  happen  and  come,  as  may  appear  by  Marcus  Antomu 
Slid  by  the  destruction  of  Troy." 


here,  with  souls  ever  ardent  and  pare  as  the  clime, 
should  love,  as  they  loved  in  the  first  golden  lime ; 
tie  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
fould  steal  to  our  hearts,  and  make  all  summer  there ! 
With  affection,  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers, 
And  with  Hope,  like  the  bee, 

Living  always  on  flowers, 
ur  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light, 
nd  our  death  come  on,  holy  and  calm  as  the  night ! 


FAREWELL!— BUT,  WHENEVER  YOU 
WELCOME  THE  HOUR. 

AIR— MM  Rome. 

AREWELL  ! — but,  whenever  you  welcome  the  hon.- 
"hat  awakens  the  night-song  of  mirth  in  yourbowei, 
'hen  think  of  the  friend  who  once  welcomed  it  too, 
iVnd  forgot  his  own  griefs  to  be  happy  with  you. 
[is  griefs  may  return — not  a  hope  may  remain 
>f  the  few  that  have  brighten'd  his  pathway  of  pain— 
!ut  he  ne'er  will  forget  the  short  vision,  that  threw 
ts  enchantment  around  him,  while  lingering  with 
you! 

nd  still  on  that  evening,  when  pleasure  fills  up 
'o  the  highest  top  sparkle  each  heart  and  each  cup, 
Vhere'er  my  path  lies,  be  it  gloomy  or  bright, 
Vly  soul,  happy  friends !  shall  be  with  you  that  night , 
.Shall  join  in  your  revels,  your  sports,  and  your  wile*, 
A  nd  return  to  me  beaming  all  o'er  with  your  smiles ! — 

bless' d,  if  it  tells  me  that,  'mid  the  gay  cheer, 
Some  kind  voice  had  murmur' d,  "1  wish  he  wer* 
here !" 

jet  Fate  do  her  worst,  there  are  relics  of  joy, 

bright  dreams  of  the  past,  which  she  cannot  destroy 
Which  come,  in  the  night-time  of  sorrow  and  car*. 
And  bring  back  the  features  that  joy  used  to  wear. 

jnng,  long  be  my  heart  with  such  memories  fill'd  ! 

like  the  vase  in  which  roses  have  once  been  diatill'd— 
You  may  break,  you  may  ruin  the  vase,  if  you  will. 

Jut  the  scent  of  the  i<*tu  wU  hang  round  it  still 


OH !  DOUBT  ME  NOT. 
AIR— Yellow  Wat  and  the  Fox. 
OH  !  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  made  me  rove, 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 

Shall  watch  the  fire  awaked  by  Love 
Although  this  heart  was  early  blown, 
And  fairest  hands  disturb'd  the  tree, 
They  only  shook  some  blossoms  down, — 
Its  fruit  has  all  been  kept  for  thee. 
Then  doubt  me  not— the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  made  me  rore, 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 

Shall  watch  the  lire  awaked  by  Love 

And  though  my  lute  no  longor 

May  sing  of  Passion's  ardent  spell, 

Yot,  tnist  mo,  all  tlir  sir. 
I  feel  the  bliss  I  do  not  u-ll 


1 


326 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  bee  through  many  a  garden  roves, 

And  hums  his  lay  of  courtship  o'er, 

But,  when  he  finds  the  flower  he  loves, 

He  settles  there,  and  hums  no  more. 

Then  doubt  me  not — the  season 

Is  o'er  when  Folly  kept  me  free, 
And  now  the  vestal  Reason 
Shall  guard  the  flame  awaked  by  thee. 


YOU  REMEMBER  ELLEN.1 

AIR—  Were  I  a  Clerk. 
You  remember  Ellen,  our  hamlet's  pride, 

How  meekly  she  bless'd  her  humble  lot, 
When  the  stranger,  William,  had  made  her  his  bride. 

And  love  was  the  light  of  their  lowly  cot 
Together  they  toil'd  through  winds  and  rains 

Till  William  at  length,  in  sadness,  said, 
"  We  must  seek  our  fortune  on  other  plains  ;" 

Then,  sighing,  she  left  her  lowly  shed. 

They  roam'd  a  long  and  a  weary  way, 

Nor  much  was  the  maiden's  heart  at  ease, 
When  now,  at  close  of  one  stormy  day, 

They  see  a  proud  castle  among  the  trees. 
*  To-night,"  said  the  youth,  "  we'll  shelter  there , 

The  wind  blows  cold,  the  hour  is  late:" — 
So  he  blew  the  horn  with  a  chieftain's  air, 

And  the  porter  bow'd  as  they  pass'd  the  gate. 

"Now,  welcome,  Lady  !"  exclaim'd  the  youth, — 

"  This  castle  is  thine,  and  these  dark  woods  all." 
She  believed  him  wild,  but  his  words  were  truth, 

For  Ellen  is  Lady  of  Rosna  Hall  !— 
And  dearly  the  Lord  of  Rosna  loves 

What  William  the  stranger  woo'd  and  wed ; 
And  the  light  of  bliss,  in  these  lordly  groves, 

Is  pure  as  it  shone  in  the  lowly  shed. 


TD  MOURN  THE  HOPES. 

AIR—  The  Rose  Tree. 
T0  mourn  the  hopes  that  leave  me, 

If  thy  smiles  had  left  me  too  ; 
Td  weep  when  friends  deceive  me, 

If  thou  wert,  like  them,  untrue. 
But,  while1  I've  thee  before  me, 

With  heart  so  warm  and  eyes  so  bright, 
No  clouds  can  linger  o'er  me, — 

That  smile  turns  them  all  to  light ! 

*T  is  not  in  fate  to  harm  me, 

While  fate  leaves  thy  love  to  me ; 
T  is  not  in  joy  to  charm  me, 

Unless  joy  be  shared  with  thee. 
One  minute's  dream  about  thee 

Were  worth  a  long,  an  endless  year 
Of  waking  bliss  without  thee, 

My  own  love,  my  only  dear! 

And,  though  the  hope  lie  gone,  love, 
That  long  sparkled  o'er  our  way, 

Oh  !  we  shall  journey  onylove, 
More  safely  without  its  ray. 


J  This  Ballad  wad  suggested  by  a  well-known  and  into 
retting  story  told  of  a  cur  lain  noble  family  in  England. 


Far  better  lights  shall  win  me 
Along  the  path  I've  yet  to  roam, — 

The  mind  that  burns  within  me, 
And  pure  smiles  from  thee  at  home. 

Thus,  when  the  lamp  that  lighted 

The  traveller,  at  first  goes  out, 
He  feels  awhile  benighted, 

And  looks  around,  in  fear  and  doubt. 
But  soon,  the  prospect  clearing, 

By  cloudless  star-light  on  he  treads, 
And  thinks  no  lamp  so  cheering 

As  that  light  which  Heaven  sheds ! 


No.  VI. 


IN  presenting  this  Sixth  Number  as  our  last,  and 
bidding  adieu  to  the  Irish  Harp  for  ever,  we  shall  not 
answer  very  confidently  for  the  strength  of  our  reso- 
lution, nor  feel  quite  sure  that  it  may  not  prove,  after 
all,  to  be  only  one  of  those  eternal  farewells  which  a 
lover  takes  of  his  mistress  occasionally.  Our  only 
motive  indeed  for  discontinuing  the  Work  was  a  fear 
that  our  treasures  were  beginning  to  be  exhausted, 
and  an  unwillingness  to  descend  to  the  gathering  of 
mere  seed-pearl,  after  the  very  valuable  gems  it  has 
been  our  lot  to  string  together.  But  this  intention, 
which  we  announced  in  our  Fifth  Number,  has  ex- 
cited an  anxiety  in  the  lovers  of  Irish  Music,  not  only 
pleasant  and  flattering,  but  highly  useful  to  us ;  for 
the  various  contributions  we  have  received  in  con- 
sequence have  enriched  our  collection  with  so  many 
choice  and  beautiful  Airs,  that,  if  we  keep  to  our  re- 
solution of  publishing  no  more,  it  will  certainly  be  an 
instance  of  forbearance  and  self-command  unexam- 
pled in  the  history  of  poets  and  musicians. 

Mayfield,  Asltbourne,  T.  M. 

March,  1815. 


COME  O'ER  THE  SEA, 

AIR — Cuishlih  ma  Chree. 

COME  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden !  with  me, 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snow  s  ! 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not ; 
'T  is  life  where  thou  art,  't  is  death  where  thou  art  not 

Then,  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden !  with  me, 
Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blow ; 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes 

Is  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  free, 
Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

Here  we  are  slaves, 

But,  on  the  waves, 
Love  and  Liberty 's  all  our  own  ! 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


337 


No  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us. 
AU  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us  !-  - 
Then,  come  o'er  the  sea, 
Maiden !  with  me, 

Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows ! 
Seasons  may  roll, 
But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same,  where'er  it  goes. 


HAS  SORROW  THY  YOUNG  DAYS 

SHADED? 
AIR — Sly  Patrick. 
HAS  sorrow  thy  young  days  shaded, 

As  clouds  o'er  the  morning  fleet  ? 
Too  fast  have  those  young  days  faded, 

That,  even  in  sorrow,  were  sweet  ? 
Docs  Time  with  his  cold  wing  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear  ? — 
Then,  child  of  misfortune!  come  hither, 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  foi  tear. 

Has  love  to  that  soul,  so  tender, 

Been  like  our  Lagenian  mine,1 
Where  sparkles  of  golden  splendour 

All  over  the  surface  shine — 
But,  if  in  pursuit  we  go  deeper, 

Allured  by  the  gleam  that  shone, 
Ah  !  false  as  the  dream  of  the  sleeper, 

Like  Love,  the  bright  ore  is  gone. 

Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story,2 

That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 
With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory — 

lias  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee? 
On  branch  after  branch  alighting, 

The  gem  did  she  still  display, 
And,  when  nearest  and  most  inviting. 

Then  waft  the  fair  gem  away  ! 

If  thus  the  sweet  hours  have  fleeted, 

When  Sorrow  herself  look'd  bright ; 
If  thus  the  fond  hope  has  cheated, 

That  led  thee  along  so  light ; 
If  thus,  too,  the  cold  world  wither 

Each  feeling  that  once  was  dear ; — 
Come,  child  of  misfortune !  come  hither, 

I'll  weep  with  thee,  tear  for  tear. 


NO,  NOT  MORE  WELCOME. 

AlR — Lugpi'Jaw. 
No,  not  more  welcome  the  fairy  numbers 

Of  music  fall  on  the  sleeper's  ear, 
When,  half-awaking  from  fearful  slumbers, 

He  thinks  the  full  quire  of  Heaven  is  near,— 
Than  came  that  voice,  when,  all  forsaken, 

This  heart  long  had  sleeping  lain, 


1  Our  Wicklow  Gcilil-Mines,  to  which  this  verso  allude 
deserve,  I  l'r;ir,  the  rhiir:i.-ter  lit'"1  given  Of  them.  _ 

2  "  The.  l)ini  havini;  £  •'  its  jiri-'r,  MUM  not  1'irofr,  wr, 
thti  liilisnmn  in  his  mouth.   The  I'miro  drew  ne:.r  it,  hopu 
,t  would  droj.  it:  lint,  us  he  approached,  the  bird  took  win 
mid  settled  again,"  elc.-Jrabian  Mights,  Story  ol  Kurnm 
al  Zummaun  and  the  Princess  of  China. 

2  U 


or  thought  its  cold  pulse  would  ever  waken 
To  such  benign,  blesa'fl  sounds  again. 

weet  voice  of  comfort  !  't  was  like  the  stealing 
Of  summer  wind  through  some  wreathed  shell- 
ich  secret  winding,  each  inmost  feeling 
Of  all  my  soul  echoed  to  its  spell ! 

I'  \\as  whisper' d  balm — 't  was  sunshine  spoken !- 
I'd  live  years  of  grief  and  pain, 

'o  have  my  long  sleep  of  sorrow  broken 
By  such  benign,  bless' d  sounds  again! 


WHEN  FIRST  I  MET  THEE. 

AIR — O  Patrick  !  fly  from  me. 
WIIKN  first  I  met  thee,  warm  and  young, 

There  shone  such  truth  about  thee, 
And  on  thy  lip  such  promise  hung, 

I  did  not  dare  to  doubt  thee. 
I  saw  thee  change,  yet  still  relied, 
Still  clung  with  hope  the  fonder, 
And  thought,  though  false  to  all  beside, 
From  me  thou  couldst  not  wander. 
But  go,  deceiver  !  go, — 

The  heart,  whose  hopes  could  make  it 
Trust  one  so  false,  so  low, 
Deserves  that  thou  shouldst  break  it ! 

When  every  tongue  thy  follies  named, 

I  fled  the  unwelcome  story ; 
Or  found,  in  even  the  faults  they  blamed, 

Some  gleams  of  future  glory. 
I  still  was  true,  when  nearer  friends 

Conspired  to  wrong,  to  slight  thee  ; 
The  heart  that  now  thy  falsehood  rends, 
Would  then  have  bled  to  right  thee. 
But  go,  deceiver !  go, — 

Some  day,  perhaps,  thou'lt  waken 
From  pleasure's  dream,  to  know 
The  grief  of  hearts  forsaken. 

Even  now,  though  youth  its  bloom  has  shea, 

No  lights  of  age  adorn  thee ; 
The  few  who  loved  thee  once  have  fled. 

And  they  who  flatter  scorn  thee. 
Thy  midnight  cup  is  pledged  to  slave*, 

No  genial  ties  en  wreathe  it ; 
The  smiling  there,  like  light  on  grave*, 
Has  rank,  cold  hearts  beneath  it ! 
Go— go— though  worlds  were  thine, 

I  would  not  now  surrender 
One  taintless  tear  of  mine 
For  all  thy  guilty  splendour ! 

And  days  may  come,  thou  false  one !  y«, 

When  even  those  ties  shall  sever ; 
When  thou  wilt  call,  with  vain  regret. 

On  her  thou'st  lost  for  ever ! 
On  her  who,  in  thy  fortune's  fa-!., 

With  smiles  had  still  received  thee, 
And  gladly  died  to  prove  thee  all 
Her  fancy  first  believed  t.ln-e. 
Go — go — 't  is  vain  to  curso, 

'Tis  weakness  to  upbraid  thee , 
Hate  cannot  wish  thee  worse 

Than  guilt  and  shame  have  made  the*- 


339 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


WHILE  HISTORY'S  MUSE. 

AIR— Paddy  Whack. 
WHILE  History's  Muse  the  memorial  was  keeping 

Of  all  that  the  dark  hand  of  Destiny  weaves, 
Beside  her  the  Genius  of  ERIN  stood  weeping, 

For  hers  was  the  story  that  blotted  the  leaves. 
But  oh !  how  the  tear  in  her  eyelids  grew  bright, 
When,  aAer  whole  pages  of  sorrow  and  shame, 
She  saw  History  write, 
With  a  pencil  of  light 
That  illumed  all  the  volume,  her  WELLINGTON'S 

name! 

u  Hailv  Star  of  my  Isle !"  said  the  Spirit,  all  sparkling 
With  beams,  such  as  break  from  her  own  dewy 

skies ; — 

"Through  ages  of  sorrow,  deserted  and  darkling, 
Tve  watch'd  for  some  glory  like  thine  to  arise. 
For,  though  heroes  I've  number' d,  unbless'd  was 

their  lot, 

And  unhallow'd  they  sleep  in  the  cross-ways  of 
Fame; — 

But,  oh !  there  is  not 
One  dishonouring  blot 

On  the  wreath  that  encircles  my  WELLINGTON'S 
name ! 

•Yet,  still  the  last  crown  of  thy  toils  is  remaining, 

The  grandest,  the  purest  even  thou  hast  yet  known  ; 
Though  proud  was  thy  task,  other  nations  unchaining, 

Far  prouder  to  heal  the  deep  wounds  of  thy  own. 
At  the  foot  of  that  throne,  fo-  whose  weal  thou  hast 

stood, 

Go,  plead  for  the  land  that  first  cradled  thy  fame 
And,  bright  o'er  the  flood 
Of  her  tears  and  her  blood, 
Let  the  rainbow  of  Hope  be  her  WELLINGTON'S 
name !" 


THE  TIME  I'  YE  LOST  IN  WOOING. 

AIR — Peas  upon  a  Trencher. 
THE  time  I've  lost  in  wooing, 
In  watching  and  pursuing 

The  light  that  lies 

In  Woman's  eyes, 
Has  been  my  heart's  undoing. 
Though  Wisdom  oft  has  sought  me, 
1  scorn'd  the  lore  she  brought  me, 

My  only  books 

Were  Woman's  looks, 
And  folly's  all  they  've  taught  me. 

Her  smile  when  Beauty  granted, 
I  hung  with  gaze  enchanted, 

Like  him,  the  Sprite,1 

Whom  maids  by  night 
Oft  meet  in  glen  that 's  haunted. 


1  This  alludes  to  a  kind  oflrish  Fairy,  which  is  to  be  met 
with,  they  say,  in  th«  field*,  at  dusk: — as  long  as  you  keep 
your  eye*  upon  him,  he  a  fixed  and  in  your  power ;  but  the 
moment  you  look  away  (and  he  is  ingenious  in  furnishing 
soinn  inducement)  he  vanishes.  I  had  thought  that  this  was 
the  sprite  which  we  cull  the  Leprechaun;  but  a  high 
aiiiliiiiity  upon  such  subjects,  Lady  Morgan  (in  a  note  upon 
her  national  and  interesting  Novnl,  O'Donnel,)  has  given  a 
rery  different  account  of  that  goblin. 


Like  him,  too,  Beauty  won  me 
But  while  her  eyes  were  on  me — 

If  once  their  ray 

Was  turn'd  away. 
Oh !  winds  could  not  outrun  me 

And  are  those  follies  going  1 
And  is  my  proud  heart  growing 

Too  cold  or  wise 

For  brilliant  eyes 
Again  to  set  it  glowing  ? 
No — vain,  alas !  the  endeavour 
From  bonds  so  sweet  to  sever  ; — 

Poor  Wisdom's  chance 

Against  a  glance 
Is  now  as  weak  as  ever  ! 


WHERE  IS  THE  SLAVE  7 

AIR — Sios  atfits  sios  Horn. 
WHERE  is  the  slave,  so  lowlv, 
Condemn'd  to  chains  unholy, 

Who,  could  he  burst 

His  bonds  at  first, 
Would  pine  beneath  them  slowly  ? 
What  soul,  whose  wrongs  degrade  it, 
Would  wait  till  time  decay'd  it, 

When  thus  its  wing 

At  once  may  spring 
To  the  throne  of  Him  who  made  it  ? 
Farewell,  Erin  ! — farewell  all 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 

Less  dear  the  laurel  grqwing, 
Alive,  untouch'd,  and  blowing, 

Than  that  whose  braid 

Is  pluck'd  to  shade 
The  brows  with  victory  glowing! 
We  tread  the  land  that  bore  us, 
Her  green  flag  glitters  o'er  us, 

The  friends  we  've  tried 

Are  by  our  side, 
And  the  foe  we  hate  before  us  ! 
Farewell,  Erin  ! — farewell  all 
Who  live  to  weep  our  fall ! 


COME,  REST  IN  THIS  BOSOM. 

AIR — Though  Skee&tg. 

COME,  rest  in  this  bosom,  my  own  stricken  deer? 
Though  the  herd  have  fled  from  thee,  thy  home  u 

still  here ; 

Here  still  is  the  smile,  that  no  cloud  can  o'ercast 
And  the  heart  and  the  hand  all  thy  own  to  the  last ! 

Oh !  what  was  love  made  for,  if 't  is  not  the  same 
Through  joy  and  through  torrents,  through  glory  and 

shame  ? 

I  know  not,  I  ask  not,  if  guilt 's  in  that  heart, 
I  but  know  that  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art ! 

Thou  hast  call'd  me  thy  Angel  in  moments  of  bliss, 
And  thy  Angel  I'll  be,  'mid  the  horrors  of  this, — 
Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  to  pur- 
sue, 
And  shield  thee,  and  save  thee,  or — perish  there  too  ' 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


339 


'T  IS  GONE,  AND  FOR  EVER. 

AIR — Savournah  Deelifh. 

T  is  gone,  and  for  ever,  the  light  we  saw  breaking, 
Like   Heaven's  first  dawn   o'er  the  sleep  of  the 

dead — 

Wlien  man,  from  the  slumber  of  ages  awaking, 
Look'd  upward,  and  bless'd  the  pure  ray,  ere  it 

fled! 

T  is  gone — and  the  gleams  it  has  left  of  its  burning 
But  deepen  the  long  night  of  bondage  and  mourning, 
That  dark  o'er  the  kingdoms  of  earth  is  returning, 
And,  darkest  of  all,  hapless  Erin  !  o'er  thee. 

F  ir  high  was  thy  hope,  when  those  glories  were 
darting 

Around  thee,  through  all  the  gross  clouds  of  the 

world ; 
When  Truth,  from  her  fetters  indignantly  starting, 

At  once,  like  a  sun-burst,  her  banner  unfurl'd.1 
Oh,  never  shall  earth  see  a  moment  so  splendid  ! 
Then,  then — had  one  Hymn  of  Deliverance  blended 
The  tongues  of  all  nations — how  sweet  had  ascended 

The  first  note  of  Liberty,  Erin !  from  thee. 

But,  shame  on  those  tyrants  who  envied  the  blessing ! 

And  shame  on  the  light  race, 'unworthy  its  good, 
Who,  at  Death's  reeking  altar,  like  furies,  caressing 

The  young  hope  of  Freedom,  baptized  it  in  blood  ! 
fhen  vanish'd  for  ever  that  fair,  sunny  vision, 
Which,  spite  of  the  slavish,  the  cold  heart's  derision, 
Shall  long  be  remember'd,  pure,  bright  and  elysian,  . 

As  first  it  arose,  my  lost  Erin !  on  thee. 


I  SAW  FROM  THE  BEACH, 

AIR — Miss  Molly. 
I  SAW  from  the  beach,  when  the  morning  was  shining 

A  bark  o'er  the  waters  moved  gloriously  on; 
t  came,  when  the  sun  o'er  that  beach  was  declining, — 

The  bark  was  still  there,  but  the  waters  were  gone  ! 

Ah  !  such  is  the  fate  of  our  life's  early  promise, 
So  passing  the  spring-tide  of  joy  we  have  known  : 

Each  wave,  that  we  danced  on  at  morning  ebbs  from 

us, 
And  leaves  us,  at  eve,  on  the  bleak  shore  alone ! 

Ne'er  tell  me  of  glories,  serenely  adorning 

The  close  of  our  day,  the  calm  eve  of  our  night  ;— 
Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness  of 

Morning, 

Her  clouds  and  her  tears  are  worth  Evening's  bes 
light. 

Oh,  who  would  not  welcome  that  moment's  return 

in?) 
When  passion  first  waked  a  new  life  through  hi 

frame, 
And  his  soul— like  the  wood  that  grows  precious  in 

burning — 
Gave  out  all  its  sweets  to  Love's  exquisite  flame  ! 


1  "The  Sun-burst"  was  the  fanciful  name  given  by  th 
indent  Irish  to  the  royal  banner. 


FILL  THE  BUMPER  FAlli. 

AIR — Bob  and  Joan. 
Ft  1. 1,  the  bumper  fair  ! 

[•'.very  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Care 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 
Wit's  electric  flame 

Ne'er  so  swiftly  posses, 
As  when  through  the  frame 

It  shoots  from  brimming  glasses. 
Fill  the  bumper  fair ! 

Every  drop  we  sprinkle 
O'er  the  brow  of  Cart', 

Smooths  away  a  wrinkle. 

Sages  can,  they  say, 

Grasp  the  lightning's  pinions, 
And  bring  down  its  ray 

From  the  starr'd  dominions  :— 
So  we,  sages,  sit, 

And,  'mid  bumpers  bright'ning, 
From  the  heaven  of  wit 

Draw  down  all  its  lightning  ! 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

Wouldst  thou  know  what  first 

Made  our  souls  inherit 
This  ennobling  thirst 

For  wine's  celestial  spirit  ? 
It  chanced  upon  that  day, 

When,  as  birds  inform  us, 
Prometheus  stole  away 

The  living  fires  that  warm  us. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

The  careless  Youth,  when  up 

To  Glory's  fount  aspiring, 
Took  nor  urn  nor  cup 

To  hide  the  pilfer'd  fire  in  : — 
But  oh  his  joy  !  when,  round, 

The  halls  of  heaven  spying, 
Amongst  the  stars  he  found 

A  bowl  of  Bacchus  lying. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 

Some  drops  were  in  that  bowl, 

Remains  of  last  night's  pleasure, 
With  which  the  Sparks  of  soul 

Mix'd  their  burning  treasure! 
Hence  the  goblet's  shower 

Hath  such  spells  to  win  us — 
Hence  its  mighty  power 

O'er  that  flame  within  us. 
Fill  the  bumper,  etc. 


DEAR  HARP  OF  MY  COUNTRY 

AIR — Netn  L/ingolee. 
DEAR  Harp  of  my  Country!  in  darkness  I  fount1 

thee ; 
The  cold  chain  of  silence  had  hung  o'er  thee  long,1 


1  In  that  rebellion*  but  b«Miini'iil  mn«,  "  When  Erin  firtl 
ro«e,"  there  if,  it'Ifi-collcct  ri::M,  t'i"  liiilowmg  line:— 
"The  dark  chain  of  silence  wa§  thrown  o'er  the  deep!" 
The  chain  of  silence  wai  n  tort  of  practical  figure  of 
rhetoric  among  the  ancient  Irish.     Walker  lelli  iu  of  "» 


340 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  proudly,  my  own  Island  Harp!  I  unbound 

thee, 
And  gave  all  thy  chords  to  light,  freedom,  and 

song! 
The  warm  lay  of  love  and  the  light  note  of  gladness 

Have  waken'd-thy  fondest,  thy  liveliest  thrill ; 
But,  so  oft  hast  thou  echoed  the  deep  sigh  of  sad- 
ness, 
That  even  in  thy  mirth  it  will  steal  from  thee  still. 

Dear  Harp  of  my  Country!  farewell  to  thy  numbers, 
Thia  sweet  wreath  of  song  is  the  last  we  shall 

twine; 

Go,  sleep,  with  the  sunshine  of  Fame  on  thy  slum- 
bers, 
Till  touch'd  by  some  hand  less  unworthy  than 

mine. 
If  the  pulse  of  the  patriot,  soldier,  or  lover, 

Have  throbb'd  at  our  lay,  't  is  thy  glory  alone ; 
I  wi»s  bat  as  the  wind,  passing  heedlessly  over, 
And  all  the  wild  sweetness  I  waked  was  thy  own. 


No.  VII. 

IP  I  had  consulted  only  my  own  judgment,  this 
Work  would  not  have  been  extended  beyond  the  Six 
Numbers  already  published  ;  which  contain,  perhaps, 
the  flower  of  our  National  Melodies,  and  have  at- 
tained a  rank  in  public  favour,  of  which  I  would  not 
willingly  risk  the  forfeiture  by  degenerating,  in  any 
way,  from  those  merits  that  were  its  source.  What- 
ever treasures  of  our  music  were  still  in  reserve  (and 
A  will  be  seen,  I  trust,  that  they  are  numerous  and 
valuable,)  I  would  gladly  have  left  to  future  poets  to 
glean ;  and,  with  the  ritual  words  "  tibi  trade,"  would 
have  delivered  up  the  torch  into  other  hands,  before 
it  had  lost  much  of  its  light  in  my  own.  But  the  call 
for  a  continuance  of  the  work  has  been,  as  I  under- 
stand from  the  Publisher,  so  general,  and  we  have 
received  so  many  contributions  of  old  and  beautiful 
airs,1  the  suppression  of  which,  for  the  enhancement 
of  those  we  have  published,  would  resemble  too 
much  the  policy  of  the  Dutch  in  burning  their  spices, 
that  I  have  been  persuaded,  though  not  without  con- 
siderable diffidence  in  my  success,  to  commence  a 
new  series  of  the  Irish  Melodies.  T.  M. 


MY  GENTLE  HARP! 
AIR — The  Cuina  or  Dirge. 
Mr  gentle  Harp !  once  more  I  waken 
The  sweetness  of  thy  slumbering  strain ; 


celebrated  contention  for  precedence  between  Finn  and 
Gaul,  near  Finn'*  palace  at  Almhnim,  where  the  attending 
bards,  anxious,  if  possible,  to  produce  a  cessation  of  hostili- 
ties, (hook  the  chain  of  alienee,  and  flunj  ihuinselves  among 
the  ranks."  See  also  the  Ode  to  Gaul,  the  SOD  of  Morni,  in 
U.a  BROOKE'S  Rtliques  of  Irish  Poetry. 

1  One  gentleman,  in  particular,  whose  n»me  I  shall  fee 
happy  in  being  allowed  to  mtnfmn,  has  not  only  sent  us  near 
forty  ancient  airs,  but  has  communicated  many  curious 
fragments  of  Irish  poetry,  and  some  interesting  traditions, 
current  in  the  country  where  he  resides,  illustrated  by 
•ketches  a'  the  romantic  scenery  to  which  tl.cv  refer 
all  of  which,  though  too  late  for  the  present  Number,  wil 
M  of  Infinite  tervice  to  us  in  the  prosecution  of  our  Hok 


In  tears  our  last  farewell  was  taken, 
And  now  in  tears  we  meet  again. 

No  light  of  joy  hath  o'er  thee  broken, 

But — like  those  harps,  whose  heavenly  skill 

Of  slaver}-,  dark  as  thine,  hath  spoken — 
Thou  hang'st  upon  the  willows  still. 

And  yet,  since  last  thy  chord  resounded, 

An  hour  of  peace  and  triumph  came, 
And  many  an  ardent  bosom  bounded, 

With  hopes — that  now  are  turn'd  to  shame. 
Yet  even  then,  while  Peace  was  singing 

Her  halcyon  song  o'er  land  and  sea, 
Though  joy  and  hope  to  others  bringing, 

She  only  brought  new  tears  to  thee. 

Then  who  can  ask  for  notes  of  pleasure, 

My  drooping  harp  !  from  chords  like  thine  7 
Alas,  the  lark's  gay  morning  measure 

As  ill  would  suit  the  swan's  decline ! 
Or  how  shall  I,  who  love,  who  bless  thee, 

Invoke  thy  breath  for  Freedom's  strains, 
When  even  the  wreaths  in  which  I  dress  thee, 

Are  sadly  mix'd — half  flowers,  half  chains 

But  come — if  yet  thy  frame  can  borrow 

One  breath  of  joy — oh,  breathe  for  me, 
And  show  the  world,  in  chains  and  sorro«r 

How  sweet  thy  music  still  can  be ; 
How  gaily,  even  'mid  gloom  surrounding, 

Thou  yet  canst  wake  at  pleasure's  thrill 
Like  Memnon's  broken  image,  sounding, 

'Mid  desolation,  tuneful  still !' 


AS  SLOW  OUR  SHIP. 
AIR— The  Girl  Heft  behind  me 
As  slow  our  ship  her  foamy  track 

Against  the  wind  was  clcavin?, 
Her  trembling  pennant  still  look'd  back 

To  that  dear  isle  "t  was  leaving. 
So  loth  we  part  from  all  we  love, 

From  all  the  links  that  bind  us  ; 
So  turn  our  hearts,  where'er  we  rove, 

To  those  we've  left  behind  us ! 

When  round  the  bowl,  of  vanish'd  years 

We  talk,  with  joyous  seemine, — 
With  smiles,  that  mipht  as  well  be  team, 

So  faint,  so  sad  their  beaming; 
While  memory  brings  us  back  again 

Each  early  tie  that  twined  us, 
Oh,  sweet 's  the  cup  that  circles  then 

To  those  we  've  left  behind  us ! 

And  when,  in  other  climes,  we  meet 

Some  isle  or  vale  enchanting, 
Where  all  looks  flowery,  wild,  and  sweet, 

And  nought  but  love  is  wanting; 
We  think  how  great  had  been  our  bliss. 

If  Heaven  had  but  assign'd  us 
To  live  and  die  in  scenes  like  this, 

With  some  we  've  left  behind  us ! 


1  Diroidio  nvig  cue  resonant  ubi  Memnone  chord*, 
Atque  vetua  Thebe  centum  jacet  obruta  portn. 

JanentU 


IRISH  MELODIES 


311 


As  travellers  oft  look  back,  at  eve, 

When  eastward  darkly  going, 
To  gaze  upon  that  light  they  leave 

Still  faint  behind  them  glowing, — 
So,  when  the  close  of  pleasure's  day 

To  gloom  hath  near  consign'd  us, 
We  turn  to  catch  one  fading  ray 

Of  joy  that's  left  behind  us. 


IN  THE  MORNING  OF  LIFE. 

AIR—  The  little  Harvest  Roxe.. 
IN  the  morning  of  life,  when  its  cares  are  unknown, 

And  its  pleasures  in  all  their  new  lustre  begin, 
When  we  live  in  a  bright  beaming  world  of  our  owni 

And  the  light  that  surrounds  us  is  all  from  within  : 
Oh,  it  is  not,  believe  me,  in  that  happy  time 

We  can  love  as  in  hours  of  less  transport  we  may:— 
Of  our  smiles,  of  our  hopes,  'tis  the  gay  sunny  prime 

But  affection  is  warmest  when  these  fade  away. 

When  we  see  the  first  glory  of  youth  pass  us  by, 

Like  a  leaf  on  the  stream  that  will  never  return ; 
When  our  cup,  which  had  sparkled  with  pleasure  so 
high, 

First  tastes  of  the  other,  the  dark-flowing  urn ; 
Then,  then  is  the  moment  affection  can  sway 

With  a  depth  and  a  tenderness  joy  never  knew; 
Love  nursed  among  pleasures  is  faithless  as  they, 

But  the  Love  born  of  sorrow,  like  sorrow,  is  true  ! 

In  climes  full  of  sun-shine,  though  splendid  tneir  dyes 

Yet  faint  is  the  odour  the  flowers  shed  about ; 
T  is  the  clouds  and  the  mists  of  our  own  weeping 
skies 

That  call  the  full  spirit  of  fragrancy  out. 
So  the  wild  glow  of  passion  may  kindle  from  mirth 

But 't  is  only  in  grief  true  affection  appears; — 
And,  even  though  to  smiles  it  may  first  owe  its  birth, 

All  the  soul  of  its  sweetness  is  drawn  out  by  tears 


WHEN  COLD  IN  THE  EARTIL 

AIR — Limerick's,  Lamentation, 
WHEX  cold  in  the  earth  lies  the  friend  thou  has 

loved, 

Be  his  faults  and  his  follies  forgot  by  thee  then ; 
Or,  if  from  their  slumber  the  veil  be  removed, 

Weep  o'er  them  in  silence,  and  close  it  again. 
And,  oh  !  if  't  is  pain  to  remember  how  far 

From  the  pathways  of  light  he  was  tempted  t 

roam, 

Be  it  bliss  to  remember  that  thou  wert  the  star 
That  arose  on  his  darkness  and  guided  him  horn 

From  thee  and  thy  innocent  beauty  first  came 

The  revealing,  that  taught  him  true  Love  to  ador 
To  feel  the  bright  presence,  and  turn  him  with  sham 

From  the  idols  he  blindly  had  knelt  to  before. 
O'er  the  waves  of  a  life,  long  benighted  and  wild, 

Thou  earnest,  like  a  soft  golden  calm  o'er  the  sea 
And,  if  happiness  purely  and  glowingly  smiled 

On  his  evening  homon,  the  light  was  fn» 


nd  though  sometimes  the  shade  of  past  folly  would 
rise, 

And  though  Falsehood  again  would  allure  him  t 

stray, 
e  but  turn'd  to  the  glory  that  dwelt  in  those  eye*, 

And  the  folly,  the  falsehood  soon  vanished  away. 
s  the  Priests  of  the  Sun,  when  their  altar  grew  dim, 

At  the  day-beam  alone  could  its  lustre  repair, 
o,  if  virtue  a  moment  grew  languid  in  him, 

He  but  flew  to  that  smile,  and  rekindled  it  there. 


•BBDOn  THIT.! 

AIR — Castle  Tirwxn. 

.EMEMBER  thee  !  yes,  while  there's  life  in  this  heart, 
shall  never  forget  thee,  all  lorn  as  thou  art ; 
lore  dear  in  thy  sorrow,  thy  gloom,  and  thy  shower*, 
Than  the  rest  of  the  world  in  their  sunniest  hours. 

iVert  thou  all  that  I  wish^thee, — great,  glorious,  and 

free — 

Irst  flower  of  the  earth  and  first  gem  of  the  seay— 
might  hail  thee  with  prouder,  with  happier  brow, 
lut,  oh  !  could  I  love  thee  more  deeply  than  now  ? 

To,  thy  chains  as  they  rankle,  thy  blood  as  it  runs, 
?ut  make  thee  more  painfully  dear  to  thy  sons- 
kVhose  hearts,  like  the  young  of  the  desert-bird's  ne*t. 
Drink  love  in  each  life-drop  that  flown  from  in/ 
breast! 


WREATH  THE  BOWL 

AIR — Noran  Ktsta. 
WREATH  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us  ; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Towards  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 
Should  I  .nve  amid 
The  wreaths  be  hid 
That  Joy,  the  enchanter,  brings  us 
No  danger  fear, 
While  wine  is  near, 
We'll  drown  him  if  be  stings  us. 
Then  wreath  the  bowl 
With  flowers  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  u»  ; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Towards  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  u«  ! 

'T  was  nrrtar  fed 

Of  old,  't  is  said, 
Their  Juno?,  Jovcs,  Apollos; 

And  man  may  brew 

;.ectar  too, 
The  rich  receipt  'B  as  follows  t 

Take  wine  like  this, 

1st  looks  of  bliss 
Around  it  well  be  blended, 

Then  bring  wit's  beam 

To  warm  the  stream, 
And  there 's  your  nectar  splendid ' 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So,  wreath  the  bowl 
\Vith  flowers  of  soul, 

The  brightest  wit  can  find  us ; 
We'll  take  a  flight 
Towards  heaven  to-night, 

And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 

Say,  why  did  Time 

His  glass  sublime 
Fill  up  with  sands  unsightly 

When  wine,  he  knew, 

Runs  brisker  through, 
And  sparkles  far  more  brightly ! 

Oh,  lend  it  us, 

And,  smiling  thus, 
The  gkss  in  two  we'd  sever, 

Make  pleasure  glide 

In  double  tide, 
And  fill  both  ends  for  ever! 

Then  wreath  the  bowl 

With  flowers  of  soul, 
The  brightest  wit  can  find  us ! 

We'll  take  a  flight 

Towards  heaven  to-night, 
And  leave  dull  earth  behind  us ! 


WHENE'ER  I  SEE  THOSE  SMILING  EYES 

AIR — Father  Quin. 
WHENE'ER  I  see  those  smiling  eyes, 

All  till'd  with  hope,  and  joy,  and  light, 
As  if  no  cloud  could  ever  rise, 

To  dim  a  heaven  so  purely  bright — 
I  sigh  to  think  how  soon  /hat  brow 

In  grief  may  lose  its  every  ray, 
And  that  light  heart,  so  joyous  now, 

Almost  forget  it  once  was  gay. 

For  Time  will  come  with  all  his  blights, 

The  ruin'd  hope — the  friend  unkind — 
The  love  that  leaves,  where'er  it  lights, 

A  chill'd  or  burning  heart  behind  ! 
While  youth,  that  now  like  snow  appears, 

Ere  sullied  by  the  darkening  rain, 
When  once  't  is  touch'd  by  sorrow's  tears, 

Will  never  shine  so  bright  again ! 


IF  THOU  'LT  BE  MINE. 
AIR — The  Winnowing  Sheet, 
IF  ihou  'It  be  mine,  the  treasures  of  air, 
Of  earth  and  sea,  shall  lie  at  thy  feet ; 
Whatever  in  Fancy's  eye  looks  fair, 
Or  in  Hope's  sweet  music  is  moat  sweet, 
Shall  be  ours,  if  ihou  wilt  be  mine,  love  ! 

Bright  flowers  shall  bloom  wherever  we  rove, 
A  voice  divine  shall  talk  in  each  stream, 

The  stars  shall  look  like  worlds  of  love, 
And  this  earth  be  all  one  beautiful  dream 
In  our  eyes — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 

And  thoughts,  whose  source  is  hidden  and  high, 
Like  streams  that  come  from  heavenward  hills, 


Shall  keep  our  hearts — like  meads,  that  lie 
To  be  bathed  by  those  eternal  rills — 
Ever  green,  if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ' 

All  this  and  more  the  Spirit  of  Love 

Can  breathe  o'er  them  who  feel  his  spells ; 

That  heaven,  which  forms  his  home  above, 
He  can  make  on  earth,  wherever  he  dwells. 
And  he  will — if  thou  wilt  be  mine,  love ! 


TO  LADIES'  EYES. 
AIR — Fague  a  Ballagh. 
To  ladies'  eyes  a  round,  boy, 

We  can't  refuse,  we  can't  refuse, 
Though  bright  eyes  so  abound,  boy, 

'T  is  hard  to  chuse,  't  is  hard  to  chose. 
For  thick  as  stars  that  lighten 

Yon  airy  bowers,  yon  airy  bowers, 
The  countless  eyes  that  brighten 

This  earth  of  ours,  this  earth  of  ours. 
But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  all ! 

Some  looks  there  are  so  holy, 

They  seem  but  given,  they  seem  but  given. 
As  splendid  beacons  solely, 

To  light  to  heaven,  to  light  to  heaven. 
While  some — oh  !  ne'er  believe  them — 

With  tempting  ray,  with  tempting  ray, 
Would  lead  us  (God  forgive  them !) 

The  other  way,  the  other  way. 
But  fill  the  cup — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  diem  all ! 

In  some,  as  in  a  mirror, 

Love  seems  portray'd,  Love  seems  portray'd 
But  shun  the  flattering  error, 

'T  is  but  his  shade,  't  is  b«t  his  shade. 
Himself  has  fix'd  his  dwelling 

In  eyes  we  know,  in  eyes  we  know, 
And  lips — but  this  is  telling, 

So  here  they  go  !  so  here  they  go  ! 
Fill  up,  fill  up — where'er,  boy, 

Our  choice  may  fall,  our  choice  may  fall, 
We  're  sure  to  find  Love  there,  boy, 

So  drink  them  all !  so  drink  them  nil ' 


FORGET  NOT  THE  FIELD. 
AIR — The  Lamentation  of  Aughrim. 
FORGET  not  the  field  where  they  perish'd, 

The  truest,  the  last  of  the  brave, 
All  gone — and  the  bright  hope  they  cherish'd 
Gone  with  them,  and  quench'd  in  their  grava 

Oh !  could  we  from  death  but  recover 
Those  hearts,  as  they  bounded  before, 

In  the  face  of  high  Heaven  to  fight  over 
That  combat  for  freedom  once  more  : — 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


313 


Could  the  chain  for  an  instant  be  riven 
Which  Tyranny  flung  round  us  then, 

Oh  !  't  is  not  in  Man  nor  in  Heaven, 
To  let  Tyranny  bind  it  again! 

But  t  is  past — and,  though  blazon'd  in  story 
The  name  of  our  Victor  may  be, 

Accursed  is  the  march  of  that  glory 

Which  treads  o'er  the  hearts  of  the  free. 

Far  dearer  the  grave  or  the  prison, 

Illumed  by  one  patriot  name, 
Than  the  trophies  of  all  who  have  risen 

On  liberty's  luiiis  to  fame  ! 


THEY  MAY  RAIL  AT  THIS  LIFE. 

AIR — Nock  Ion  in  shin  doe. 
THEY  may  rail  at  this  life — from  the  hour  I  began  it, 

I  've  found  it  a  life  fuJl  of  kindness  and  bliss  ; 
And,  until  they  can  show  me  some  happier  planet, 

More  social  and  bright,  I  '11  content  me  with  this 
As  long  as  the  world  has  such  eloquent  eyes, 

As  before  me  this  moment  enraptured  I  see, 
They  may  say  what  they  will  of  their  orbs  in  the  skies, 

But  this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

In  Mercury's  star,  where  each  minute  can  bring  them 

New  sunshine  and  wit  from  the  fountain  on  high, 
Though  the  nymphs  may  have  livelier  poets  to  sing 
them,1 

They  've  none,  even  there,  more  enamour'd  than  I. 
And,  as  long  :is  this  harp  can  be  waken'd  to  love, 

And  that  eye  its  divine  inspiration  shall  be, 
They  may  talk  as  they  will  of  their  Edens  above, 

But  this  eatA  is  the  planet  for  vou,  love,  and  me. 

In  that  star  of  the  west,  by  whose  shadowy  splendour, 

At  twilight  so  often  we  've  roam'd  through  the  dew, 
There  are  maidens,  perhaps,  who  have  bosoms  as 
tender, 

And  look,  in  their  twilights,  as  lovely  as  you.2 
But,  though  they  were  even  more  bright  than  the  queen 

Of  that  isle  they  inhabit  in  heaven's  blue  sea, 
As  1  never  those  fair  young  celestials  have  seen, 

Why, — this  earth  is  the  planet  for  you,  love,  and  me. 

As  for  those  chilly  orbs  on  the  verge  of  creation, 

Where  sunshine  and  smiles  must  be  equally  rare, 
Did  they  want  a  supply  of  cold  hearts  for  that  station, 

Heaven  knows  we  have  plenty  on  earth  we  could 

spare. 
Oh  !  think  what  a  world  we  should  have  of  it  here, 

If  the  haters  of  peace,  of  affection,  and  glee, 
Were  to  fly  up  to  Saturn's  comfortless  sphere, 

And  leave  earth  to  such  spirits  as  you,  love,  and  me. 


When,  arm'd  for  Right,  they  stood  sublime, 

And  tyrants  crouch'd  before  them  ! 
\\  hrn  pure  yet,  ere  courts  began 

W  ith  honours  to  enlave  him, 
The  best  honours  worn  by  Man 

Were  those  which  Virtue  gave  him. 
Oh  for  the  swords  of  former  time ! 

Oh  for  the  men  who  bore  them, 
When,  arm'd  for  Right,  they  stood  sublime, 

And  tyrants  crouch'd  before  them  ! 

Oh  for  the  kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

Oh  for.the  pomp  that  crowu'd  them. 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  freebora  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them  ! 
When,  safe  built  on  bosoms  true, 

The  throne  was  but  the  centre, 
Round  which  Love  a  circle  drew, 

That  Treason  durst  not  enter. 
Oh  for  the  kings  who  flourish'd  then  ! 

Oh  for  the  pomp  that  crown'd  them, 
When  hearts  and  hands  of  freeborn  men 

Were  all  the  ramparts  round  them  ! 


OH  FOR  1'HE  SWORDS  OF  FORMER  TIME ! 

AIR — Name  UnJmmm. 
OH  for  the  swords  of  former  time  ! 
Oh  for  the  men  who  bore  them, 


No.  VIII. 

NE'ER  ASK  THE  HOIR. 
AIR — My  Husband's  a  Journey  to  Portugal  gone 
NE'ER  ask  the  hour — what  is  it  to  us 
How  Time  deals  out  his  treasures  ? 
The  golden  moments  lent  us  thus 
Are  not  his  coin,  but  Pleasure'*. 
'  counting  them  over  could  add  to  their  blinec, 

I  'd  number  each  glorious  second ; 
But  moments  of  joy  are,  like  Lesbia's  kisses, 
Too  quick  and  sweet  to  be  reckon'd. 
Then  fill  the  cup — what  is  it  to  us 
How  Time  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus 
Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure's ! 

Young  Joy  ne'er  thought  of  counting  hours, 

Till  Care,  one  summer's  morning, 
Set  up  among  his  smiling  flowers 

A  dial,  by  way  of  warning. 
But  Joy  loved  better  to  gaze  on  the  sun, 

As  long  as  its  light  was  glowing, 
Than  to  watch  with  old  Care  how  the  shadow  stole  a* 
And  how  fast  that  light  was  going. 
So  fill  the  cup— what  is  it  to  us 

How  Tinif  his  circle  measures  ? 
The  fairy  hours  we  call  up  thus 

Obey  no  wand  but  Pleasure'*. 


1  Tous  les  Habitiins  do  Mcrcure  sent  vifc. — Pluralitt  dts 
Monde.". 

2  La  Tcrre  pouira  ctr«  pour  Venus  1'etnile  d-i  berper  et 
la  were  des  amour*,  comme  Venus  i'c.-t  pour  nous. — ll>. 


SAIL  OX,  S\IT,  0^ 
AlR — The  Humming  «j 
SAIL  on,  sail  on,  thou  fearless  bark — 

Wherever  blows  the  welcome  wind, 
It  cannot  lead  to  scenes  more  dark, 
More  sad,  than  those  we  leave  behind 


344 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Each  wave  that  passes  seems  to  say, 
"  Though  death  beneath  our  smile  may  be, 

Less  cold  we  are,  less  false  than  they 
Whose  smiling  wreck'd  thy  hopes  and  thee." 

Sail  on.  sail  on — through  endless  space — 

Through  calm — through  tempest — stop  no  more 
The  stormiest  sea  's  a  resting-place 

To  him  who  leaves  such  hearts  on  shore. 
Or — if  some  desert  land  we  meet, 

Where  never  yet  false-hearted  men 
Profaned  a  world  that  else  were  sweet — 

Then  rest  thee,  bark,  but  not  till  the*. 


THE  PARALLEL. 

AIR — I  would  rather  than  Ireland. 
VKS,  <<ad  one  of  Sion,1 — if  closely  resembling, 

In  shame  and  in  sorrow,  thy  wither'd-up  heart — 
If  drinking,  deep,  deep,  of  the  same  "  cup  of  trembling" 

Could  make  us  thy  children,  our  parent  thou  art. 

Like  thee  doth  our  nation  lie  conquer'd  and  broken, 
And  fallen  from  her  head  is  the  once  royal  crown  ; 

In  her  streets,  in  her  halls,  Desolation  hath  spoken, 
And  "while  it  is  day  yet,  her  sun  hath   gone 
down."2 

lake  thine  doth  the  exile,  'mid  dreams  of  returning, 
Die  far  from  the  home  it  were  life  to  behold ; 

Like  thine  do  her  sons,  in  the  day  of  their  mourning, 
Rt.member  the  bright  things  that  bless'd  them  of  old! 

Ah,  well  may  we  call  her,  like  thee, "  the  Forsaken,"3 
Her  boldest  are  vanquish'd,  her  proudest  are  slaves; 

And  the  harps  of  her  minstrels,  when  gayest  they 

waken, 
Have  breathings  as  sad  as  the  wind  over  graves ! 

Vet  hadst  thou  thy  vengeance — yet  came  there  the 

morrow, 

That  shines  out  at  last  on  the  longest  dark  night, 
When  the  sceptre  that  smote  thee  with  slavery  and 

sorrow 
Was  shiver' d  at  once,  like  a  reed,  in  thy  sight. 

When  that  cup,  which  for  others  the  proud  Golden 
City4 

Had  brimm'd  full  of  bitterness,  drench'd  herownlips, 
And  the  world  she  had  trampled  on  heard,  without  pity, 

The  howl  in  her  halls  and  the  cry  from  her  ships. 

When  the  curse  Heaven  keeps  for  the  haughty  came 
over 

Her  merchants  rapacious,  her  rulers  unjust, 
And — a  ruin,  at  last,  for  the  earth-worm  to  cover — * 

The  Lady  of  Kingdoms6  lay  low  in  the  dust. 


1  Tin  v  \vr-~  \vrrc  written  after  the  perusal  of  a  treatise 
by  Mr.  Hamilton,  professing  to  prove  that  the  Irish  were 
originally  Jews. 

-  '•  llur  sun  is  gone  down  while  it  was  yet  day." — Jer. 
»y.  9. 

3  '•  Thou  shall  no  more  be  termed  Forsaken." — Isaiah 
liii.  4. 

4  "  How  hath  the  oppressor  ceased  !   the   Golden  City 
eeaaed." — Isaiah,  xiv.  4. 

5  "Thy  pomp  is  brought  down  to  the  grave — and  the 
WOlins  i-.ovc'r  llu-e." — limiali,  xiv.  11. 

6  "Tlinii  shall  no  more  be  called  the  Lady  of  Kingdoms." 
taiuh,  xlvii.  5. 


DRINK  OF  THIS  CUP. 
Am— Paddy  O'Ra/crty. 
DRINK  of  this  cup — you'll  find  there's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 
Would  you  forget  the  dark  world  we  are  in, 
Only  taste  of  the  bubble  that  gleams  on  the  top 

of  it; 

But  would  you  rise  above  earth,  till  akin 
To  immortals  themselves,  you  must  drain  every 

drop  of  it. 

Send  round  the  cup — for  oh  !  there 's  a  spell  in 
Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 
Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  bat  this  is  reality. 

Never  was  philtre  form'd  with  such  power 

To  charm  and  bewilder  as  this  we  are  quaffing ! 
Its  magic  began,  when,  in  Autumn's  rich  hour, 

As  a  harvest  of  gold  in  the  fields  it  stood  laughing. 
There,  having,  by  Nature's  enchantment  been  h'li'd 

With  the  balm  and  the  bloom   of  her  kindliest 

weather, 
This  wonderful  juice  from  its  core  was  distill'd, 

To  enliven  such  hearts  as  are  here  brought  to- 
gether ! 
Then  drink  of  the  cup — you  Ml  find  there  's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality. 

And  though,  perhaps — but  breathe  it  to  no  one — 

Like  cauldrons  the  witch  brews  at  midnight  so 

awful, 
In  secret  this  philtre  was  first  taught  to  flow  on, 

Yet — 't  is  n't  less  potent  for  being  unlawful. 
What  though  it  may  taste  of  the  smoke  of  that  flame 

Which  in  silence  extracted  its  virtue  forbidden — 
Fill  up — there's  a  fire  in  some  hearts  I  could  name, 

Which  may  work  to  its  charm,  though  now  law 

less  and  hidden. 
So  drink  of  the  cup — for  oh  !  there  's  a  spell  in 

Its  every  drop  'gainst  the  ills  of  mortality — 
Talk  of  the  cordial  that  sparkled  for  Helen, 

Her  cup  was  a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality 


THE  FORTUNE-TELLER. 
AIR — Open  the  Door  softly. 
DOWN  in  the  valley  come  meet  me  to-night, 

And  I'll  tell  you  your  fortune  truly 
As  ever  't  was  told,  by  the  new  moon's  light, 
To  young  maidens  shining  as  newly. 

But,  for  the  world,  let  no  one  be  nigh, 
Lest  haply  the  stars  should  deceive  me; 

These  secrets  between  you  and  me  and  the  sky 
Should  never  go  farther,  believe  me. 

If  at  that  hour  the  heavens  be  not  dim, 
My  science  shall  call  up  before  you 

A  male  apparition — the  image  of  him 
Whose  destiny  'tis  to  adore  von. 


WISH  MF.I.ODIES 


311 


Then  to  the  phantom  be  thou  but  kind, 
And  round  you  so  fondly  he'll  hover, 

You  '11  hardly,  my  dear,  any  difference  find 
'Twixt  him  and  a  true  living  lover. 

Down  at  your  foot,  in  the  pale  moon-light, 
He'll  kneel,  with  a  warmth  of  emotion — 

An  ardour,  of  which  such  an  innocent  sprite 
You'd  scarcely  believe  had  a  notion. 

What  other  thoughts  and  events  may  arise, 
As  in  Destiny's  book  I've  not  seen  them, 

Must  only  be  left  to  the  stars  and  your  eyes 
To  settle,  ere  morning,  between  them. 


OH,  YE  DEAD. 

AIR — Plough  Tune. 

OH.  ye  dead  '.  oh,  ye  dead !  whom  we  know  by  the 

light  you  give 
From  your  cold  gleaming  eyes,  though  you  move 

like  men  who  live, 

Why  leave  ye  thus  your  graves, 

In  far  off  fields  and  waves, 

Where  the  worm  and  the  sea-bird  only  know  your  bed, 

To  haunt  this  spot  where  all 

Those  eyes  that  wept  your  fall, 

And  the  hearts  that  bewail'd  you,  like  your  own,  lie 

dead  ! 

It  is  true — it  is  true — we  are  shadows  cold  and  wan  ; 
It  is  true — it  is  true — all  the  friends  we  loved  are  gone. 

But,  oh  !  thus  even  in  death, 

So  sweet  is  still  the  breath 
Of  the  fields  and  the  flowers  in  our  youth  we  wan- 
der'd  o'er, 

That,  ere  condemn'd  we  go 

To  freeze  'mid  HeclaV  snow, 
We  would  taste  it  awhile,  and  dream  we  live  once 
more! 


O'DONOHUE'S  MISTRESS.' 
AIR— The  Uttle.  and  the  Great  Mountain. 
OF  all  the  fair  months,  that  round  the  sun 
In  light-link'd  dance  their  circles  run, 

Sweet  May,  sweet  May,  shine  thou  for  me ! 
For  still,  when  thy  earliest  beams  arise, 


1  Paul  Zelnnd  mentions  that  thcr«  a  a  mountain  in  ram 
part  of  Ireland,  whore  the  ghosts  of  poisons  »h>i  have  diet 

M  ]-,;ids  \v:ilk  about  and  converse  with  those  tli- 
meet,  like  living  people.  If  asked  why  they  do  HOI  retirn  t 
tin;,:  hone:,,  they  -ay  i hey  are  oMigud  to  go  to  Mount  He 
cla,  and  disappear  immediately. 

2  The  particulars  of  the  traditions  respecting  ()  Dononn 
and   his  white  horse,  may  he  found  in  Mr.  WeM'-    \.-i-. ,m 
ofKillarncv,  or  more  fully  totalled   in   Derricfc'i 
Formanv  years  after  his  death,  the  spirit  of  this  hero  i*  sii| 
nosed    to    have    linen   se.n,   on    the   morning   of   M 
jrjidinff  over  the  lake  on  his  favourite  white  h..'- 
sound"  of  sweet,  unearthly  miisir,  xnd  preceded   by  irrom 
of  youths  and  maidens,  who  flung  wreaths  of  delicate  spring 
flowers  in  his  pnth. 

Amon"  other  stories,  connected  with  this  LefMd  Of  I 
Lakes  His  said  that  there  was  a  yout,- ai,.  heaiitilul  gir 
whose  imagination  was  so  impressed  with  th-  idea  of  th 
Tisionarv  chieftain,  that  she  fanri-d  her-.-lt  ,n  love  with  him 
and  at  last,  in  a  fit  of  insanity,  on  a  May-morning,  thru 
herself  into  the  lake. 

2    A. 


That  youth  who  beneath  the  blue  lake  lie* 
to  me. 

Of  all  the  smooth  hi  \  light  leave* 

His  lingering  smile  on  golden  eves, 

Fair  lake,  t'air  lake,  thou  'rt  dear  In  me ; 
For  when  the  lost  April  sun  grn\< 
Thy  Naiads  prepare  his  steed  for  him 

Who  dwells,  who  dwells,  bright  lake,  in  the« 

Of  all  the  proud  steeds  that  ever  bore 
Young  plumed  chiefs  on  sea  or  shore, 

White  steed,  while  steed,  most  joy  to  thee, 
Who  still,  when  the  first  young  glance  of  spring. 
From  under  that  glorious  lake  dost  bring, 

Proud  steed,  proud  steed,  my  love  to  me. 

While,  white  as  the  sail  some  bark  ui .: 
When  newly  laiinch'd,  thy  loni:  mane1  curls 

I'.iir  steed,  fair  steed,  as  white  and  free ; 
And  spirits,  from  all  the  lake's  deep  bowei*. 
Glide  o'er  the  blue  wave  scatterum  (lower*, 

Fair  steed,  around  my  love  and  thee. 

Of  all  the  sweet  deaths  that  maidens  die, 
Whose  lovers  beneath  the  cold  wave  lie, 

Most  sweet,  most  sweet,  that  death  will  be, 
Which  (uider  th*  i>- 
When  thou  and  thy  steed  are  lost  to  sight, 

Dear  love,  dear  love,  I  '11  die  for  thee. 


ECHO. 

AIR—  The  UV«7i. 
How  sweet  the  answer  Echo  make* 

To  Music  at  night, 

When,  roused  by  lute  or  horn,  she  wakes. 
And  far  away,  o'er  lawn*  and  lakes, 
Goes  answering  light. 

Yet  Love  hath  echoes  truer  far, 

And  far  more  s\\ 

Than  e'er,  beneath  the  ni"on-l  Bill's  star, 
Of  horn,  or  lute,  or  soft  guitar, 

The  songs  repeat. 

Tis  when  the  sigh  in  youth  sincere, 

And  only  then, — 

The  sish  that 's  breathed  for  one  to  he*  , 
Is  by  that  one,  that  only  dear, 

Breathed  back  again  ' 


OH!  BANQIKT  NOT. 
AlR — Pl'inihj  Inrinf. 
On  !  banquet  not  in  those  shining  bowers 

Where  youth  resorts- 
For  mine  's  a  garden  of  faded  fl» 

."Mure  lit  for  sorrow,  for  ;i>»;  :ii:d  then. 
An. I  there  we  shall  have  our  least  of  tears- 

And  many  a  cup  in  silence  pour — 
Our  guests,  the  shades  of  former  years— 

Our  toasts,  to  lips  that  bloom  no  more. 


3  The  boatmen  at  Killarney  call  those  waves  which  eooM 
on  a  windy  day,  created  with  foam.  "  cnK.nol.ut  t  wluw 
horses." 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There,  while  the  myrtle's  withering  bougha 

Their  lifeless  leaves  around  us  shed, 
We  '11  brim  the  bowl  to  broken  vows, 

To  friends  long  lost,  the  changed,  the  dead. 
Or,  as  some  blighted  laurel  waves 

Its  branches  o'er  the  dreary  spot, 
We  '11  drink  to  those  neglected  graves 

Where  valour  sleeps,  unnamed,  forgot ! 


THEE,  THEE,  ONLY  THEE. 

AIR—  The  Market  Stake. 
THE  dawning  of  morn,  the  day-light's  sinking, 
The  night's  long  hours  still  find  me  thinking 

Of  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
When  friends  are  met,  and  goblets  crown'd, 
And  smiles  are  near  that  once  enchanted, 
Unreach'd  by  all  that  sunshine  round, 
My  soul,  like  some  dark  spot,  is  haunted 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

Whatever  in  fame's  high  path  could  waken 
flly  spirit  once,  is  now  forsaken 
For  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
lake  shores,  by  which  some  headlong  bark 

To  the  ocean  hurries — resting  never — 
Life's  scenes  go  by  me,  bright  or  dark, 
I  know  not,  heed  not,  hastening  ever 
To  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 

I  have  not  a  joy  but  of  thy  bringing, 
.  And  pain  itself  seems  sweet,  when  springing 

From  thee,  thee,  only  thee. 
Like  spells  that  nought  on  earth  can  break, 

Till  lips  that  know  the  charm  have  spoken, 
This  yheart,  howe'er  the  world  may  wake 
Its  grief,  its  scorn,  can  but  be  broken 
By  thee,  thee,  only  thee 


SHALL  THE  HARP  THEN  BE  SILENT? 

Am — Macfarlane's  Lamentation. 
SHALL  the  Harp  then  be  silent  when  he,  who  first 

gave 

To  our  country  a  name,  is  withdrawn  from  all  eyes  ? 
Shall  a  minstrel  of  Erin  stand  mute  by  the  grave, 
Where  the  first,  where  the  last  of  her  patriots  lies  ?' 

No — faint  though  the  death-song  may  fall  from  his 

lips, 
Though  his  harp,  like  his  soul,  may  with  shadows 

be  cross'd, 

Vet,  yet  shall  it  sound,  'mid  a  nation's  eclipse, 
And  proclaim  to  the  world  what  a  star  hath  been 
lost !» 

What  a  union  of  all  the  affections  and  powers, 
By  which  life  is  exalted,  embetlish'd,  refined, 

\\  as  embraced  in  that  spirit — whose  centre  was  ours, 
While  its  mighty  circumference  circled  mankind. 


1  The  celebrated  Irish  orator  and  patriot,  G  RATTAN. — 
Editor. 

"t  It  is  only  these  two  first  verses,  that  are  either  6lted  or 
toiiiided  to  be  sung. 


Oh,  who  that  loves  Erin — or  who  that  can  see, 
Through  the  waste  of  her  annals,  that  epoch  suo 
lime — 

Like  a  pyramid  raised  in  the  desert — where  he 
And  his  glory  stand  out  to  the  eyes  of  all  time  ! — 

That  one  lucid  interval  snatch'd  from  the  gloom 
And  the  madness  of  ages,  when,  fill'd  with  his  soul, 

A  nation  o'erleap'd  the  dark  bounds  of  her  doom, 
And,  for  one  sacred  instant,  touch'd  liberty's  goal '. 

Who,  that  ever  hath  heard  him — hath  drank  at  the 

source 

Of  that  wonderful  eloquence,  all  Erin's  own, 
In  whose  high-thoughted  daring,  the  fire,  and  the 

force, 
And  the  yet  untamed  spring  of  her  spirit  are  shown. 

An  eloquence,  rich — wheresoever  it  wave 
Wander'dfree  and  triumphant — with  thoughts  that 
shone  through 

As  clear  as  the  brook's  "  stone  of  lustre,"  and  gave, 
With  the  flash  of  the  gem,  its  solidity  too. 

Who,  that  ever  approach'd  him,  when,  free  from  the 

crowd, 

In  a  home  full  of  love,  he  delighted  to  tread 
'Mong  the  trees  which  a  nation  had  given,  and  which 

bow'd, 
As  if  each  brought  a  new  civic  crown  for  his  head — 

That  home,  where — like  him  who,  as  fable  hath  told,1 
Put  the  rays  from  his  brow,  that  his  'child  might 
come  near — 

Every  glory  forgot,  the  most  wise  of  the  old 
Became  all  that  the  simplest  and  youngest  hold  dear. 

Is  there  one  who  has  thus,  through  his  orbit  of  l.fe, 
But    at  distance    observed   him — through    glory 
through  blame, 

In  the  calm  of  retreat,  in  the  grandeur  of  strife, 
Whether  shining  or  clouded,  still  high  and  the  same. 

Such  a  union  of  all  that  enriches  life's  hour, 
Of  the  sweetness  we  love  and  the  greatness  we 
praise, 

As  that  type  of  simplicity  blended  with  power, 
A  child  with  a  thunderbolt,  only  portrays. — 

Oh  no — not  a  heart  that  e'er  knew  him  but  mourns, 
Deep,  deep,  o'er  the  grave  where  such  glory  is 
shrined — 

3'er  a  monument  Fame  will  preserve  'mong  the  urna 
Of  the  wisest,  the  bravest,  the  best  of  mankind ! 


OH,  THE  SIGHT  ENTRANCING. 

AIR — Planxty  Sudley. 
OH,  the  sight  entrancing, 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 
O'er  files,  array'd 
With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing! 
When  hearts  are  all  high  beating, 
And  the  trumpet's  voice  repeating 


1  Apollo,  in  his  interview  with  PhaiHon,  as  described  by 
Ovid: — " Depoiuit  radios  propiusque  accederejussit. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


That  song  whose  breath 

May  lead  to  death, 
But  never  to  retreating  ! 
Oh,  the  sight  entrancing, 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files,  array 'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  plumes  in  the  gay  wind  dancing . 

Yet 't  is  not  helm  or  feather — 
For  ask  yon  despot  whether 

His  plumed  bands 

Could  bring  such  hands 
And  hearts  as  ours  together. 
Leave  pomps  to  those  who  need  'em- 
Adorn  but  Man  with  freedom, 

And  proud  he  braves 

The  gaudiest  slaves 
That  crawl  where  monarchs  lead  'em. 
The  sword  may  pierce  the  beaver, 
Stone  walls  in  time  may  sever ; 

*T  is  heart  alone, 

Worth  steel  and  stone, 
That  keeps  men  free  for  ever  ! 
Oh,  that  sight  entrancing, 
When  morning's  beam  is  glancing 

O'er  files,  array'd 

With  helm  and  blade, 
And  in  Freedom's  cause  advancing  ! 


NO.  IX. 

SWEET  INNISFALLEN. 
AIR — The  Captivating  Youth. 
SWEET  Innisftllen,  fare  thee  well, 

May  calm  and  sunshine  long  be  thine 
How  fair  thou  art  let  others  tell, 
While  but  to  fed  how  fair  is  mine  ! 

Sweet  Innisfallen,  fare  thee  well, 
And  long  may  light  around  thee  smile, 

As  soft  as  on  that  evening  fell 
When  first  I  saw  thy  fairy  isle ! 

Thou  wert  too  lovely  then  for  one 
Who  had  to  turn  to  paths  of  care — 

Who  had  through  vulgar  crowds  to  run, 
And  leave  thee  bright  and  silent  there : 

No  more  along  thy  shores  to  como, 
But  on  the  world's  dim  ocean  tost, 

Dream  of  thee  sometimes  as  a  home 
Of  sunshine  he  had  seen  and  lost ! 

Far  better  in  thy  weeping  hours 
To  part  from  thee  as  I  do  now, 

When  mist  is  o'er  thy  blooming  bowers, 
Like  Sorrow's  veil  on  Beauty's  brow 

For,  though  unrivall'd  still  thy  grape, 
Thou  dost  not  look,  as  then,  too  blest, 

But,  in  thy  shadows,  seem'st  a  place 
Where  wearv  man  might  hope  to  rest — 


Might  hope  to  rest,  and  find  in  thee 
A  gloom  like  Eden's,  on  the  day 

He  left  its  shade,  when  every  tree, 
Lake  thine,  hung  weeping  o'er  his  way ! 

Weeping  or  smiling,  lovely  isle ! 

And  still  the  lovelier  for  thy  tears — 
For  though  but  rare  thy  sunny  smile, 

'T  is  heaven's  own  glance,  when  it  appears 

Like  feeling  hearts,  whose  joys  are  few, 
But,  when  indeed  they  come,  divine — 

The  steadiest  light  the  sun  e'er  threw 
Is  lifeless  to  one  gleam  of  thine ! 

T  WAS  ONE  OF  THOSE  DREAMS. 

AIR— The  song  of  the  Wood*. 
T  WAS  one  of  those  dreams  that  by  music  are  brought, 
Like  a  light  summer  haze,  o'er  the  poet's  warn 

thought — 

When,  lost  in  the  future,  his  soul  wanders  on, 
And  all  of  this  life,  but  its  sweetness,  is  gone. 

Hie  wild  notes  he  heard  o'er  the  water  were  those 
To  which  he  had  sung  Erin's  bondage  and  woes, 
And  the  breath  ofche  bugle  now  wafted  them  o'er 
na  Dinis'  green  isle  to  Ciena's  wooded  shore. 

Te  listen'd — while  high  o'er  the  eagle's  rude  nest, 
Die  lingering  sounds  on  their  way  loved  to  rest; 

And  the  echoes  sung  back  from  their  full  mountain 
quire, 

As  if  loth  to  let  song  so  enchanting  expire. 

t  seem'd  as  if  every  sweet  note  that  died  here 
Vas  again  brought  to  life  in  some  airier  sphere, 
Some  heaven  in  those  hills  where  the  soul  of  the  strain, 
"'hat  had  ceased  upon  earth,  was  awaking  again ! 

)h  forgive  if,  while  listening  to  music,  whose  breath 
eera'd  to  circle  his  name  with  a  charm  against  death, 
le  should  feel  a  proud  spirit  within  him  proclaim— 
Even  so  shall  thou  live  in  the  echoes  of  Fame 

Even  so,  though  thy  memory  should  now  die  away 
T  will  be  caught  up  again  in  some  happier  day, 
nd  the  hearts  and  the  voices  of  Erin  prolong, 
'hrough  the  answering  future,  thy  name  and  thj 
song !" 


FAIREST !  PUT  ON  AWHILE. 

A I R — Cu  mmilum. 
FAIREST  !  put  on  awhile 

These  pinions  of  light  I  bring  thee, 
And  o'er  thy  own  green  isle 

In  fancy  let  me  wing  thee. 
Never  did  Ariel's  plume, 

At  gulden  sunset,  hover 
O'er  such  scenes  of  bloom 

As  I  shall  waft  thee  over. 

Fields,  where  the  Spring  delays, 
And  fearlessly  meets  the  ardour, 

Of  the  warm  Summer's  gazr, 
With  but  her  tears  to  guard  her 


.    MOOKE'b  WORKS. 


Rooks,  through  myrtle  boughs, 

In  grace  majestic  frqwning — 
Like  some  warrior's  brows, 

That  Love  hath  just  been  crowning. 

Islets  so  freshly  fair 

That  never  hath  bird  come  nigh  them, 
But,  from  his  course  through  air, 

Hath  been  won  downward  by  them — ' 
Types,  sweet  maid,  of  thee, 

Whose  look,  whose  blush  inviting, 
Never  did  Love  yet  see 

From  heaven,  without  alighting. 

Lakes  where  the  pearl  lies  hid,2 

And  caves  where  the  diamond  's  sleeping, 
Bright  as  the  gems  that  lid 

Of  thine  lets  fall  in  weeping. 
Glens,3  where  Ocean  comes, 

To  'scape  the  wild  wind's  rancour, 
And  harbours,  worthiest  homes 

Where  Freedom's  sails  could  anchor. 

Then  if,  while  scenes  so  grand, 

So  beautiful,  shine  before  thee, 
Pride  for  thy  own  dear  land 

Should  haply  be  stealing  o'er  thee, 
Oh,  let  grief  come  first, 

O'er  pride  itself  victorious — 
To  think  how  man  hath  curst 

What  Heaven  had  made  so  glorious  ! 


QUICK!  WE  HAVE  BUT  A  SECOND. 

AIR — Paddy  Snap. 
QUICK  !  we  have  but  a  second, 

Fill  round  the  cup,  while  you  may, 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 

And  we  must  away,  away ! 
Grasp  the  pleasure  that  's  flying, 

For  oh  !  not  Orpheus'  strain 
Could  keep  sweet  hours  from  dying, 
Or  charm  them  to  life  again. 
Then  quick  !  we  have  but  a  secona, 

Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away ! 

ciee  the  glass,  how  its  flushes, 

Like  some  young  Hebe's  lip, 
And  half  meets  thine,  and  blushes 

That  thou  shouldst  delay  to  sip. 
Shame,  oh  shame  unto  thee, 

If  ever  thou  seest  the  day, 


1  In  describing  the  Skelijs  (islands  of  th<:  Barony  of 
Forth)  Dr.  Keating  says,  "  there  is  a  certain  attractive  virtue 
in  the  soil,  which  draws  down  all  thit  birds  that  attempt  to 
fly  over  it,  and  oblige*  them  to  light  upon  the  rock." 

2  "  Nennius,  a  British  writer  of  the  <)th  century,  mentions 
the  abundance  of  pearls  in  Ireland.    Their  princes,  he  says, 
hung  them  behind  their  ears,  and  this  we  find  confirmed  "by 
•  prngent  made  A.  r.  1094,  by  Gilbert,  Bishop  of  Limrrick.  l<> 
Annelm,   Archbishop    of   Canterbury,  of   a    considerable 
lunntity  of  Irish  pearl*."— O'HaUoran. 

3  Gk-ngariff. 


When  a  cup  or  a  lip  shall  woo  thee, 
And  turn  untouch'd  awav  ! 

Then,  quick !  \ve  have  but  a  second,      . 
Fill  round,  fill  round,  while  you  may ; 
For  Time,  the  churl,  hath  beckon'd, 
And  we  must  away,  away  ! 


AND  DOTH  NOT  A  MEETING  LIKE  THIS 

A  i  R —  Unknown 
AND  doth  not  a  meeting  like  this  make  amends 

For  all  the  long  years  I'  ve  been  wandering  away  I 
To  see  thus  around  me  my  youth's  early  friends, 

As  smiling  and  kind  as  in  that  happy  day ! 
Though  haply  o'er  some  of  your  brows,  as  o'er  mine 

The  snow-fall  of  time  may  be  stealing — what  then. 
Like  Alps  in  the  sun-set,  thus  lighted  by  wine, 

We  '11  wear  the  gay  tinge  of  youth's  roses  again. 

What  soften'd  remembrances  come  o'er  the  heart, 

In  gazing  on  those  we  've  been  lost  to  so  long ! 
The  sorrows,  the  joys,  of  which  once  they  were  part 

Still  round  them,  like  visions  of  yesterday,  throng 
As  letters  some  hand  hath  invisibly  traced, 

When  held  to  the  flame  will  steal  out  on  the  sight 
So  many  a  feeling,  that  long  seem'd  effaced, 

The  warmth  of  a  meeting  like  this  brings  to  light. 

And  thus,  in  Memory's  bark  we  shall  glide 

To  visit  the  scenes  of  our  boyhood  anew — 
Though  oft  we  may  see,  looking  down  on  the  tide, 

The  wreck  of  full  many  a  hope  shining  through- 
Vet  still,  as  in  fancy  we  point  to  the  flowers, 

That  once  made  a  garden  of  all  the  gay  shore, 
Deceived  for  a  moment,  we  '11  think  them  still  ours, 

And  breathe  the  fresh  air  of  Life's  morning  once 
more.' 

So  brief  our  existence,  a  glimpse,  at  the  most, 

Is  all  we  can  have  of  the  few  we  hold  dear; 
And  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  lost, 

For  want  of  some  heart,  that  could  echo  it,  near. 
Ah,  well  may  we  hope,  when  this  short  life  is  gone, 

To  meet  in  some  world  of  more  permanent  bliss ; 
""or  a  smile,  or  a  grasp  of  the  hand,  hastening  on, 

Is  all  we  enjoy  of  each  other  in  this." 

?ut  come — the  more  rare  such  delights  to  the  heart, 
The  more  we  should  welcome,  and  bless  them  the 

more: 
They  're  ours  when  we  meet — they  are  lost  when  we 

part, 

Like  birds  that  bring  summer,  and  fly  when  't  is 
o'er. 


1  Jours  charmans,  quand  je  songe  A  vos  heureux  instnns. 
Je  pense  remonter  le  fleuve  de  mes  ans ; 

Kt  mon  C(Eur  enchante  sur  la  rive  fleurie, 
Respire  encore  Pair  pur  du  matin  de  la  vie. 

2  The  same  thought   has  been  happily  r.vprrssrd   by  my 
•iend,    Mr.  Washington   Irvine,  in    hie  Itracchridac  Hull, 
«\.  i.  p.  213.    The  pleasure  which  I  feel  in  calling  this  gen- 
eman    my   friend,   is  enhanced    by  the  rrfleclmn  that  he  il 

oo  good  an  American  lo  have  admitted  me  so  readily  to 
uch  a  distinction,  if  he  had  not  known  that  rny  fuel  ings  to- 
vards  the  great  and  free  country  that  gave  him  birth  have 
one  been  such  as  every  real  lover  of  the  liberty  and  happi- 
ess  of  the  human  race  must  entertain. 


IRISH  MELODIES. 


349 


1  hus  circling  the  cup,  hand  in  hand,  ore  we  drink, 
Let  sympathy  pledge  us,  through  pleasure,  through 
pain, 

That  fast  as  a  feeling  but  touches  one  link, 
Her  magic  shall  send  it  direct  through  the  chain. 


THE  SPRITE. 
AIR — The  Mountain  Sprite. 
IN  yonder  valley  tltere  dwelt,  alone, 
A  youth,  whose  life  all  had  calmly  flown, 
Till  spells  came  o'er  him,  and,  day  and  night, 
He  was  haunted  and  watch'd  by  a  Mountain  Sprite. 

As  he,  by  moonlight,  went  wandering  o'er 
The  golden  sands  of  that  island  shore, 
A  foot-print  sparkled  before  his  sight, 
'T  was  the  fairy  foot  of  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

Beside  a  fountain,  one  sunny  day, 

As,  looking  down  on  the  stream,  he  lay, 

Behind  him  stole  two  eyes  of  light, 

A  nd  he  saw  in  the  clear  wave  the  3Iountain  Sprite. 

He  turn'd— but  lo,  lik.i  a  startled  bird, 

The  Spirit  fled— and  he  only  heard 

Sweet  music,  such  as  marks  .the  flight 

Of  a  journeying  star,  from  the  Mountain  Sprite. 

One  night,  pursued  by  that  dazzling  look, 
The  youth,  bewilder'd,  his  pencil  took, 
And,  guided  only  by  memory's  light, 
Drew  the  fairy  form  of  the  Mountain  Sprite 

"  Oh  thou,  who  lovest  the  shadow,"  cried, 
A  gentle  voice,  whispering  by  his  side, 
"  Now  turn  and  see,"— here  the  youth's  delight 
Seal'd  the  rosy  lips  of  the  Mountain  Sprite 

"  Of  all  the  Spirits  of  land  and  sea," 
Fxclaim'd  he  then,  "there  is  none  like  thee; 
And  oft,  oh  oft,  may  thy  shap-;  ali»ht 
In  this  lonely  arbour,  sweet  Mountain  Sprite." 


AS  VANQUISH'!)  ERIN. 

AIR—  The  Boync  Water. 
As  vanquish'd  Erin  wept  beside 

The  Boyne's  ill-fated  river, 
She  saw  where  Discord,  in  the  tide, 
Had  dropp'd  his  loaded  quiver. 
Lie  hid,"  she  cried,  "  ye  venom'd  darts, 
Where  mortal  eye  may  shun  you ; 
Lie  hid— for  oh !  the  stain  of  hearts 
That  bled  for  me  is  on  you." 

But  vain  her  wish,  her  wcrping  vain— 

As  Time  too  well  hath  taught  her « 
Each  year  the  fiend  returns  again, 

And  dives  into  that  water : 
And  brings  triumphant,  from  beneath, 

His  shafts  of  desolation, 
And  sends  them,  wing'd  with  worse  than  death, 

Throughout  her  maddening  nation. 


Alas  for  her  who  sits  and  mourns. 

Even  now  beside  that  rm-r — 
I'nwe.i.'ied  still  die  liemi  returns, 

And  stored  is  still  his  quiver. 
"\Viirn  will  this  end?  ye  Powers  of  Good!" 

She  weeping  asks  for  ever  ; 
But  only  hears,  from  out  that  Hood, 

The  demon  answer,  "Nev<  r '." 


DESMOND'S  SONG.1 
A  i  R —  Unknown.* 

BY  the  Feal's  wave  benighted, 

Not  a  star  in  the  > 
To  thy  door  by  Love  lighted, 

I  first  saw  those  eyes. 
Some  voice  whisper'd  o'er  me, 

As  the  threshold  I  cross'd, 
There  was  ruin  before  me,    9 

If  I  loved,  I  was  lost. 

Love  came,  and  brought  sorrow 

Too  soon  in  his  train; 
Yet  so  sweet,  that  to-morrow 

'T  would  be  welcome  again. 
Were  misery's  full  measure 

Pour'd  out  to  me  now, 
I  would  drain  it  with  pleasure, 

So  the  Hebe  were  tbou. 

You  who  call  it  dishonour 

To  bow  to  this  flame, 
If  you  "ve  eyes,  look  but  on  h«r, 

And  blush  while  you  blame. 
Hath  the  pearl  less  whiteness 

Because  of  its  birth  1 
Hath  the  violet  less  brightness 

For  growing  near  earth  ? 

No — Man,  for  his  glory, 

To  history  ; 
While  Woman's  bright  story 

Is  told  in  her  eyes. 
While  the  monarch  but  traces 

Through  mortals  his  line, 
Beauty,  born  of  the  (traces, 

Ranks  next  to  divine  ! 


THEY  KNOW  NOT  MY  HEVKT 

AIR — Coolon  Das. 
THKY  know  not  riy  heart,  who  believe  there  car  ao 
One  stain  of  this  earth  in  its  feelings  for  thee; 


1  «<Thoma«,  th.-  h.-ir  of  the  Desmond  family,  I. 

dcntnllv  I.  i  h  ""•  cha~;  "M  ^.t^Aat 

I  .„  ..r  •)  ',  ,<.,  d  (o  fiki-  sli.-llrr  nt  tin-    ' 

F,..il'inth.,hoU!.cnforH-'<..n,M  ,1..|rnd..nl.,rall.-.l  V 

I    nheriBe,»b«*irtM'nldaofht8ro|  i><>  h.^i-  ""• 
ingpired  the  Earl  with  a  violen.p»M.ion  which 

(Ubdue.  He  nmrri,.,!  h.-r,  ami  l,y  ih,«  ..Urnor  all. a; 
a<pd  hi.  follower.,  who-.-  l.r,.t:.l  |.r»  ,  M»M  I 
;,,„.-  of  hi.  love  as  «n  unpardonable  degradation  of  h,. 

•  ^hte  B^bMtaM  aTieady  *o  «uccewfully  »api.li--d  «  iih 
w,,r.N  l.v  Mr.  I  '""'''I  have  loft  it  «"';""fh'^ 

if  wo  could  have  .pared  ao  inlereaiinf  a  melody  out  of  out 
collection 


350 


MOORE'S  WOrtKS. 


Who  think,  while  I  see  thee  in  beauty's  young  hour, 
As  pure  as  the  morning's  first  dew  on  the  flower, 
I  coi^ld  harm  what  I  love— as  the  sun's  wanton  ray 
But  smiles  on  the  dew-drop  to  waste  it  away  ! 

No — beam-ng  with  light  as  those  young  features  are, 
There  's  a  light  round  thy  heart  which  is  lovelier  far : 
It  is  not  that  cheek— 't  is  the  soul  dawning  clear 
Through  its  innocent  blush  makes  thy  beauty  so 

dear — 

As  the  sky  we  look  up  to,  though  glorious  and  fair, 
Is  look'd  up  to  the  more,  because  heaven  is  there  ! 


I  WISH  I  WAS  BY  THAT  DIM  LAKE. 

AIR — 1  wish  I  was  on  yonder  Hill 
I  WISH  I  was  by  that  dim  lake,1 
Where  sinful  souls  their  farewells  take 
Of  this  vaui  world,  and  half-way  lie 
In  Death's  cold  shadow,  ere  they  die. 
There,  there,  far  from  thee, 
Deceitful  world,  my  home  should  be — 
Where,  come  what  might  of  gloom  and  pain, 
False  hope  should  ne'er  deceive  again ! 

The  lifeless  sky,  the  mournful  sound 
Of  unseen  waters,  falling  round — 
The  dry  leaves  quivering  o'er  my  head, 
Like  man,  unquiet  even  when  dead — 
These — ay — these  should  wean 
My  soul  from  Life's  deluding  scene, 
And  turn  each  thought,  each  wish  I  have, 
Like  willows,  downward  towards  the  grave. 

As  they  who  to  their  couch  at  night 
Would  welcome  sleep,  first  quench  the  light, 
So  must  the  Jiopes  that  keep  this  breast 
Awake,  be  quench'd.  ere  it  can  rest. 
Cold,  cold,  my  heart  must  grow, 
Unchanged  by  either  joy  or  woe, 
Like  freezing  founts,  where  all  that 's  thrown 
Within  their  current  turns  to  stone. 


SHE  SUNG  OF  LOVE. 
Am — The  Munster  Man. 
SHE  sung  of  love — while  o'er  her  lyre 
The  rosy  rays  of  evening  fell, 


1  Thi-se  verses  are  meant  to  allude  to  that  ancient  haunt 
of  supergtii ion,  called  Patrick's  Purgatory.  "In  the  midst 
of  these  gloomy  region*  ol"  Donnrgall  (s;iys  Dr.  Campbell) 
lay  n  lake,  which  was  to  become  the  mystic  theatre  of  this 
abled  mid  intermediate  slate.  In  the  lake  was  s.-i.r;i| 
islands;  but  one  of  them  was  dignified  with  that  called  the 
Mouth  of  Purgatory,  which,  during  the  dark  ages,  attracted 
the  notice  of  all  Christendom,  and  was  the  resort  of  peni- 
tents and  pilgrims,  from  almost  every  country  in  EurojMj." 

"  It  was,"  as  thu  same  writer  tells  us,  "  one  of  the  most 
dismal  and  dreary  spots  in  the  North,  almost  inaccessible, 
through  deep  glens  and  rugged  mountains,  frishtful  xvith 
impend  ng  rocks,  and  the  hollow  murmurs  of  the  western 
winds  in  dark  caverns,  peopled  only  with  su'-h  fantastic 
beings  as  the  mind,  however  gay,  is  from  strange  association 
wont  to  appropriate  to  such  gloomy  scenes.— Strictures  on 
tke  Ecclesiastical  and  Literary  History  of  Ireland 


As  if  to  feed  with  their  soft  fire 

The  soul  within  that  trembling  shell. 

The  same  rich  light  hung  o'er  her  cheek, 
And  play'd  around  those  lips  that  sung 

And  spoke,  as  flowers  would  sing  and  speak, 
If  love  could  lend  their  leaves  a  tongue. 

But  soon  the  West  no  longer  burn'd, 

Each  rosy  ray  from  heaven  withdrew ; 
And,  when  to  gaze  again  I  turn'd, 

The  minstrel's  form  seem'd  fading  too. 
As  if  her  light  and  heaven's  were  one, 

The  glory  all  had  left  that  frame ; 
And  from  her  glimmering  lips  the  tone, 

As  from  a  parting  spirit,  came.1 

Who  ever  loved,  but  had  the  thought 

That  he  and  all  he  loved  must  part  ? 
Fill'd  with  this  fear,  I  flew  and  caught 

That  fading  image  to  my  heart — 
And  cried,  "  Oh  Love  !  is  this  thy  doom? 

Oh  light  of  youth's  resplendent  day ! 
Must  ye  then  lose  your  golden  bloom, 

And  thus,  like  sunshine,  die  away  ?" 


SING— SING— MUSIC  WAS  GIVEN. 

AIR — The  Humours  of  Ballamaguiry ;  or,  tlie  Old 

Langolee. 

SING — sing — Music  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving; 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 
Beauty  may  boast  of  her  eyes  and  her  cheeks, 

But  love  from  the  lips  his  true  archery  wings ; 
And  she  who  but  feathers  the  dart  when  she  speaks, 
At  once  sends  it  home  to  the  heart  when  she  sings. 

Then  sing — sing — Music  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving ; 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 

When  Love,  rock'd  by  his  mother, 
Lay  sleeping  as  calm  as  slumber  could  make  him 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Venus,  "  no  other 
Sweet  voice  but  his  own  is  worthy  to  wake  him." 
Dreaming  of  music  he  slumber'd  the  while, 

Till  faint  from  his  lips  a  soft  melody  broke, 
And  Venus,  enchanted,  look'd  on  with  a  smile, 
While  Love  to  his  own  sweet  singing  awoke ! 

Then  sing — sing — Music  was  given 
To  brighten  the  gay,  and  kindle  the  loving, 

Souls  here,  like  planets  in  heaven, 
By  harmony's  laws  alone  are  kept  moving. 


1  The  thought  here  was  susgested  hvsnme  beautiful  lines 
in  Mr.  Rogers's  Poem  of  Human  Life,  beginning: 

"  Now  in  the  glimmering,  dying  light  she  growt 
Less  and  less  earthly." 

[  would  quote  the  entire  passage,  but  that  I  fear  to  put  my 
own  humble  imitation  of  it  out  of  countenance. 


NATIONAL,  AIRS. 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


IT  is  Cicero,  I  believe,  who  says  "  natura  ad  mo- 
dos  diicimur ;"  and  the  abundance  of  wild  indigenous 
airs,  which  almost  every  country  except  England 
possesses,  sufficiently  proves  the  truth  of  his  asser- 
tion. The  lovers  of  this  simple  but  interesting  kind 
of  music  are  here  presented  with  the  first  number  of 
a  collection,  which  I  trust  their  contributions  will 
enable  us  to  continue.  A  pretty  air  without  words 
resembles  one  of  those  half  creatures  of  Plato,  which 
are  described  as  wandering,  in  search  of  the  remain- 
der of  themselves,  through  the  world.  To  supply 
this  other  half,  by  uniting  with  congenial  words  the 
many  fugitive  melodies  which  have  hitherto  had  none, 
or  only  such  as  are  unintelligible  to  the  generality  of 
their  hearers,  is  the  object  and  ambition  of  the  pre- 
sent work.  Neither  is  it  our  intention  to  confine 
ourselves  to  what  are  strictly  called  National  Melo- 
dies, but,  wherever  we  meet  with  any  wandering  and 
oeautiful  air,  to  which  poetry  has  not  yet  assigned  a 
worthy  home,  we  shall  venture  to  claim  it  as  an  extray 
swan,  and  enrich  our  humble  Hippocrene  with  its 

song.  , 

*  »  •  *  *  * 

T.  M. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 
No.  I. 

A  TEMPLE  TO  FRIENDSHIP.1 

Spanish  Air. 
"A  TKMPI.K  to  Friendship,"  said  Laura,  enchanted, 

"I  '11  build  in  this  garden— the  thought  is  divine  !' 
Her  temple  was  built,  and  she  now  only  wanted 

An  image  of  friendship  to  place  on  the  shrine. 
She  flew  to  a  sculptor,  who  set  down  before  her 

A  Friendship,  the  fairest  his  art  could  invent, 
But  so  cold  and  so  dull,  that  the  youthful  adorer 

Saw  plainly  this  was  not  the  idol  she  meant. 

'Oh!  never,"  she  cried,  "could  I  think  of  enshrining 

An  image  whose  looks  are  so  joyless  and  dim! 
But  yon  little  god  upon  roses  reclining, 

We  '11  make,  if  you  please,  Sir,  a  Friendship  of  him.' 
So  the  bargain  was  struck  ;  with  the  little  god  laden 

She  joyfully  flew  to  her  shrine  in  the  grove : 
"Farewell,"  said  the  sculptor,  "you're  not  the  fire 
maiden 

Who  came  but  for  Friendship,  and  took  away  Love. 


1  Tho  Iliiinpht  is  t«ken  from  a  gong  l>y  Le  Prirur  calle 
»  T.e  Statue  do  rAm»ti6." 


FLOW  ON,  THOU  SHINING  RIVER 

Portuguese  Air. 
FLOW  on,  thou  shining  river ; 
But,  ere  thou  reach  the  sea, 
Seek  Ella's  bower,  and  give  her 
The  wreaths  I  fling  o'er  thee. 
And  tell  her  thus,  if  she  '11  be  mine, 
The  current  of  our  lives  shall  be, 
With  joys  along  their  course  to  shine, 
Like  those  sweet  flowers  on  thee. 

But  if,  in  wandering  thither, 

Thou  find'st  she  mocks  my  prayer, 
Then  leave  those  wreaths  to  wither 

Upon  the  cold  bank  there. 
And  tell  her — thus,  when  youth  is  o'er, 

Her  lone  and  loveless  charms  shall  be 
Thrown  by  upon  life's  weedy  shore, 
Like  those  sweet  flowers  from  thee. 


ALL  THAT'S  BRIGHT  MUST  FADE. 

Indian  Air. 
ALL  that 's  bright  must  fade,— 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest. 
Stars  that  shine  and  fall ; — 

The  flower  that  drops  in  springing ; — 
These,  alas  !  are  types  of  all 

To  which  our  hearts  are  clinging 
AH  that's  bright  must  fade, — 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ! 

Who  would  seek  or  prize 

Delights  that  end  in  aching  T 
Who  would  trust  t  >  ties 

That  every  hour  we  breaking? 
Better  far  to  be 

In  utter  darkness  lying, 
Than  be  blest  with  light,  and  see 

That  light  for  ever  flying. 
All  that 's  bright  must  fade,— 

The  brightest  still  the  fleetest ; 
All  that 's  sweet  was  made 

But  to  be  lost  when  sweetest ! 


SO  WARMLY  WE  MET. 

IItin«ririnn  Air. 
So  warmly  we  met  and  so  fondly  wp  parted, 

That  which  was  the  sweeter  even  1  con  hi  not  tell  — 
That  first  look  of  welcome  her  sunny  eyes  darted, 

Oi  that  tear  of  passion  which  bless'd  our  farewel 


352 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  meet  was  a  heaven,  and  to  part  thus  another,— 

The  bell  of  his  cap  rung  merrily  out; 

Our  joy  ana  our  sorrow  eeem'd  rivals  in  bliss  ; 
Oh  !  Cupid's  two  eyes  are  not  liker  each  other  ^ 
In  smiles  and  in  tears,  than  that  moment  to  this. 

While  Reason  took 
To  his  sermon-book  — 
Oh  !  which  was  the  pleasanter  no  one  need  doubt 

The  first  was  like  day-break  —  new,  sudden,  delicious, 
The  dawn  of  a  pleasure  scarce  kindled  up  yet  — 

Beauty,  who  likes  to  be  thought  very  sage, 
Turn'd  for  a  moment  to  Reason's  dull  page, 

The  last  was  that  farewell  of  daylight,  more  precious, 

Till  Folly  said, 

More  glowing  and  deep,  as  't  is  nearer  its  set. 
Our  meeting,  though  happy,  was  tinged  by  a  sorrow 
To  think  that  such  happiness  could  not  remain  ; 

"  Look  here,  sweet  maid  !"  — 
The  sight  of  his  cap  brought  her  back  to  herself, 
While  Reason  read 

While  our  parting,  though  sad,  gave  a  hope  that  to- 
morrow 

His  leaves  of  lead, 
With  no  one  to  mind  him,  poor  sensible  elf! 

Would  bring  back  the  blest  hour  of  meeting  again. 

Then  Reason  grew  jealous  of  Folly's  gay  cap  ; 

Had  he  that  on,  he  her  heart  might  entrap— 

"  There  it  is," 

THOSE  EVENING  BELLS. 

Quoth  Folly,  "old  quiz  !" 

AIR—  The  Beth  of  St.  Pctersbttrgh. 
THOSE  evening  bells  !  those  evening  bells  ! 

But  Reason  the  head-dress  so  awkwardly  wore, 
That  Beauty  now  liked  him  still  less  than  before  ; 
Wrhile  Folly  took 

How  many  a  tale  their  music  tells, 

Old  Reason's  book, 

Of  youth,  and  home,  and  that  sweet  time, 
WThen  last  I  heard  their  soothing  chime  ! 

And  twisted  the  leaves  in  a  cap  of  such  Ton, 
That  Beauty  vow'd 

Those  joyous  hours  are  past  away  ! 

(Though  not  aloud,) 

And  many  a  heart  that  then  was  gay, 

She  liked  him  still  better  in  that  than  his  own  ! 

Within  the  tomb  now  darkly  dwells, 

And  hears  no  more  those  evening  bells  ! 

And  so  't  will  be  when  I  am  gone  ; 

FARE  THEE  WELL,  THOU  LOVELY  ONE 

That  tuneful  peal  will  still  ring  on, 

Sicilian  Air. 

While  other  bards  shall  walk  these  dells, 

FARE  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ! 

And  sing  your  praise,  sweet  evening  bells  ! 

Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more; 

Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

* 

Love's  sweet  lile  is  o'er. 

SHOULD  THOSE  FOND  HOPES. 

Thy  words,  whate'er  their  nattering  spell, 

Portuguese  Air, 

Could  scarce  have  thus  deceived  ; 

'SHOULD  those  fond  hopes  e'er  forsake  thee, 

But  eyes  that  acted  truth  so  well 

Which  now  so  sweetly  thy  heart  employ  ; 
Should  the  cold  world  come  to  wake  thee 
From  all  thy  visions  of  youth  and  joy  ; 
Should  the  gay  friends  for  whom  thou  wouldst  banish 

Then,  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one  ! 
Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Him  who  once  thought  thy  young  heart  his  own, 

ove  s  svvee    i      s  o  er. 

All  like  spring  birds,  falsely  vanish, 

Yet  those  eyes  look  constant  still, 

And  leave  thy  winter  unheeded  and  lone  ;  —   • 

True  as  stars  they  keep  their  light; 

Oh  !  'tis  then  he  thou  hast  slighted 
Would  come  to  cheer  thee,  when  all  seem'd  o'er  ; 
Then  the  truant,  lost  and  blighted, 
Would  to  his  bosom  be  taken  once  more. 

Still  those  cheeks  their  pledge  fullil 
Of  blushing  always  bright. 
'T  is  only  on  thy  changeful  heart 
The  blame  of  falsehood  lies  ; 

Like  that  dear  bird  we  both  can  remember, 
Who  left  us  while  summer  shone  round, 
But,  when  chill'd  by  bleak  December, 
Upon  our  threshold  a  welcome  still  found. 

Love  lives  in  every  other  part, 
But  there,  alas!  he  dies. 
Then  fare  thee  well,  thou  lovely  one! 
Lovely  still,  but  dear  no  more  ; 
Once  his  soul  of  truth  is  gone, 

Love's  sweet  life  is  o'er. 

REASON,  FOLLY,  AND  BEAUTY. 

Italian  Air. 

DOST  THOU  REMEMBER. 

REASON,  Folly,  and  Beauty,  they  say, 

Portuguese  Air, 

Went  on  a  party  of  pleasure  one  day: 

DOST  thou  remember  that  place  so  lonely 

Folly  play'd 

A  place  for  lovers  and  lovers  only, 

Around  the  maid. 

Where  first  I  told  thee  all  my  secret  sighs  ? 

\Vhcn  as  the  moon-beam,  that  trembled  o'er  thee 

1  Tnc?  metre  of  the  words  is  here  necessarily  sacrificed  to 

Illumed  thy  blushes,  I  knelt  before  thee, 

*M  air. 

And  read  my  hope's  sweet  triumph  in  these  eyes  ! 

NATIONAL  AIRS 


Then,  then,  while  closely  heart  was  drawn  to  heart 
Love  bound  us — never,  never  more  to  patt ! 

'And  when  I  call'd  thee  by  names  the  dearest 
That  love  could  fancy,  the  fondest,  nearest— 

"My  life,  my  only  life !"  among  the  rest; 
In  those  sweet  accents  that  still  enthral  me, 
Thou  saidst,  "  Ah  !  wherefore  thy  life  thus  call  me 

Thy  soul,  thy  soul 's  the  name  that  I  love  best ; 
For  life  soon  passes,  but  how  blest  to  be 
That  soul  which  never,  never  parts  from  thee !" 


OH !  COME  TO  ME  WHEN  DAYLIGHT 

SETS. 
Venetian  Air. 
On  !  come  to  me  when  daylight  se1* ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 
When  Mirth 's  awake,  and  Love  begins, 

Beneath  that  glancing  ray, 
With  sound  of  flutes  and  mandolins, 

To  steal  young  hearts  away. 
Oh !  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  m  jonlight  sea. 

Oh  !  then 's  the  hour  for  those  who  love, 

Sweet !  like  thee  and  me ; 
When  all 's  so  calm  below,  above, 

In  heaven  and  o'er  the  sea. 
When  maidens  sing  sweet  barcarolles,* 

And  Echo  sings  again 
So  sweet,  that  all  with  ears  and  souls 

Should  love  and  listen  then. 
So,  come  to  me  when  daylight  sets ; 

Sweet !  then  come  to  me, 
When  smoothly  go  our  gondolets 

O'er  the  moonlight  sea. 


OFT,  IN  THE  STILLY  NIGHT 

.SYo'rA  Air. 
OFT,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Fond  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me ; 
The  smiles,  the  tears, 
Of  boyhood's  years, 
The  words  of  love  then  spoken ; 
The  eyes  that  shone, 
Now  dimm'd  and  gone, 
The  cheerful  hearts  now  broken  ! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  night, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


S33 


1  The  thought  in  this  verse  is  borrowed  from  the  original 
Portuguese  words. 

2  Barcarolles,  sorte  de  chansons  en  laneiie  Venitienne, 
que  chantent  les  gondoliers  a  Venise.-- Rousseau,  Diction- 
nairc  de  Masique. 

2  Y 


When  I  remember  all 

The  friends,  so  hnk'd  together 
I  've  seen  around  me  fall, 
Like  leaven  in  wintry  weather ; 
I  feel  like  one 
Who  treads  alone 
Some  banquet-hall  deserted, 
Whose  lights  are  fled, 
Whose  garland's  dead, 
Ami  all  but  he  departed! 
Thus,  in  the  stilly  nijrht, 

Ere  Slumber's  chain  has  bound  me, 
Sad  Memory  brings  the  light 
Of  other  days  around  me. 


HARK!  THE  VESPER  HYMN  IS  STEALING 

Russian  Air. 
HARK  !  the  vesper  hymn  is  stealing 

O'er  the  waters,  soft  and  clear ; 
Nearer  yet  and  nearer  pealing, 

Jubilate,  Amen. 

Farther  now,  now  farther  stealing, 
Soft  it  lades  upon  the  t,j.r, 
Jubilate,  Amen. 

Now,  like  moonlight's  waves  retreating 

To  the  shore,  it  dies  along ; 
Now,  like  angry  surges  meeting, 
Breaks  the  mingled  tide  of  song. 

Jubilate,  Amen. 

Hush  !  again,  like  waves,  retreating 
To  the  shore,  it  dies  along, 
Jubilate,  Amen. 


No.  II. 

LOVE  AND  HOPE. 

Stcits  air. 

AT  morn,  beside  yon  summer  sea, 
Young  Hope  and  Love  reclined  ; 
But  scarce  had  noon-tide  come,  when  be 
Into  his  bark  leap'd  smilingly, 
And  left  poor  Hope  behind. 

"I  go,"  said  Love,  "  to  sail  awhile 

Across  this  sunny  main  ;" 
And  then  so  sweet  his  parting  smile, 
That  H(,pe,  w^io  never  dream'd  of  guile. 

Believed  he  'd  come  again. 

She  linger' d  there  till  evening's  beam 

Along  the  waters  lay, 
And  o'er  the  sands,  in  thoughtful  rtrtvun, 
Oft  traced  hi*  name,  which  still  the  stream 

As  often  wash'd  away. 

At  length  a  sail  appears  in  sight, 
And  toward  the  maiden  moves 

'T  is  Wealth  that  comes,  and  pay  and  bright. 

His  trolrlen  b.irk  reflects  the  light, 
But  ah !  it  is  not  Ix>ve'« 


3M 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Another  sail— 'twas  Friendship  show'd 

Her  night-lamp  o'er  the  sea ; 
And  calm  the  light  that  lamp  bestow'd  • 
But  Love  had  lights  that  warmer  glow'd, 

And  where,  alas  !  was  he  ? 

Now  fast  around  the  sea  and  shore 
Night  threw  her  darkling  chain, 
The  sunny  sails  were  seen  no  more, 
Hope's  morning  dreams  of  bliss  were  o'er— 
Love  never  came  again ! 


THERE  COMES  A  TDIE. 

German  Air. 
THERE  comes  a  time,  a  dreary  time, 

To  him  whose  heart  hath  flown 
O'er  all  the  fields  of  youth's  sweet  prime, 

And  made  each  flower  its  own. 
'T  is  when  his  soul  must  first  renounce 

Those  dreams  so  bright,  so  fond ; 
Oh  !  then  's  the  time  to  die  at  once, 
For  life  has  nought  beyond. 
There  comes  a  time,  etc. 

When  sets  the  sun  on  Afric's  shore, 

That  instant  all  is  night ; 
And  so  should  life  at  once  be  o'er, 

When  Love  withdraws  his  light — 
Nor,  like  our  northern  day,  gleam  on 

Through  twilight's  dim  delay 
The  cold  remains  of  lustre  gone, 

Of  fire  long  pass'd  away. 

Oh !  there  comes  a  time,  etc. 


MY  HARP  HAS  ONE  UNCHANGING 
THEME. 

Swedish  Air. 
MY  harp  has  one  unchanging  theme, 

One  strain  that  still  comes  o'er 
Its  languid  chord,  as  't  were  a  dream 

Of  joy  that  'a  now  no  more. 
In  vain  I  try,  with  livelier  air, 

To  wake  the  breathing  string; 
That  voice  of  other  times  is  there, 

And  saddens  all  I  sing. 

Breathe  on,  breathe  on,  thou  languid  strain, 

Henceforth  be  all  my  own  ; 
Though  thou  art  oft  so  full  of  pain, 

Few  hearts  can  bear  thy  tone. 
Yet  oft  thou'rt  sweet,  as  if  the  sigh, 

The  breath  that  Pleasure's  wings 
Gave  out,  when  last  they  wanton'd  by, 

Were  still  upon  thy  strings. 


OH!  NO— NOT  E'EN  WHEN  FIRST  WE 
LOVED. 

Cothmerian  Air. 

OH  !  no — not  e'en  when  first  we  loved, 
Wert  thou  as  dear  as  now  thou  art ; 


Thy  beauty  then  my  *enses  moved, 
But  now  thy  virtues  bind  my  heart. 

What  was  but  Passion's  sigh  before, 
Has  since  been  turn'd  to  Reason's  vow  j 

And,  though  I  then  might  love  thee  more 
Trust  me,  I  love  thee  better  now  ! 

Although  my  heart  in  earlier  youth 

Might  kindle  with  more  wild  desire, 
Believe  me,  it  has  gain'd  in  truth 

Much  more  than  it  has  lost  in  fire. 
The  flame  now  warms  my  inmost  core, 

That  then  but  sparkled  o'er  my  brow; 
And,  though  I  seem'd  to  love  thee  more, 

Yet,  oh  !  I  love  thee  better  now. 


PEACE  BE  AROUND  THEE. 

Scotch  Air. 
PEACE  *•*  rroand  thee,  wherever  thou  rovest; 

May  life  be  for  thee  one  summer's  day, 
And  all  that  thou  wishest,  and  all  that  thou  lovest 

Come  smiling  around  thy  sunny  way  ! 
If  sorrow  e'er  this  calm  should  break, 

May  even  thy  tears  pass  off  so  lightly; 
Like  spring-showers,  they'll  only  make 

The  smiles  that  follow  shine  more  brightly . 

May  Time,  who  sheds  his  blight  o'er  all, 

And  daily  dooms  some  joy  to  death, 
O'er  thee  let  years  so  gently  fall, 

They  shall  not  crush  one  flower  beneath  ! 
As  half  in  shade  and  half  in  sun, 

This  world  along  its  path  advances, 
May  that  side  the  sun  's  upon 

Be  all  that  e'er  shall  meet  thy  glances ! 


COMMON  SENSE  AND  GENIUS. 

Frenrh  Air. 
WHILE  I  touch  the  string. 

Wreath  my  brows  with  laurel, 
For  the  tale  I  sing, 

Has,  for  once,  a  moral. 
Common  Sense,  one  night, 

Though  not  used  to  gambols, 
Went  out  by  moonlight, 

With  Genius  on  his  rambles. 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 

Common  Sense  went  on, 

Many  wise  things  saying, 
While  the  light  that  shone 

Soon  set  Genius  straying. 
One  his  eye  ne'er  raised 

From  the  path  before  him, 
'T  other  idly  gazed 
On  each  night-cloud  o'er  him. 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etp 

So  they  came,  at  last, 

To  a  shady  river ; 
Common  Sense  soon  pass'd, 

Safe,  as  he  doth  ever  ; 
While  the  boy,  whose  look 

Was  in  heaven  that  minute, 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


3.15 


Never  saw  the  brook, 

But  tumbled  headlong  in  it ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 

How  the  wise  one  smiled, 

When  safe  o'er  the  torrent, 
At  that  youth,  so  wild, 

Dripping  from  the  current ! 
Sense  went  home  tor  bed  ; 

Genius,  left  to  shiver 
On  the  bank,  't  is  said, 

Died  of  that  cold  river ! 

While  I  touch  the  string,  etc. 


THEN,  FARE  THEE  WELL! 

Old  English  Air. 
THEN,  fare  thee  well !  my  own  dear  love, 

Thi<  world  has  now  for  us 
No  greater  grief,  no  pain  above 
The  pain  of  parting  thus,  dear  love!  the  pain  of  part- 
ing thus ! 

Had  we  but  known,  since  first  we  met, 

Some  few  short  hours  of  bliss, 
We  might,  in  numbering  them,  forget 
The  deep,  deep  pain  of  this,  dear  love !  the  deep,  deep 
pain  of  this ! 

But,  no,  alas  !  we've  never  seen 
One  glimpse  of  pleasure's  ray, 
But  still  there  came  some  cloud  between, 
And  chased  it  all  away,  dear  love!  and  chased  it  all 
away ! 

Yet,  e'en  couid  those  sad  moments  last, 

Far  dearer  to  my  heart 
Were  hours  of  grief,  together  past, 
Than  years  of  mirth  apart,  dear  love  !  than  years  of 
mirth  apart ! 

Farewell !  our  hope  was  born  in  fears, 

And  nursed  'mid  vain  regrets  ! 
Like  winter  suns,  it  rose  in  tears, 
Like  them  in  tears  it  sets,  dear  love !  like  them  in 
tears  it  sets ' 


GAILY  SOUNDS  THE  CASTANET. 

Maltese  Air. 
GAII.Y  sounds  the  castanet, 

Beating  time  to  bounding  feet, 
When,  after  daylight's  golilen  set, 

Maids  and  youths  by  moonlight  meet. 
Oh  !  then,  how  sweet  to  move 

Through  all  that  maze  of  mirth, 
Lighted  by  those  eyes  we  love 

Beyond  all  eyes  on  earth. 

Then,  the  joyous  banquet  spread 

On  the  cool  and  fragrant  ground, 
With  night's  bright  eye-teams  overhead, 

And  still  brighter  sparkling  round. 
Oh  !  then,  how  sweet  to  say 

Into  the  loved  one's  ear, 
Thoughts  reserved  through  many  a  day 

To  be  thus  whisper'd  here. 


When  the  dance  and  feast  are  dour, 

Arm  in  arm  as  home  we  stray, 
How  sweet  to  see  the  dawning  sun 

O'er  her  checks'  warm  blushes  play 
Then,  then  the  farewell  kiss, 

And  words  whose  parting  tone 
Lingers  still  in  dreams  of  bliss, 

That  haunt  young  hearts  alone. 


LOVE  IS  A  HUNTER-BOY 

Languedocian  Air. 
LOVE  is  a  hunter-boy, 

Who  makes  young  hearts  his  prey, 
And  in  his  nets  of  joy 

Ensnares  them  night  and  day. 
In  vain  conceal'd4hey  lie — 

Love  tracks  them  every  where ; 
In  vain  aloft  they  fly — 

Love  shoots  them  flying  there. 

But 't  is  his  joy  most  sweet, 

At  early  dawn  to  trace 
The  print  of  Beauty's  feet, 

And  give  the  trembler  chase. 
And  most  he  loves  through  snow 

To  trace  those  footsteps  fair, 
For  then  the  boy  doth  know 

None  track'd  before  him  there. 


COME,  CHASE  THAT  STARTING  TEAB 
AWAY. 

French  Air. 
COME,  chase  that  starting  tear  away, 

Ere  mine  to  meet  it  springs  ; 
To-night,  at  least,  to-night  be  gay, 

Whate'er  to-morrow  brings ! 
Like  sunset  gleams,  that  linger  late 

When  all  is  dark'ning  fast, 
Are  hours  like  these  we  snatch  from  Fate — 

The  brightest  and  the  last. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  etc. 

To  gild  our  dark'ning  life,  if  Heaven 

But  one  bright  hour  allow, 
Oh  !  think  that  one  bright  hour  is  given, 

In  all  its  splendour,  now  ! 
Let's  live  it  out — then  sink  in  night, 

Lake  waves  that  from  the  shore 
One  minute  swell — are  touch'd  with  light 

Then  lost  for  evermore. 

Then,  chase  that  starting  tear,  etc. 


JOYS  OF  YOUTH,  HOW  FI.KF.TINfl 

Portuguese  Air. 
WJIISP'RINCS,  heard  by  wakeful  maids, 

To  whom  the  night-stan  tjuide  n?— 
Stolen  walks  through  moonlight  ihaJo* 
With  those  we  love  beside  us. 
II. 'arts  bating,  at  meeting, — 
Tears  starting,  at  parting  ; 
Oh  !  sweet  youth,  how  soon  it  fade* '. 
Sweet  joys  of  youth,  how  fleeting: '. 


856 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


HEAR  ME  BUT  ONCE. 

French  Air. 
HEAR  me  but  once,  while  o'er  the  grave, 

In  which  our  love  lies  cold  and  dead, 
I  count  each  flatt'ring  hope  he  gave, 

Of  joys  now  lost  and  charms  now  fled. 
Who  could  have  thought  the  smile  he  wore, 

When  first  we  met,  would  fade  away? 
Or  that  a  chill  would  e'er  come  o'er 

Those  eyes  so  bright  through  many  a  day  ? 


No.  III. 

WHEN  LOVE  WAS  A  CHILD. 

Swedish  Air. 

WHEN  Love  was  a  child,  and  went  idling  round 
'Mong  flowers  the  whole  summer's  day, 

One  mom  in  the  valley  a  bower  he  found, 
So  sweet,  it  allured  him  to  stay 

O'erhead,  from  the  trees,  hung  a  garland  fair 

A  fountain  ran  darkly  beneath — 
T  was  Pleasure  that  hung  the  bright  flowers  up  there 

Love  knew  it,  and  jump'd  at  the  wreath. 

But  Love  didn't  know — and  at  his  weak  years 

What  urchin  was  likely  to  know  ? — 
That  Sorrow  had  made  of  her  own  salt  tears 

That  fountain  which  murmur' d  below. 

He  caught  at  the  wreath — but  with  too  much  haste, 

As  boys  when  impatient  will  do — 
It  fell  in  those  waters  of  briny  taste, 

And  the  flowers  were  ail  wet  through. 

Yet  this  is  the  wreath  he  wears  night  and  day, 

And,  though  it  all  sunny  appears 
With  Pleasure's  own  lustre,  each  leaf,  they  say, 

Still  tastes  of  the  Fountain  of  Tears. 


SAY,  WHAT  SHALL  BE  OUR  SPORT 
TO-DAY? 
Sicilian  Air. 
SAY  what  shall  be  our  sport  to-day  ? 

There 's  nothing  on  earth,  in  sea,  or  air, 
Too  bright,  too  bold,  too  high,  too  gay, 

For  spirits  like  mine  to  dare ! 
*T  is  like  the  returning  bloom 

Of  those  days,  alas !  gone  by, 
When  I  loved  each  hour — I  scarce  knew  whom, — 
And  was  bless' d — I  scarce  knew  wHy. 

Ay,  those  were  days  when  life  had  wings, 

And  flew— oh,  flew  so  wild  a  height, 
That,  like  the  lark  which  sunward  springs, 

*T  was  giddy  with  too  much  light ; 
And,  though  of  some  plumes  bereft, 

With  that  sun,  too,  nearly  set, 
I  *ve  enough  of  light  and  wing  still  left 

For  a  few  gay  soarings  yet. 


BRIGHT  BE  THY  DREAMS  ! 

Welch  Air. 

BRIGHT  be  thy  dreams — may  all  thy  weeping 
Turn  into  smiles  while  thou  art  sleeping : 

Those  by  death  or  seas  removed, 
Friends,  who  in  thy  spring-time  knew  thee, 

All  thou'st  ever  prized  or  loved, 
In  dreams  come  smiling  to  thee ! 

There  may  the  child,  whose  love  lay  deepest, 
Dearest  of  all,  come  while  thou  sleepest ; 

Still  the  same — no  charm  forgot — 
Nothing  lost  that  life  had  given ; 

Or,  if  changed,  but  changed  to  what 
Thou  'It  find  her  yet  in  Heaven  ! 


GO,  THEN— 'TIS  VAIN. 

Sicilian  Air. 
Go,  then — 't  is  vain  to  hover 

Thus  round  a  hope  that 's  dead ! 
At  length  my  dream  is  over, 

'T  was  sweet — 'twas  false— 't  is  fled 
Farewell ;  since  nought  it  moves  thee, 

Such  truth  as  mine  to  see, — 
Some  one,  who  far  less  loves  thee, 

Perhaps  more  bless'd  will  be. 

Farewell,  sweet  eyes,  whose  brightness 

New  life  around  me  shed  ! 
Farewell,  false  heart,  whose  lightness 

Now  leaves  me  death  instead  ! 
Go,  now,  those  charms  surrender 

To  some  new  lover's  sigh, 
One  who,  though  far  less  tender, 

May  be  more  bless'd  than  L 


THE  CRYSTAL  HUNTERS. 

Swiss  Air. 
O'ER  mountains  bright  with  snow  and  light 

We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along, 
While  grots  and  caves,  and  icy  waves, 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song  ; 
And,  when  we  meet  with  stores  of  gems, 
We  grudge  not  kings  their  diaaems. 
O'er  mountains  bright  with  snow  and  light, 

We  Crystal  Hunters  speed  along. 
While  grots  and  caves,  and  icy  waves, 

Each  instant  echo  to  our  song. 

No  lover  half  so  fondly  dreams 
Of  sparkles  from  his  lady's  eyes, 

As  we  of  those  refreshing  gleams 
That  tell  where  deep  the  crystal  lies  ; 

Though,  next  to  crystal,  we  too  grant 

That  ladies'  eyes  may  most  enchant. 
O'er  mountains,  etc. 

Sometimes,  when  o'er  the  Alpine  rose, 
The  golden  sunset  leaves  its  ray, 

So  like  a  gem  the  flow'ret  glows, 
We  thither  bend  our  headlong  way; 


And,  though  we  find  no  treasure  there, 
We  bless  the  rose  that  shines  so  fair. 
O'er  mountains,  etc. 


ROW  GENTLY  HERE 
Venetian  Air. 

Row  gently  here,  my  gondolier;  so  softly  wake  th 

tide, 
That  not  an  ear  on  earth  ms  v  hear,  but  hers  to  whom 

we  glide. 
Had  Heaven  but  tongues  to  speak,  as  well  as  starrj 

eyes  to  see, 
Oh !  think  what  tales 't  would  have  to  tell  of  wand'ring 

youths  like  me ! 

Now  res'  thee  here,  my  gondolier ;  hush,  hush,  fo 

up  I  go, 
To   climb  yon   light  balcony's  height,  while  thou 

keep'st  watch  below. 
!   did  we  take  for  heaven  above  but  half  such 

pains  as  we 
Take  day  and  night  for  woman's  love,  what  angels 

we  should  be ! 


OH!  DAYS  OF  YOUTH. 

French  Air. 
On  !  days  of  youth  and  joy,  long  clouded, 

Why  thus  for  ever  haunt  my  view  ? 
When  in  the  grave  your  light  lay  shrouded, 

Why  did  not  Memory  die  there  too  ? 
Vainly  doth  Hope  her  strain  now  sing  me, 

Whispering  of  joys  that  yet  remain — 
No,  no,  never  can  this  life  bring  me 

One  joy  that  equal's  youth's  sweet  pain. 

Dim  lies  the  way  to  death  before  me, 

Cold  winds  of  Time  blow  round  my  brow ; 
Sunshine  of  youth  that  once  fell  o'er  me, 

Where  is  your  warmth,  your  glory  now  ? 
'Tis  not  that  then  no  pain  could  sting  me — 

'T  is  not  that  now  no  joys  remain ; 
Oh  !  it  is  that  life  no  more  can  bring  me 

One  joy  so  sweet  as  that  worst  pain. 


WHEN  FIRST  THAT  SMILE. 

Venetian  Air. 
WHEN  first  that  smile,  like  sunshine,  bless'd  my  sight, 

Oh !  what  a  vision  then  came  o'er  me ! 
Long  years  of  love,  of  calm  and  pure  delight, 

Seem'd  in  that  smile  to  pass  before  me. 
Ne'er  did  the  peasant  dream,  ne'er  dream  of  summer 
skies, 

Of  golden  fruit  and  harvests  springing, 
With  fonder  hope  than  I  of  those  sweet  eyes, 

And  of  the  joy  their  light  was  bringing. 

Where  now  are  all  those  fondly  promised  hours  ? 

Oh !  woman's  faith  is  like  her  brightness, 
Fading  as  fast  as  rainbows  or  day-flowers, 

Or  aught  that  ?s  known  for  grace  and  lightness. 


the  Persian's  prayer,  his  prayer  at  close  of 

day, 

Must  I*-  each  vow  of  Love's  repeating; 
Quick  let  him  worship  Beauty's  precious  ray- 
Even  while  he  kneels  that  ray  is  fleeting ! 


PEACE  TO  THE  SLUMBERERS  ! 

Calalonian  Air. 
PEACE  to  the  slumberers  ! 

They  lie  on  the  battle  plain, 
With  no  shroud  to  cover  them ; 

The  dew  and  the  summer  rain 
Are  all  that  weep  over  them. 

Vain  was  their  bravery  ! 

The  fallen  oak  lies  where  it  lay, 
Across  the  wintry  river; 

But  brave  hearts,  once  swept  away, 
Are  gone,  alas !  for  ever. 

Woe  to  the  conqueror ! 

Our  limbs  shall  lie  as  cold  an  tlicirg 
Of  whom  his  sword  bereft  us, 

Ere  we  forget  the  deep  arrears 
Of  vengeance  they  have  left  us ! 


WHEN  THOU  SHALT  WANDER. 

Sicilian  Air. 
WHEN  thou  shah  wander  by  that  sweet  light 

\N  e  used  to  gaze  on  so  many  an  eve, 
When  Jove  was  new  and  hope  was  bright, 

Ere  I  could  doubt  or  thou  deceive — 
Oh  !  then,  remembering  how  swift  went  by 
Those  hours  of  transport,  even  thou  rnay'st  tigb 

Yes,  proud  one !  even  thy  heart  may  own 
That  love  like  ours  was  far  too  sweet 

To  be,  like  summer  garments  thrown  aside 
When  past  the  summer's  heat ; 

And  wish  in  vain  to  know  again 

Such  days,  such  nights,  as  bless'd  thoe  then. 


WHO'LL  BUY  MY  LOVE-KNOTS? 

Portuguese  AIT. 

HYMEN  late,  his  love-knots  sellinz, 
Call'd  at  many  a  maiden's  dwelling  : 
None  could  doubt,  who  saw  or  knew  them, 
Hymen's  call  was  welcome  to  them.    • 

"  \Vh<>  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots?" 
Soon  as  that  sweet  cry  resounded, 
How  his  baskets  were  surrounded  ! 

Maids  who  now  first  droam'd  of  trying 
Thrsc  gay  knots  of  Hymen's  tying; 
Panics,  who  long  lia.1  h  him 

i  !>y,  l»it  neVr  could  catch  him  ;- 

"  Who  '11  buy  my  love-knots  ? 

Who  '11  buy  my  love-kt. 
All  at  that  B\V  :ibled; 

Some  laugh'd,  some  blush'd,  and  some  trembled 


ass 


MOORE'S  W 


S  WORKS. 


"  Here  are  knots,"  said  Hymen,  taking 
Some  loose  flowers,  "of  Love's  own  making; 
Here  are  gold  ones — you  may  trust  'em" — 
(These,  of  course,  found  ready  custom.) 

"  Come  buy  my  love-knots ! 

Come  buy  my  love-knots  ! 
Some  are  labell'd  '  Knots  to  tie  men' — 
1  Love  the  maker' — '  Bought  of  Hymen.'  " 

Scarce  their  bargains  were  completed, 
When  the  nymphs  all  cried,  "  We  're  cheated ! 
See  these  flowers — they  're  drooping  sadly ; 
This  gold-knot,  too,  ties  but  badly — 

Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 

Who  'd  buy  such  love-knots  ? 
Even  this  tie,  with  Love's  name  round  it — 
All  a  sham — he  never  bound  it." 

Love,  who  saw  the  whole  proceeding, 
Would  have  laugh'd,  but  for  good-breeding ; 
While  Old  Hymen,  who  was  used  to 
Cries  like  that  these  dames  gave  loose  to— 

"  Take  back  our  love-knots  ! 

Take  back  our  love-knots !" — 
Coolly  said,  "  There  's  no  returning 
Wares  on  Hymen's  hands — Good  morning  !" 


SEE,  THE  DAWN  FROM  HEAVEN. 

Sung  at  Rome,  on  Christmas  Eve. 
SEE,  the  dawn  from  heaven  is  breaking  o'er  our  sight, 
And  Earth,  from  sin  awaking,  hails  the  sight ! 
See,  those  groups  of  Angels,  winging  from  the  realms 

above, 
On  their  sunny  brows  from  Eden  bringing  wreaths 

of  Hope  and  Love. 

Hark— their  hymns  of  glory  pealing  through  the  air, 

To  mortal  ears  revealing  who  lies  there  ! 

In  that  dwelling,  dark  and  lowly,  sleeps  the  heavenly 

Son, 
He.  whose  home  is  in  the  skies, — the  Holy  One  ! 


No.  IV. 

NETS  AND  CAGES. 

Swedish  air. 
COME,  listen  to  my  story,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply  ; 
At  what  I  sing  some  maids  will  smile, 

While  some,  perhaps,  may  sieh. 
Though  Love's  the  theme,  and  Wisdom  blames 

Such  florid  songs  as  ours, 
Yet  Truth,  sometimes,  like  eastern  dames, 

Can  speak  her  thoughts  by  flowers. 
Then  listen,  maids,  come  listen,  while 

Your  needle's  task  you  ply ; 
At  what  I  sing  there  's  some  may  smile, 

While  some,  perhaps,  will  sigh. 

Young  Cloe,  bent  on  oatrhins:  Loves, 
Such  nets  had  learn'd  to  frame, 


That  none,  in  all  our  vales  and  groves, 

Ere  caught  so  much  small  game : 
While  gentle  Sue,  less  given  to  roam, 

When  Cloe's  nets  were  taking 
These  flights  of  birds,  sat  still  at  home, 

One  small,  neat  Love-cage  making. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  etc. 

Much  Cloe  laugh' (?  it  Susan's  task ; 

But  mark  how  things  went  on : 
These  light-caught  Loves,  ere  you  could  ask 

Their  name  and  age,  were  gone  ! 
So  weak  poor  Cloe's  nets  were  wove, 

That,  though  she  charm'd  into  them 
New  game  each  hour,  the  youngest  Love 

Was  able  to  break  through  them. 
Come,  listen,  maids,  etc. 

Meanwhile,  young  Sue,  whose  cage  was  wrought 

Of  bars  too  strong  to  sever, 
One  Love  with  golden  pinions  caught, 

And  caged  him  there  for  ever ; 
Instructing  thereby,  all  coquettes,  i 

Whate'er  their  looks  or  ages, 
That,  though  't  is  pleasant  weaving  Nets, 

'T  is  wiser  to  muke  Cages. 
Thus,  maidens,  thus  do  I  beguile 

The  task  your  fingers  ply — 
May  all  who  hear,  like  Susan  smUe, 

Ah !  not  like  Cloe  sigh ! 


WHEN  THROUGH  THE  PlAZZETTA 

Venetian  Air. 
WHEN  through  the  Piazzetta 

Night  breathes  her  cool  an, 
Then,  dearest  Ninetta, 

I  '11  come  to  thee  there. 
Beneath  thy  mask  shrouded, 

I  '11  know  thee  afar, 
As  Love  knows,  though  clouded, 

His  own  Evening  Star. 

In  garb,  then,  resembling 

Some  gay  gondolier, 
I'll  whisper  thee  trembling, 

"  Our  bark,  love,  is  near  : 
Now,  now,  while  there  hov:>r 

Those  clouds  o'er  the  moon, 
'T  will  waft  thee  safe  over 

Yon  silent  Lagoon." 


GO,  NOW,  AND  DREAM. 

Sicilian  Air. 

Go,  now,  and  dream  o'er  that  joy  in  thy  slumber 
3Ioments  so  sweet  again  ne'er  shall  thou  number 
Of  Pain's  bitter  draught  the  flavour  never  flics, 
While  Pleasure's  scarce  touches  the  lip  ere  it  dies 

Thru  moon,  which  hung  o'er  your  parting,  so  splendid, 
Often  will  shine  again,  bright  as  she  then  did — 
But,  ah  !  never  more  will  the  beam  she  saw  burn 
In  those  happy  eyes  at  your  meeting  teturn. 


NATIONAL  AIRS. 


TAKE  HENCE  THE  BOWL. 

Neapolitan  Air. 
TAKK  hence  the  bowl ;  though  beaming 

Brightly  as  bowl  e're  shone, 
Oh !  it  but  sets  me  dreaming 

Of  days,  of  nights  now  gone. 
There,  in  its  clear  reflection, 

As  in  a  wizard's  glass, 
Lost  hopes  and  dead  affection, 

Like  shades,  before  me  pass. 

Each  cup  I  drain  brings  hither 

Some  friend  who  once  sat  by— 
Bright  lips,  too  bright  to  wither, 

Warm  hearts,  too  warm  to  die  ! 
Till,  as  the  dream  comes  o'er  me 

Of  those  long  vanish'd  years, 
Then,  then  the  cup  before  me 

feeems  turning  all  to  tears. 


FAREWELL,  THERESA. 

Venetian  Air. 

FAREWELL,  Theresa!  that  cloud  which  over 
Yon  moon  this  moment  gath'ring  we  see, 

Shall  scarce  from  her  pure  path  have  pass'd,  ere  th' 

lover 
Swift  o'er  the  wide  wave  shall  wander  from  thee. 

Long,  like  that  dim  cloud,  I  've  hung  around  thee, 

Dark'ning  thy  prospects,  sadd'ning  thy  brow; 
With  gay  heart,  Theresa,  and  bright  cheek  I  found 

thee ; 

Oh!  think  how  changed,  love,  how  changed  art 
thou  now ! 

<ut  here  I  free  thee:  like  one  awaking 
From  fearful  slumber,  this  dream  thou'lt  tell ; 

The  bright  moon  her  spell  too  is  breaking, 
Past  are  the  dark  clouds ;  Theresa,  farewell ! 


HOW  OFT  WHEN  WATCHING  STARS 

Savoyard  Air. 

How  oft,  wheji  watching  stars  grow  pale, 

And  round  me  sleeps  the  moonlight  scene, 
To  hear  a  flute  through  yonder  vale 

I  from  my  casement  lean. 
'Oh!  come,  my  love!"  each  note  it  utters  seems  to 

say ; 

'  Oh !  come,  my  .ove '  the  night  wears  fast  away ! 
No,  ne'er  to  mortal  r;ir 

Can  words,  though  warm  they  be, 
Speak  Passion's  language  half  so  clear 
As  do  those  notes  to  me ! 

Then  quick  my  own  light  lute  I  seek. 

And  strike  the  chords  with  loudes  swell ; 
And,  though  they  nought  to  others  speak, 

He  knows  their  language  well. 


1  come,  my  love !"  each  sound  they  utter  seem*  to 

say; 

I  come,  my  love !  thine,  thine  till  break  of  dar* 
Oh  !  weak  the  power  of  words, 

The  hues  of  painting  dim, 
Compared  to  what  those  simple  chord* 
Then  say  and  paint  to  him. 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  SUMMER  BEE 

German  Air. 

WHEN  the  first  summer  bee 
O'er  the  young  rose  shall  hover, 
Then,  like  that  gay  rover, 
I'll  come  to  thee. 
He  to  flowers,  I  to  lips,  full  of  sweets  to  the  brim- 
What  a  meeting,  what  a  meeting  for  me  and  him  '. 

Then,  to  every  bright  tree 
In  the  garden  he  '11  wander 
While  I,  oh  !  much  fonder, 
Will  stay  with  thee. 
rn  search  of  new  sweetness  through  thousand*  be  "• 

run, 
While  I  find  the  sweetness  of  thousands  in  one. 


THOUGH  'TIS  ALL  BUT  A  DREAM 

French  Air 
THOUGH  't  is  all  but  a  dream  at  the  beat, 

And  still  when  happiest  soonest  o'er, 
Yet,  even  in  a  dream  to  be  bless'd 

Is  so  sweet,  that  I  ask  for  no  more. 
The  bosom  that  opes  with  earliest  hopes, 

The  soonest  finds  those  hopes  untrue, 
As  flowers  that  first  in  spring-time  bunt, 

The  earliest  wither  too  ! 
Ay — 't  is  all  but  a  dream,  etc. 

By  friendship  we  oft  are  deceived, 

And  find  the  love  we  clung  to  past; 
Yet  friendship  will  still  be  believed, 

And  love  trusted  on  to  the  last. 
The  web  in  the  leaves  the  spider  weave* 

Is  like  the  charm  Hope  hangs  o'er  men ; 
Though  often  she  sees  it  broke  by  the  breeze. 

She  spins  the  bright  tiwue  again. 
Ay — 't  is  all  but  a  dream,  etc. 


'T  IS  WHEN  THE  CUP  IS  SMILING. 

Italian  Air. 

1  is  when  the  cup  is  smiling  beforo  us, 
And  we  pledge  round  to  hearts  that  are  true,  oo> 

tnif, 

lat  the  sky  of  this  life  opens  o'er  us, 
And  Heaven  gives  a  glimpse  of  its  blue, 
ilk  of  Adam  in  F.drn  reclining, 
We  are  better,  far  better  off  thus,  boy,  thus  t 
or  him  but  two  briu  -.111111112 — 

Sec  what  numbers  are  sparkling  for  us* 


360 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  on  ore  side  the  grape-juice  is  dancing, 
And  on  t'  other  a  blue  eye  beams,  boy,  beams, 

T  is  enough,  t'wixt  the  wine  and  the  glancing, 

,    To  disturb  even  a  saint  from  his  dreams. 

Tho"?h  this  life  like  a  river  is  flowing, 
I  care  not  how  fast  it  goes  on,  boy,  on, 

While  the  grape  on  its  bank  still  is  growing, 
And  such  eyes  light  the  waves  as  they  run. 


WHERE  SHALL  WE  BURY  OUR 
SHAME? 

Neapolitan  Air. 

WHERE  shall  we  bury  our  shame  1 

Where,  in  what  desolate  place, 
Hide  the  last  wreck  of  a  name 

Broken  and  stain'd  by  disgrace  ? 
Death  may  dissever  the  chain, 

Oppression  will  cease  when  we're  gone : 
But  the  dishonour,  the  stain, 

Die  as  we  may,  will  live  on 

Was  it  for  this  we  sent  out 

Liberty's  cry  from  our  shore  ? 
Was  it  for  this  that  her  shout 

ThrilPd  to  the  world's  very  core  ? 
Thus  to  live  cowards  and  slaves, 

Oh !  ye  free  hearts  that  lie  dead ! 
Do  you  not,  e'en  in  your  graves, 

Shudder,  as  o'er  you  we  tread  ? 


NE'ER  TALK  OF  WISDOM'S  GLOOMY 
SCHOOLS. 

Mahratta  Air. 
NE'F.R  talk  of  Wisdom's  gloomy  schools ; 

Give  me  the  sage  who  's  able 
To  draw  his  moral  thoughts  and  rules 

From  the  sunshine  of  the  table  ; — 
Who  learns  how  lightly,  fleetly  pass 

This  world  and  all  that 's  in  it, 
From  the  bumper  that  but  crowns  his  glass, 

And  is  gone  again  next  minute. 

The  diamond  sleeps  within  the  mine, 

The  pearl  beneath  the  water, — 
While  Truth,  more  precious,  dwells  in  wine, 

The  grape's  own  rosy  daughter ! 
And  none  can  prize  her  charms  like  him, 

Oh !  none  like  him  obtain  her, 
Who  thus  can,  like  Leander,  swim 

Through  sparkling  floods  to  gain  her ! 


HERE  SLEEPS  THE  BARD! 

Highland  Air. 

HERE  sleeps  the  Bard  who  knew  so  well 
All  the  sweet  windings  of  Apollo's  shell, 
Whether  its  music  roll'd  like  torrents  near, 
Or  died,  like  distant  streamlets,  on  the  ear  ! 
Sleep,  mute  Bard !  unheeded  now, 
The  storm  and  zephyr  sweep  thy  lifeless  brnw ; — 
That  storm,  whose  rush  is  like  thy  martial  l*y  ; 
That  breeze  which,  like  thy  iovo-soiig,  aius  away 


SACRED  SOXGS. 


TO  THE  REV.  THOMAS  PARKINSON,  D.  D. 

&n.CiIL  EACON  OF  LEICESTER,    CHANCELLOR    OF  CHESTER,  AND  RECTOR  OF  KEGWORTH 

Cljts  XumtJtr  of  "Sacrrti  SonflB"  »0  Xnscnbcfc, 

BY  HIS  OBLIGED  AND  FAITHFUL  FRIEND, 

Slaperton  Cottage,  Devizes,  May  22,  1824.  THOMAS  MOORE 


No.  I. 

THOU  ART,  OH  GOD! 
Air — UNKNOWN.' 

"The  day  is  thine;  the  night  also  is  thine  :  them  hast  pre- 
pared the  light  and  the  gun. 

"  Thou  hast  get  all  the  borders  of  the  earth ;  thou  hast 
made  summer  and  winter."—  Psalm  l.xxiv.  16,  17. 

Tuorj  art,  oh  God  !  the  life  and  light 
Of  all  this  wondrous  world  we  see  ; 

Its  glow  by  day,  its  smile  by  night, 
Are  but  reflections  caught  from  thee, 

Where'er  we  turn  thy  glories  shine, 

And  all  things  fair  and  brig-ht  are  Thine  ! 

When  Day,  with  farewell  beam,  delays 
Among  the  opening  clouds  of  Even^ 

And  we  can  almost  think  we  gaze 
Through  golden  vistas  into  heaven — 

Those  hues,  that  make  the  sun's  decline 

So  soft,  so  radiant,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  Night,  with  wings  of  starry  gloom, 
O'ershadows  all  the  earth  and  skies, 

Like  some  dark,  beauteous  bird,  whose  plume 
Is  sparkling  with  unnumbered  eyes— 

That  sacred  gloom,  those  fires  divine, 

So  grand,  so  countless,  Lord  !  are  Thine. 

When  youthful  Spring  around  us  breathes, 
Thy  Spirit  w*ms  her  fragrant  siirli ; 

And  every  flower  the  Summer  wn  allies 
Is  born  beneath  that  kindling  eye. 

Where'er  we  turn,  thy  glories  shino, 

And  all  things  fair  and  bright  are  Thine  ! 


THIS  WORI D  IS  ALL  A  FLEETING  SHOW 

Air — STEV; 

THIS  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show, 
For  man' s  illusion  given  ; 


I  I  have  heard  thai  this  nir  is  by-thf  Intn  Mrs.  Bhrrulnn 
It  it  giing  to  the  beautiful  old  words,  "I  to  conlbts  thou'r 

sniuUli  and  fuir." 


The  smiles  of  Joy,  the  tears  of  Woe, 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow — 
There 's  nothing  true  but  heaven  ! 

And  false  the  light  on  Glory'i  plume, 

As  fading  hues  of  Even ; 
And  Love,  and  Hope,  and  Beauty's  bloom 
Are  blossoms  gather'd  for  the  tomb, — 

There 's  nothing  bright  but  heaven  ! 

Poor  wanderers  of  a  stormy  day, 

From  wave  to  wave  we're  driven, 
And  fancy's  flash,  and  Reason's  ray, 
Serve  but  to  light  the  troubled  way — 
There  's  nothing  calm  but  heavt  u  ' 


FALLEN  IS  THY  THRONE 

Air— MARTINI. 
FALLEN  is  thy  throne,  oh  Israel ! 

Silence  is  o'er  thy  phi. 
Thy  dwellings  all  lie  desolate, 

Thy  children  weep  in  chains. 
Whi-n:  are  the  dews  that  fed  thee 

On  Etham's  barren  shore  7 
That  fire  from  heaven  which  led  thee. 

Now  lights  thy  path  no  more. 

Lord !  thou  didst  love  Jerusalem— 

Once  she  was  all  thy  own; 
HIT  love  thy  fairest  heritage,1 

Her  power  thy  glory's  throne  :* 
Till  evil  came,  and  blighted 

Thy  long-loved  olive-tree  ;J 
And  Salem's  shrines  were  lighted 

For  other  Gods  than  Thee ! 

TV n  sunk  the  star  of  Solyma — 
Then  p iss'd  her  glory's  day, 

Like  heath  that,  in  the  wilderness,4 
The  wild  wind  whirls  a\\  :iy. 


1  "  t  have  left  niino  hentoee;  t  have  (riven  the  dearl*  u+ 
.,.y  soul  into  Oie  huud«of  her  enemie*.  —  JcTtmit* 

'""d  "'no  not  dUjrrace  the  throne  of  thy  florv 

;t  »Th«   I...   I  called  thy  name  n  green  olive-lre«;  Ik* 

nii.lof" I'.v  fiii.t,"  fir.— .1,  r.  ., 

4  "  For  be  gball  bo  like  the  healh  in  tho  dc»crt.  -Jtr 
xvii.  G. 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Silent  and  waste  her  bowers, 
Where  once  the  mighty  trod, 

And  sunk  those  guilty  towers, 
While  Baal  reign'd  as  God  ! 

"Go," — said  the  Lord — "Ye  conquerors ! 

Steep  in  her  blood  your  swords, 
And  rase  to  earth  her  battlements,1 

For  they  are  not  the  Lord's  ! 
Till  Zion's  mournful  daughter 

O'er  kindred  bones  shall  tread, 
And  Hinnom's  vale  of  slaughter* 

Shall  hide  but  half  her  dead!" 


WHO  IS  THE  MAID? 
ST.  JEROME'S  LOVE.' 

Air — BEETHOVEN. 
WHO  is  the  maid  my  spirit  seeks, 

Through  cold  reproof  and  slander's  blight? 
Has  she  Love's  roses  on  her  cheeks  ? 

Is  tier's  an  eye  of  this  world's  light? 
No, — wan  and  sunk  with  midnight  prayer 

Are  the  pale  looks  of  her  I  love  ; 
Or  if,  at  times,  a  light  be  there, 
Its  beam  is  kindled  from  above. 

I  chose  not  her,  my  soul's  elect, 

From  those  who  seek  their  Maker's  shrine 
In  gems  and  garlands  proudly  deck'd, 

As  if  themselves  were  things  divine! 
No — Heaven  but  faintly  warms  the  breast 

That  beats  beneath  a  broider'd  veil ; 
And  she  who  comes  in  glittering  vest 

To  mourn  her  frailty,  still  is  frail.* 

Not  so  the  faded  form  I  prize 

And  love,  because  its  bloom  is  gone  ; 
The  glory  in  those  sainted  eyes 

Is  all  the  grace  her  brow  puts  on. 
And  ne'er  was  Beauty's  dawn  so  bright, 

So  touching  as  that  form's  decay, 
Which,  like  the  altar's  trembling  light, 

In  holy  lustre  wastes  away  ! 


THE  BIRD,  LET  LOOSE, 

Air — BEETHOVEN. 
THE  bird,  let  loose  in  eastern  skies,' 
When  hastening  fondly  home, 


1  "Take  away  her  battlements;  for  they  are  not  the 
Lord's." — Jrr.  v.'lO. 

2  •'  Therefore,  behold,  the  days  come,  saith  the  Lord,  that 
t  shall  no  more  be  called  Tophet,  nor  the  Valley  of  the  Son 

ofliinnom,  but  the  Valley  of  Slaughter;  for  they  shall  bury 
in  Tophet  till  there  be  no  place." — Jer.  vii.  32. 

3  These  lines  were  suggested  by  a  passase  in  St.  Jerome's 
reply  lo  Rome  calumnious  remarks  that  had  been  circulated 
upon  his  intimacy  with  the  matron  Paula  : — "  Numquid  me 
veste*  nericBB,  nitentes  ^emmas,  picta  facies,  aut  auri  rapuit 
kmhitio  ?    Nulls  ftiit  alia  Rom;e  matronarum,  quz  meam 
po«sit  edomare  mentem,  nisi  lumens  atque  jejunans,  fletu 
Dene  cicala." —  F.pist.  "  Si  lifti  putem." 

4  O-j    y*f  Xfv<ra?opiirriir    faxj>«ouo-a»    Ju. — Chrysost. 
Homil.  8  in  Epist.  ad  Tim. 

5  The  carrier-pijpon,  it  is  well  known,  flips  at  an  elevated 
pitch,  in  order  to  surmount  every  obstacle  between  her  and 
Ui«  place  to  which  she  a  destined. 


Ne'er  stoops  to  earth  her  wing,  nor  flies 

Where  idle  warblers  roam. 
But  high  she  shoots  through  air  and  light, 

Above  all  low  delay, 
Where  nothing  earthly  bounds  her  flight, 

Nor  shadow  dims  her  way. 

So  grant  me,  God  !  from  every  care 

And  stain  of  passion  free, 
Aloft,  through  Virtue's  purer  air, 

To  hold  my  course  to  Thee  ! 
No  sin  to  cloud — no  lure  to  stay 

My  Soul,  as  home  she  springs  ; — 
Thy  sunshine  on  her  joyful  way, 

Thy  freedom  in  her  wings  ! 


OH !  THOU  WHO  DRY'ST  THE  MOURN- 
ER'S  TEAR ! 

Air — HAYDN. 


"  He  healeth  the  broken  in  heart,  and  bindeth  Dp  thai* 
wounds." — Psalm  cxlvii.  3. 


Oit !  Thou  who  dry'st  the  mourner's  tear 

How  dark  this  world  would  be, 
If,  when  deceived  and  wounded  here, 

We  could  not  fly  to  Thee. 
The  friends  who  in  our  sunshine  live, 

When  winter  comes,  are  flown ; 
And  he  who  has  but  tears  to  give, 

Must  weep  those  tears  alone. 
But  Thou  wilt  heal  that  broken  heart, 

Which,  like  the  plants  that  throw 
Their  fragrance  from  the  wounded  part, 

Breathes  sweetness  out  of  woe. 

When  joy  no  longer  soothes  or  cheers, 

And  even  the  hope  that  threw 
A  moment's  sparkle  o'er  our  tears, 

Is  dimm'd  and  vanish* d  too ! 
Oh  !  who  would  bear  life's  stormy  doom, 

Did  not  thy  wing  of  love 
Come,  brightly  wafting  through  the  gloom 

Our  peace-branch  from  above  ? 
Then  sorrow,  touch'd  by  Thee,  grows  bright 

With  more  than  rapture's  ray  ; 
As  darkness  shows  us  worlds  of  light 

We  never  saw  by  day  ! 


WEEP  NOT  FOR  THOSE. 

Air — AVISON. 
WEEP  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes, 
Ere  sin  threw  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom, 

Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  skies 
Death  chi'.l'd  the  fair  fountain  ere  sorrow  had  stain'd  it, 

'Twas  frozen  in  all  the  pure  light  of  its  course, 
And  but  sleeps  till  the  sunshine  of  heaven  has  un- 
chain'd  it, 

To  water  that  Eden  where  first  was  its  source ! 
Weep  not  for  those  whom  the  veil  of  the  tomb, 

In  life's  happy  morning,  hath  hid  from  our  eyes, 


SACRED  SONGS. 


Ere  sin  i.nrew  a  blight  o'er  the  spirit's  young  bloom 
Or  earth  had  profaned  what  was  born  for  the  ski 

Mourn  not  for  her,  the  young  Bride  of  the  Vale,1 

Our  gayest  and  loveliest,  lost  to  us  now, 
Ere  life's  early  lustre  had  time  to  grow  pale, 

And  the  garland  of  love  was  yet  fresh  on  her  brow 
Oh  !  then  was  her  moment,  dear  spirit,  for  flying 
From  this  gloomy  world,  while  its  gloom  was  un 

known — 
And  the  wild  hymns  she  warbled  so  sweetly,  in  dying 

Were  echoed  in  heaven  by  lips  like  her  own ! 
Weep  not  for  her, — in  her  spring-time  she  flew 
To  that  land  where  the  wings  of  the  soul  are  un 

furl'd, 

And  now,  like  a  star  beyond  evening's  cold  dew, 
Looks  radiantly  down  on  the  tears  of  this  world. 


THE  TURF  SHALL  BE  MY  FRAGRANT 
SHRINE. 

Air — STEVENSON. 

THE  turf  shall  be  my  fragrant  shrine ; 
My  temple,  Lord  !  that  Arch  of  thine ; 
My  censer's  breath  the  mountain  airs, 
And  silent  thoughts  my  only  prayers.2 

My  choir  shall  be  the  moonlight  waves, 
When  murmuring  homeward  to  their  caves, 
Or  when  the  stillness  of  the  sea, 
Even  more  than  music,  breathes  of  Thee ! 

I  '11  seek,  by  day,  some  glade  unknown, 
All  light  and  silence,  like  thy  throne ! 
And  the  pale  stars  shall  be,  at  night, 
The  only  eyes  that  watch  my  rite. 

Thy  heaven,  on  which  't  is  bliss  to  look, 
Shall  be  my  pure  and  shining  book, 
Where  I  shall  read,  in  words  of  flame, 
The  glories  of  thy  wondrous  name. 

I  '11  read  thy  anger  in  the  rack 

That  clouds  awhile  the  day-beam's  track ; 

Thy  mercy  in  the  azure  hue 

Of  sunny  brightness  breaking  through  ! 

There  'a  nothing  bright,  above,  below, 
From  flowers  that  bloom  to  stars  that  glow, 
But  in  its  light  my  soul  can  see 
Some  feature  of  the  Deity ! 

There 's  nothing  dark,  below,  above, 
But  in  its  gloom  I  trace  thy  love, 
And  meekly  wait  that  moment  wh'-n 
Thy  touch  shall  turn  all  bright  again  ! 


1  This  sreonrl  verso,  wliich  I  wrote  lung  nficr  the  first, 
alludes  to  tin!  fiitit  cit"  a  very  lovely  and  amiable  girl,  the 
danghtri  of  tin'  l:iii>  Colonel  lininliri!;i;r,  \vln>  \vm  in.-irrieil 
in  Ashbuiirno  church,  October  31,  If  15,  ami  ilii-il  of  a  fever 
in  a  few  weeks  after :  the  sound  of  her  marriage- holla  seem- 
ed scarcely  out  of  our  ears  when  we  heard  of  her  death. 
Diirinir  her  last  delirium  she  sung  several  hymns,  in  a  voice 
even  clearer  and  sweuter  than  usual,  and  among  th.-iu  w  IT.- 
come  from  the  present  collection  (particularly,  "There  *i 
nothing  bright    but  Heaven,")  which  this  very  interesting 
fill  li:nl  ol'ii-n  heard  during  the  summer. 

2  Pii  orant  tacite. 


SOUND  THE  LOUD  TIMBREL. 

MIRIAM'S  SONG. 

Air — Aviso*.' 

"  And  Miriam,  the  Prophetess,  the  sister  of  Aaron,  took  s 
timbrel  in  her  hand  ;  and  all  the  women  went  out  af>«r  her 
with  tipibrel*  and  with  dances."—  EtatL  xv.  20. 

SOUND  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
Jehovah  has  triumph'd, — his  people  arc  free. 
Sing— for  the  pride  of  the  tyrant  is  broken, 

His  chariots,  his  horsemen,  all  splendid  and  brave- 
How  vain  was  their  boasting !— The  Lord  hath  but 
spoken, 

And  chariots  and  horsemen  are  sunk  in  the  wave. 
Sound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
lehovah  has  triumph'd, — his  people  are  free. 

'raise  to  the  Conqueror,  praise  to  the  Lord ! 

iis  word  was  our  arrow,  his  breath  was  our  uword  !— 

o  shall  return  to  tell  Egypt  the  story 
Of  those  she  sent  forth  in  the  hour  of  her  pride  T 
"or  the  Lord  hath  look'd  out  from  his  pillar  of  glory,' 
And  all  her  brave  thousands  are  dash'd  in  the  tide 
'ound  the  loud  timbrel  o'er  Egypt's  dark  sea ! 
ehovah  has  triumph'd, — his  people  are  free. 


GO,  LET  ME  WEEP! 

Air— STEVENSON. 
Go,  let  me  weep !  there 's  bliss  in  tears, 

When  he  who  sheds  them  inly  feels 
Some  lingering  stain  of  early  yean 

Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steal*. 
The  fruitless  showers  of  worldly  woe 

Fall  dark  to  earth,  and  never  rise ; 
While  tears  that  from  repentance  flow, 

In  bright  exhalcment  reach  the  skirs 
Go,  let  me  weep !  there 's  bliss  in  tears 

When  he  who  sheds  them  inly  feels 
Some  lingering  stain  of  early  yean 

Effaced  by  every  drop  that  steak. 

Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  hours  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  thre 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind. — 
The  warmest  sigh  that  pleasure  heaves 

Is  cold,  is  faint  to  those  that  swell 
The  heart  where  pure  repentance  grieves 

O'er  hours  of  pleasure  loved  too  well ! 
.Leave  me  to  sigh  o'er  days  that  flew 

More  idly  than  the  summer's  wind, 
And,  while  they  pass'd,  a  fragrance  threw 

But  left  no  trace  of  sweets  behind. 


1  I  havo  so  altered  the  character  of  this  air,  w*nrh  is 
in  the  beginning  of  one  of  Arson's  ol.l-f««tm" 

•ton,  that,  without  this  acknowledgment,  it  could  hirdlf 
liink,  IP   :  • 

2  "  And  it  came  to  pa»s,  that,  in  the  morning-watch,  the 
)rd  looked  unto   the    t  ^|itinn«,  through  the 
lar  of  fire  and  of  the  cloud,  and  troubled  thu  hod  of  Un 
;yptians." — Ezod.  ziv.  24. 


161 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


COME  NOT,  OH  LORD ! 

Air — HAYDN. 
COME  not,  oh  Lonl !  in  th*  dread  robe  of  splendour 
Thou  worest  on  the  Mount,  in  the  day  of  thine  ire ; 
Come  veil'd  in  those  shadows,  deep,  awful, but  tender, 
Which  Mercy  flings  over  thy  features  ol  fire ! 

Lord !  thou  rememberest  the  night,  when  thy  nation 
Stood  fronting  her  foe  by  the  red-rolling  stream  ; 

On  Egypt1  tny  pillar  frown'd  dark  desolation, 
While  Israel  bask'd  all  the  night  in  its  beam. 

So,  when  the  dread  clouds  of  anger  enfold  thee. 
From  us,  in  thy  mercy,  the  dark  side  remove ; 

While  shrouded  in  terrors  the  guilty  behold  thee, 
Oh !  turn  upon  us  the  mild  light  of  thy  Love  I 


WERE  NOT  THE  SINFUL  MARY'S  TEARS 

Air — STEVENSON. 
WERE  not  the  sinful  Mary's  tears 

An  offering  worthy  heaven, 
When  o'er  the  faults  of  former  years 

She  wept — and  was  forgiven  ? — 

When,  bringing  every  balmy  sweet 

Her  day  of  luxury  stored, 
She  o'er  her  Saviour's  hallow'd  feet 

The  precious  perfumes  pour'd ; — 

And  wiped  them  with  that  golden  hair, 
Where  once  the  diamond  shone, 

Though  now  those  gems  of  grief  were  there 
Which  shine  for  God  alone ! 

Were  not  those  sweets  so  humbly  shed, — 
That  hair — those  weeping  eyes, — 

And  the  sunk  heart,  that  inly  bled, — 
Heaven's  noblest  sacrifice  ? 

Thou  that  hast  slept  in  error's  sleep, 
Oh  wouldst  thou  wake  in  heaven, 

Like  Mary  kneel,  like  Mary  weep, 
"  Love  much"3 — and  be  forgiven  ! 


AS  DOWN  IN  THE  SUNLESS  RETREATS. 
Air — HAYDN. 

As  down  in  the  sunless  retreats  of  the  ocean, 

Sweet  flowers  are  springing  no  mortal  can  see, 
So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 
Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  thee, 
My  God !  silent  to  thee — 
Pure,  warm,  silent,  to  thee  : 
So,  deep  in  my  soul  the  still  prayer  of  devotion, 
Unheard  by  the  world,  rises  silent  to  thee ! 


1  "  And  it  came  between  the  camp  of  the  Egyptians  and 
the  camp  of  Israel;  anil  it  was  a  cloud  and  darkness  to 
them,  but  it  gave  light  by  nisht  to  these." — F.xud.  xiv.  20. 
My  applic  iiimi  of  tliis  passage  is  burrowed  from  some  late 
prose  writer,  whose  name  I  am  ungrateful  enough  to  forget. 

2  Instead  of"  On  Egypt"  hen-,  it  will  suit  the  music  bet- 
tor to  sin?  "On  these;"  and  in  the  third   line  of  the  next 
•eree,  "While  shrouded"  may,  with  the  game  view,  be  al- 
«red  to  "  While  wrnpp'd." 

3  "  Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven;  for  she  loved 
xiK.h."— St.  Luke  vii.  47. 


As  still  to  the  »t8T  cf  its  worship,  though  clouded, 

The  needle  points  faithfully  o'er  the  dim  sea, 
So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  shrouded, 
The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  to  thee, 
My  God  !  trembling  to  thee — 
True,  fond,  trembling,  to  thee  : 
So,  dark  as  I  roam,  in  this  wintry  world  sJ-'ouded. 
The  hope  of  my  spirit  turns  trembling  f»  ti^e ! 


BUT  WHO  SHALL  SEE. 

Air — STEVENSON. 
BUT  who  shall  see  die  glorious  day  ; 

When,  throned  on  Zion's  brow, 
The  Lord  shall'rend  that  veil  away 

Which  hides  the  nations  now  !' 
When  earth  no  more  beneath  the  fear 

Of  his  rebuke  shall  lie  ;* 
When  pain  shall  cease,  and  every  tear 

Be  wiped  from  every  eye  !3 

Then,  Judah  !  thou  no  more  shall  mourn 

Beneatli  the  heathen's  chain  ; 
Thy  days  of  splendour  shall  return, 

And  all  be  new  again.4 
The  Fount  of  Life  shall  then  be  quafTd 

In  peace,  by  all  who  come  !4 
And  every  wind  that  blows  shall  waft 

Some  long-lost* exile  home ! 


ALMIGHTY  GOD ! 
CHORUS  OF  PRIESTS. 

Air — MOZART. 

ALMIGHTY  God  !  when  round  thy  shrine 
The  palm-tree's  heavenly  branch  we  twine,' 
(Emblem  of  Life's  eternal  ray, 
And  Love  that  "  fadeth  not  away,") 
We  bless  the  flowers,  expanded  all,7 
We  bless  the  leaves  that  never  fall, 
And  trembling  say,  "  In  Eden  (Vus 
The  Tree  of  Life  may  flower  for  us  !" 

When  round  thy  cherubs,  smiling  calm 
Without  their  flames,8  we  wreath  the  palm, 


1  "  And  he  will  destroy  in  this  mountain  the  face  of  the 
overing  cast  over  all  people,  and  the  veil  that  is  spread 
ver  all  nations." — laaiafi  xxv.  7. 

2  "  The  rebuke  of  his  people  shall  he  take  away  from  off 
all  the  earth." — Isaiah  xxv.  8. 

3  "And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes, 
neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain." — Rev.  \.\i.  1. 

4  "  And  he  that  sat  upon  the  throne  said,  Behold,  I  make 
all  things  new." — Rev.  xxi.  5. 

5  "And  whosoever  will,  let  him  take  the  water  of  life 
freely." — Rev.  xxii.  17. 

6  "The  Scriptures  havin<*  declared  that  the  Temple  of 
Jerusalem  was  a  type  of  the  Messiah,  it  is  natural  to  con- 
clude that  the  Palms,  which  made  so  conspicuous  a  figure 
in  that  structure,  represented   that  Life  and    Immortality 
which  were  brought  to  light  by  the  Gospel." — Observation* 
on  Hie  Palm,  as  a  sacred  Emblem,  by  W.  Tighe. 

7  "  And  he  carved  all  the  wall*  of  the  house  round  nbout 
with  carved  figures  of  cherubims,  and  palm-trees,  and  open 
flitcrrs." — 1  KinffS  vi.  SJ9. 

8  "  When  the  passoverof  the  tabernacles  was  revealed  to 
he  great  law-giver  in  the  mount,  then  the  cherubic  imM-jes 

which  appeared  in  that  structure  were  no  longer  surrounded 
iy  flames;  for  the  tabernacle  was  a  tyjie  of  the  dispensation 
of  mercy,  by  which  Jehovah  confirmed  his  gracious  cove 
nant  to  redeem  mankind."—  Observations  on  the  Palm 


SACRED  SONGS. 


Oh  God !  we  feel  the  emblem  true, — 
Thy  mercy  is  eternal  too ! 
Those  cherubs  with  their  smiling  eyes, 
That  crown  of  palm  which  never  dies, 
Are  but  the  types  of  thee  above — 
Eternal  Life,  and  Peace,  and  Love ! 


OH  FAIR!  OH  PUREST! 
SAINT  AUGUSTINE  TO  HIS  SISTER.1 

Air — MOORE. 

OH  fair !  oh  purest !  be  thou  the  dove 
That  flies  alone  to  some  sunny  grove, 
And  lives  unseen,  and  bathes  her  wing, 
All  vestal  white  in  the  limpid  spring. 
There,  if  tlie  hovering  hawk  be  near, 
That  limpid  spring  in  its  mirror  clear 
Reflects  him  ere  he  can  reacli  his  prey, 
And  warns  the  timorous  bird  away. 

Oh  !  be  like  this  dove; 
Oh  fair !  oh  purest !  be  like  this  dove. 

The  sacred  pages  of  God's  own  book 
Shall  be  the  spring,  the  eternal  brook, 
In  whose  holy  mirror,  night  and  day, 
Thou  wilt  study  Heaven's  reflected  ray : — 
And  should  the  foes  of  virtue  dare, 
With  gloomy  wing,  to  seek  thee  there, 
Thou  wilt  see  how  dark  their  shadows  lie 
Between  heaven  and  thee,  and  trembling  fly ! 

Oh  !  be  like  the  dove ; 
Oh  fair !  oh  purest !  be  like  the  dove. 


No.  II. 

ANGEL  OF  CHARITY. 

Air — HANDEL. 
ANGEL  of  Charity,  who  from  above 

Comest  to  dwell  a  pilgrim  here, 
Thy  voice  is  music,  thy  smile  is  love, 

And  pity's  soul  is  in  thy  tear  ! 
When  on  the  shrine  of  God  were  laid 

First-fruits  of  all  most  good  and  fair, 
That  ever  grew  in  Eden's  shade, 

Thine  was  the  holiest  offering  there ! 

Hope  and  her  sister,  Faith,  were  given 
But  as  our  guides  to  yonder  sky ; 

Soon  as  they  reach  the  verge  of  heaven, 
Lost  in  that  blaze  of  bliss,  they  die.2 


1  In  Si.  Augustine's  treatise  upon  the  advantages  or  a 
solitary  life,  addressed  to  his  Bister,  there  i»  tho  following 
fanciful  pnssage,  from  which  tho  thought  of  tliia  s 
taken: — "Te,  soror,  nun<;u  im  nolo  e»se  securam,  »cd  ti- 
rncre,  semperquo  tuain   I'ragiiitutuin  habure  suspectam,  ad 
instar  pavidx  columba-  freqiientnro  rivus  nquirum  et  quasi 
in  speciili)  accipitris  cernere  supervolantin  eHieiem  et  cn- 
fere.     Rivi  «i|ii:irum  ?i'ntriiti;e  snnt  srri|>tiirarum,  quie  de 

Impidissimo  eapientia  Ion  to  profluentes,"  etc.  etc. — Lie  y\t. 
Kremit.  ad  Sororem. 

2  "  Then  Faith  shall  fail,  and  holy  Hope  shall  die, 
One  lost  in  certainty,  and  ono  in  joy."—  Prior. 


But  long  as  Love,  almighty  Lorn, 
Shall  on  his  throne  of  throne*  abide, 

Thou  shall,  oh  !  Charity,  dwell  above, 
Smiling  for  ever  by  his  side. 


THK  SUN 
Air — LORD  MORNING  TON. 
BEHOLD  the  sun,  how  bright 

From  yonder  east  he  spring*, 
As  if  the  soul  of  life  and  light 
Were  breathing  from  his  wings. 

So  bright  the  gospel  broke 

Upon  the  souls  of  men ; 
So  fresh  the  dreaming  world  awoke 

In  truth's  full  radiance  then ! 

Before  yon  sun  arose, 

Stars  cluster'd  through  the  sky — 
But  oh  how  dim,  how  pale  were  those, 

To  his  one  burning  eye ! 

So  truth  lent  many  a  ray, 
To  bless  the  Pagan's  night — 

But,  Lord,  how  weak,  how  cold  were  they 
To  thy  one  glorious  light ! 


LORD,  WHO  SHALL  BEAR  THAT  DAY 

Air — DR.  BOYCE. 
LORD,  who  shall  bear  that  day,  so  dread,  so  splendid 

\\  hen  we  shall  see  thy  angel  hoveriiv 
This  sinful  world,  with  hand  to  heaven  extended, 

And  hear  him  swear  by  thee  that  time  "s  no  moreT 
When  earth  shall  see  thy  fast-consuming  ray 
Who,  mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  1 

When  thro'  the  world  thy  awful  call  hath  sonndis!-. 

'Wake,  oh  ye  dead,  to  judgment  wake,  ye  . 
And  from  the  clouds,  by  seraph  eyes  surroun. 

The  Saviour  shall  put  forth  his  radiant  head  ; ' 
While  earth  and  heaven  before  him  pan  away — * 
Who,  mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  1 

When,  with  a  glance,  the  eternal  Judge  shall  se»cr 

Earth's  evil  spirits  from  the  pure  and 
And  say  to  those,  "  Depart  from  me  for  <•• 

To  these, u  Come,  dwell  with  me  in  endless  light  !"• 


1  "And  tho  .An,"  I  \\lii.-h  I  taw  stand  upon  the  «r»  and 
upon  the  earth,  lil't  d  11,1  hi<  hand  to  heaven,  ami  «waro  by 
Him  that  liveth  for  ever  and  ever,  that  there  should  ba  timsj 
no  longer." — Reo.  x.  5,  6. 

',  and  come  to  judgment." 

3  "Tli  •  in  the  cloud* 
of  heaven, — and  all  the  angel*  with  him."— Matt.  xjuv  3t. 
and  x\v.  111. 

4  "  From  his  faco  the  earth  and  the  heaven  fled  away." 
—  Hrr.  xx.  11. 

5  "  And  before  him  «h:ill  lie  gathered  all  nations,  and  II* 

"  Then  shall  the  king  nay  uiito  them  on  hi*  right  hnnd 
Come,  ye  blessed  of  my  Father,  inherit  the  k:  .-  |..ni  prsr- 
par<  d  for  yi'ti. 

"Then  shall  he  say  al-o  unto  them  on  the  left  hand,  De- 
part from  me,  >• 

"And  i  into  everlasting  pnni-hment 

but  the  righteous  into  life  ete'rnsJ."— Matt.  x»v.  3i,  et  119 


3G6 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  each  and  all  in  silence  take  their  way — 
Who,  mighty  God,  oh  who  shall  bear  that  day  ? 


OH !  TEACH  ME  TO  LOVE  THEE. 

Air — HAYDN. 

On !  teach  me  to  love  thee,  to  feel  what  thou  art, 
Till,  fill'd  with  the  one  sacred  image,  my  heart 

Shall  other  passions  disown — 
Like  some  pure  temple  that  shines  apart, 
Reserved  for  thy  worship  alone  1 

In  joy  and  in  sorrow,  through  praise  and  through 

blame, 
Oh  still  let  me,  living  and  dying  the  same, 

In  thy  service  bloom  and  decay — 
Like  some  lone  altar,  whose  votive  flame 

In  holiness  wasteth  away ! 

Though  born  in  this  desert,  and  doom'd  by  my  birth, 
To  pain  and  affliction,  to  darkness  and  dearth, 

On  thee  let  my  spirit  rely — 
•Like  some  rude  dial,  that,  fix'd  on  earth, 

Still  looks  for  its  light  from  the  sky ! 


WEEP,  CHILDREN  OF  ISRAEL. 

Air — STEVENSON. 

WEEP,  weep  for  him,  the  man  of  God — * 
In  yonder  vale  he  sunk  to  rest, 

But  none  of  earth  can  point  the  sod* 
That  flowers  above  his  sacred  head. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep ! 

Jlis  doctrines  fell  like  heaven's  rain," 

His  words  refresh'd  like  heaven's  dew — 

Oh,  ne'er  shall  Israel  see  again 
A  chief  to  God  and  her  so  true. 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep ! 

Remember  ye  his  parting  gaze, 
His  farewell  song  by  Jordan's  tide, 

When,  full  of  glory  and  of  days, 
He  saw  the  promised  land — and  died  !* 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep ! 

Yet  died  he  not  as  men  who  sink, 
Before  our  eyes,  to  soulless  clay ; 

But,  changed  to  spirit,  like  a  wink 
Of  summer  lightning,  pass'd  away  '.* 
Weep,  children  of  Israel,  weep  ! 


1  "And   llie   children  of  Israel   wept   for   Moses  in  the 
plains  of  Moab."—  Dent,  xxxiv.  8. 

2  "And  he  buried  him  in  a  valley  in  the  land  of  Monh : 
but  no  m-in  knowutli  of  his  sepulchre  unto  this  day." — Ibid. 
ver.  6. 

3  "  My  dortiine  shnll  drop  as  the  rain,  my  speech  shall 
distil  as  (he  dew." — Mascs'  $<•»« 

4  "  I  have  i  ;uise  t  thee  to  we  it  with  thine  eyes,  but  thou 
limit  not  »<>  over  thither."— Ver.  5. 

5  "  As  he  w;i-  iron1::  to  embrace  Eleazer  and  Joshua,  ami 
was  still  lii-eoiirsin:.'  with  them,  it  cloud  stood  over  him  on 
the  stidilcn,  a'nl  he  disappeared  in  u  certain  valley,  although 
ho  wrote  in  the  Holy  Books,  that  he  died,  which  was  done 
out  of  fi-iir,  I'  st  they  should  venture  to  say  that,  because  of 
bis  extraordinary  virtue,  ho  went  to  God." — Josephus,  Book 
V.  chap,  viii 


UKE  MORNING,  WHEN  HER  EARLY 

BREEZE. 
Air — BEETHOVEN. 

LIKE  morning,  when  her  early  breeze 
Breaks  up  the  surface  of  the  seas, 
That,  in  their  furrows,  dark  with  night, 
Her  hand  may  sow  the  seeds  of  light- 

Thy  grace  can  send  its  breathings  o  er 
The  spirit,  dark  and  lost  before, 
And,  freshening  all  its  depths,  prepare 
For  truth  divine  to  enter  there  ! 

Till  David  touch'd  his  sacred  lyre, 
In  silence  lay  the  unbreathing  wire- 
But  when  he  swept  its  chords  along, 
Even  angels  stoop'd  to  hear  that  song 

So  sleeps  the  soul,  till  thou,  O  Lord, 
Shall  deign  to  touch  its  lifeless  chord — 
Till,  waked  by  thee,  its  breath  shall  rise 
In  music,  worthy  of  the  skies  ' 


COME,  YE  DISCONSOLATE. 

Air — German. 
COME,  ye  disconsolate,  where'er  you  languish, 
Come,  at  the  shrine  of  God  fervently  kneel ; 
Here  bring  your  wounded  hearts,  here  tell  your  an- 
guish— 
Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  Heaven  cannot  heal. 

Joy  of  the  desolate,  light  of  the  straying, 

Hope,  when  all  others  die,  fadeless  and  pure, 

Here  speaks  the  Comforter,  in  God's  name  saying— 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrows  that  Heaven  cannot  cure. 

o,  ask  the  infidel,  what  boon  he  brings  us, 
What  charm  for  aching  hearts  he  can  reveal, 
Sweet  as  that  heavenly  promise  Hope  sings  us — 
"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  God  cannot  heal." 


AWAKE,  ARISE,  THY  LIGHT  IS  COME. 

Air — STEVENSON. 
AWAKE,  arise,  thy  light  is  come;' 

The  nations,  that  before  outshone  thee, 
Now  at  thy  feet  lie  dark  and  dumb — 
The  glory  of  the  Lord  is  on  thee ! 

Arise — the  Gentiles,  to  thy  ray, 

From  every  nook  of  earth  shall  cluster; 

And  kings  and  princes  haste  to  pay 
Their  homage  to  thy  rising  lustre.2 

Lift  up  thine  eyes  around,  and  sre, 

O'er  foreign  fields,  o'er  farthest  waters, 

Thy  exiled  sons  return  to  thee, 

To  thee  return  thy  home-sick  daughters.3 


1  "Arise,  shine;  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of 
ho  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee." — Isaiah  Ix. 

2  "  And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light,  and  Kings  to 
he  brightness  of  thy  rising." — ffaia/i  Ix. 

3  "  Lift  up  thine  eyes  round  about  and  see;  all  they  gather 
heui*el\  e.<  tope  her,  they  coinu  to  thee  :  thy  sons  shall  como 
ruin  afur,  and  thy  daughters  shall  he  nursed  at  thy  side." — 16 


SACRED  SONGS. 


3C7 


And  camels  rich,  from  Midian's  tents, 

Shall  lay  their  treasures  down  l>efore  thee  ; 

And  Saba  bring  her  gold.and  scents, 
To  fill  thy  air,  and  sparkle  o'er  thee.1 

See  who  are  these  that,  like  a  cloud,2 
Are  gathering  from  all  earth's  dominions, 

Like  doves,  long  absent,  when  allow'd 
Homeward  to  shoot  their  trembling  pinions. 

Surely  the  isles  shall  wait  for  me,3 

The  ships  of  Tarshish  round  will  hover, 

To  bring  'hy  sons  across  the  sea, 
And  waft  their  gold  and  silver  over. 

And  Lebanon,  thy  pomp  shall  grace — * 
The  fir,  the  pine,  the  palm  victorious 

Shall  beautify  our  Holy  Place, 

And  make  the  ground  I  tread  on  glorious. 

No  more  shall  discord  haunt  thy  ways,5 
Nor  ruin  waste  thy  cheerless  nation ; 

Hut  thou  shall  call  thy  portals,  Praise, 
And  thou  shall  name  thy  walls,  Salvation. 

The  sun  no  more  shall  make  thee  bright,8 
Nor  moon  shall  lend  her  lustre  to  thee ; 

But  GOD  Himself  shall  be  ihy  Light, 
And  flash  eternal  glory  through  thee. 

Thy  sun  shall  never  more  go  down ; 

A.  ray,  from  heav'n  itself  descended, 
Shall  light  thy  everlasting  crown— 

Thy  days  of  mourning  all  are  ended.* 

My  own,  elect,  and  righteous  Land ! 

The  Branch,  for  ever  green  and  vernal, 
Which  I  have  planted  with  this  hand — 

Live  thou  shall  in  Life  Eternal.* 


THERE  IS  A  BLEAK  DESERT. 

Air — CRKSCKNTIM. 
THERE  is  a  bleak  Desert,  where  daylight  grows 

weary 
Of  wasting  its  smile  on  a  region  so  dreary— 

Whal  may  lhal  Desert  be  ? 
T  is  Life,  cheerless  Life,  where  the  few  joys  that  come 
Are  lost,  like  that  daylight,  for 't  is  not  their  home. 


ln're  is  a  lone  Pilgrim,  before  whose  faint  eyes 
tie  water  he  pants  for  but  sparkles  and  flies — 

Who  may  that  Pilgrim  be  ? 
is  Man,  hapless  Man,  through  this  life  tempted  OB 
y  fair  shining  hopes,  that  in  shining  are  gone. 

here  is  a  bright  Fountain,  through  that  Desert  si  eat 

ing, 

o  pure  lips  alone  its  refreshment  revealing — 
What  may  that  Fountain  be  ? 
is  Truth,  holy  Truth,  that,  like  springs  under 

ground, 
y  the  gifted  of  Heaven  alone  can  be  found.1 

"here  is  a  fair  Spirit,  whose  wand  hath  the  spell 
^o  point  where  those  waters  in  secrecy  dwelt— 

Who  may  that  Spirit  be? 
T  is  Faith,  humble  Faith,  who  hath  leam'd  that 

where'er 
[er  wand  stoops  to  worship,  the  Truth  must  be  there 


SINCE  FIRST  THY  WORD. 
Air — NICHOLAS  FREEMAN. 

SINCE  first  thy  word  awaked  my  heart, 
Like  new  life  dawning  o'er  me, 

Where'er  1  turn  mine  eyes,  Thou  art, 
All  light  and  love  before  me. 

Nought  else  I  feel,  or  hear  or  see- 
All  bonds  of  earth  1  sever— 

Thee,  oh  God,  and  only  Thee 
I  live  for,  now  and  ever. 

Like  him,  whose  fetters  dropp'd  away 

When  light  shone  o'er  his  prison,* 
My  spirit,  touch'd  by  Mercy's  ray, 

Hath  from  her  chains  ar. 
And  shall  a  soul  Thou  bid'st  be  free 

Return  to  bondage? — never! 
Thee,  oh  God,  and  only  Thee 

1  live  for,  now  and  ever. 


1  «  Tlic  multitude  of  camels  shall  cover  thee ;  the  drome 
darics  of  Mid.m.  ami   Epbah;   all   thry  frm.i  BMM  .ha 
co.no  ;  tlipy  *!mll  bring  #M  and  incense.  -ls<uah\x. 

2  "  Who  an-  ill.  se  ihiii  lly  as  a  cloud,  and  an  the  do»e 
to  their  windows?" — Ifi.  .  . 

•t  ii  Surely  tin'  isl.-s  shall  wait  for  me,  and  the  ah.ps  n 
Tarnish  lirsi,  10  l.rin;  thy  sons  from  far,  tlio.r  silver  an 
their  sold  with  them." — /A. 

4  WTfci  (tor)  "i   l.rhanon  shall  come  unto  then;  B* 
trpe    .!„.  pumtn-,    and   th-  l>«x    tojfrth.-r,  t,,   b.-.-int.ly  tl 
place  of  my  sn.Ktuary,  and  I  will  ii.uk,:  the  place  of  my  fe 

B'T"  Violin*-  shall  no  morn  he  heard  in  thy  land  wnsli, 
wdeitmctionwitWfl  -hy  l.«r,l.-r-  ;  I...;  Him,  .halt  call  ll 
wall,  Salvation,  and  lliv  g:>lrs,  Prais-.'  -/ft. 

fi  "Tliv  Ml  JH*  h,-  i...  MOM  thy  lisht  ''V  .lay  ;  n.-.lh.-r  f 
•  -lltnos  "«h-ill  lh<-  mo,...  f  vr  ii»ht  unto  HUH-;  l.nt  tlir  l,» 
H  he  u±  ln''e  an  ev,%l;.ti,,g  l.ghl,  and  ,hy  CM  ,1 

*7^TfcS" «''»« n°  <"«"<?" 'i<iwiv  f"r  thc  Lor<1  '' 

thine  rvorhi»t.ng  light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourning  ih. 

""s'-T^opl/nlso  shall  be  all  rightoons;  thoy  shall  i 
ncnt  tl'o  had  for  ever,  the  brand,  of  my  pbnt.ng,  the  wo 
Df  mv  hands."—/*. 


HARK!  'T  IS  THE  BREE/i'.. 

Air — ROUSSEAU. 
HARK  !— 't  is  the  breeze  of  twilight  calling 

Earth's  weary  children  to  repose  ; 
While,  round  the  couch  of  Nature  falling, 

Gently  the  night's  soft  curtain*  close. 
Soon  o'er  a  world,  in  sleep  reclining, 

Num^rless  stars,  through  yonder  dark, 
Shall  look,  like  eyes  of  cherubs  shining 

From  out  the  veils  that  hid  the  Ark  ! 

Guard  us,  oh  Thou,  who  never  slocprst, 
Thou  who,  in  silence  throned  above. 

Throughout  all  time,  unwearied,  K 
Thy  watch  of  Glory,  Power,  and  Love. 


1  In  Binging,  the  following  line  hail  bottet  he  adopted— 

«  Can  but  by  the  gifted  of  heaven  be  found." 

2  "  And,  behold",  th,-  nnsrl  -.f  .ho   l.-rd  ram,-  ill  «n  him, 
and  a  light  nhin.-.l  in  the  ,,n.on.  and  hi.  chain,  fell  off  f 
hi«  hand*."— Ail*  »"•  7. 


363 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Grant  that,  beneath  thine  eye,  securely 
Our  souls,  awhile  from  life  withdrawn, 

May,  in  their  darkness,  stilly,  purely, 
Like  "sealed  fountains,"  rest  till  dawn. 


WHERE  IS  YOUR  DWELLING,  YE 
SAINTED? 

Air — II.vssE. 

WHERE  is  your  dwelling,  ye  sainted  ? 

Through  what  Elysium  more  bright 
Than  fancy  or  hope  ever  painted, 

Walk  ye  in  glory  and  light  ? 
Who  the  same  kingdom  inherits  ? 

Breathes  there  a  soul  that  may  dare 
Look  to  that  world  of  spirits  ? 

Or  hope  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 

/ 
Sages  who,  ev'n  in  exploring 

Nature  through  all  her  bright  ways 
Went,  like  the  seraphs,  adoring, 

And  veil'd  your  eyes  in  the  blaze — 
Martyrs,  who  left  for  our  reaping 

Truths  you  had  sown  in  your  blood — 
Sinners,  whom  long  years  of  weeping 

Chasten'd  from  evil  to  good — 

Maidens  who,  like  the  young  Crescent, 

Turning  away  your  pale  brows 
From  earth,  and  the  light  of  the  Present, 

Look'd  to  your  Heavenly  Spouse — 
Say,  through  what  region  enchanted 

Walk  ye,  in  heaven's  sweet  air  ? 
Or,  oh,  to  whom  is  it  granted, 

Bright  souls,  to  dwell  with  you  there  ? 


LOW  LIGHTLY  MOUNTS  THE  MUSE'S 
/  WING. 

Air — ANONYMOUS. 

How  lightly  mounts  the  Muse's  wing, 

Whose  theme  is  in  the  skies — 
Like  morning  larks,  that  sweeter  sing 

The  nearer  heaven  they  rise  ! 

Though  Love  his  wreathed  lyre  may  tune, 

Yet  ah  !  the  flowers  he  round  it  wreathe? 
Were  pluck'd  beneath  pale  Passion's  moon, 

Whose  madness  from  their  odour  breathes. 
How  purer  far  the  sacred  lute, 

Round  which  Devotion  tiea 
Sweet  flowers  that  turn  to  heav'nly  fruit, 

And  palm  that  never  dies. 

Though  War's  high-sounding  harp  may  be 

Most  welcome  to  the  hero's  ears, 
Alas,  his  chords  of  victory 

Are  bathed,  all  o'er,  with  tears. 
How  far  more  sweet  their  numbers  run 

Who  hymn,  like  saints  above, 
No  victor,  but  the  Eternal  One, 

No  trophies  but  of  Love ! 


GO  FORTH  TO  THE  MOUNT. 

Air — STEVEXSON. 
Go  forth  to  the  Mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come  ! 
From  that  time,2  when  the  moon  upon  Ajalor.'s  vale, 
Looking  motionless  down,3  saw  the  kings  of  the 

earth, 
In  the  presence  of  God's  mighty  Champion,  grow 

pale — 

Oh  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  mirth ! 
Go  forth  to  the  Mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home, 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come ! 

Bring  myrtle  and  palm — bring  the  boughs  of  each  tree 
That  is  worthy  ft  wave  o'er  the  tents  of  the  Free.4 
From  that  day,  when  the  footsteps  of  Israel  shone, 

With  a  light  not  their  own,  through  the  Jordan's 

deep  tide, 
Whose  waters  shrunk  back  as  the  Ark  glided  on — * 

Oh  never  had  Judah  an  hour  of  such  pride ! 
Go  forth  to  the  mount — bring  the  olive-branch  home 
And  rejoice,  for  the  day  of  our  Freedom  is  come ! 


IS  IT  NOT  SWEET  TO  THINK,  HERE- 

AFTER. 
Air — HAYDN. 

Is  it  not  sweet  to  think,  hereafter, 

When  the  spirit  leaves  this  sphere, 
Love,  with  deathless  wings,  shall  waft  her 

To  those  she  long  hath  mourn'd  for  here? 
Hearts,  from  which  't  was  death  to  sever, 

Eyes,  this  world  can  ne'er  restore, 
There,  as  warm,  as  bright  as  ever, 

Shall  meet  us  and  be  lost  no  more. 

When  wearily  we  wander,  asking 

Of  earth  and  heaven,  where  are  they, 
Beneath  whose  smile  we  once  lay  basking — 

Blest,  and  thinking  bliss  would  stay  ! 
Hope  still  lifts  her  radiant  finger 

Pointing  to  the  eternal  home, 
Upon  whose  portal  yet  they  linger, 

Looking  back  for  us  to  come. 

Alas — alas — doth  Hope  deceive  us  ? 

Shall  friendship — love — shall  all  those  ties 
That  bind  a  moment,  and  then  leave  us, 

Be  found  again  where  nothing  dies  ? 
Oh  !  if  no  other  boon  were  given, 

To  keep  our  hearts  from  wrong  and  stain, 
Who  would  not  try  to  win  a  heaven 

Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again  ? 


1  "  And  that  they  should  publish  and  proclaim  in  all  their 
cities,  and  in  Jerusalem,  saying,  Go  forth  unto  the  mount 
and  fetch  olive-branches,"  etc.  etc. — AV/j.  viii.  ]">. 

2  "  For  since  the  days  of  Joshua  the  son-of  Nun,  unto 
that  day,  had  not  the  children  of  Israel  done  so:  and  there 
was  very  great  gladncgg." — Ib.  17. 

3  "Sun,  stand  thou  still  upon  Gibeon;  and  thou,  Moon 
in  the  valley  of  Ajalnn." — Josh.  x.  12. 

4  "  Fetch  olive-brancheg  and  pine-branches,  and  myrtle- 
branches,  and  palm-branches,  and  branches  of  thick  treeg, 
to  make  booths." — JVVA.  viii.  15. 

5  "  And  the  priests  that  bare  the  ark  of  the  covenant  of 
the  Lord  stood  firm  on  dry  ground  in  the  midst  of  Jordan,  and 
all  the  Israelites  passed  over  on  dry  ground." — Josh  iii  17 


SACRED  SONGS. 


WAR  AGAINST  BABYLON. 

Air — NOVELLO. 

"WAR  against  Babylon!"  shout  we  around,1 
Be  our  banners  through  earth  unfiirl'd  ; 
Rise  up,  ye  nations,  ye  kings,  at  the  sound — * 

"  War  against  Babylon!"  shout  through  the  world  ! 
Oh  thoti,  that  dwellest  on  many  waters,1 

Tiiy  day  of  pride  is  ended  now ; 
And  die  dark  curse  of  Israel's  daughters 


1  '•  Shout  ng;iinst  her  lound  about." — Jcr.  i.  15. 

2  "  Sot   up   a  standard   in  the   land,  blow  the  trumpet 
among  tin1  iiu'.uins,  |>ri'|>:iro  ihf  nations  against  her,  call  to- 
•Miwr  •aaim)  her  tlio  kingdoms,"  etc,,  etc. — Ib.  li.  27. 

3  "Oh  them,  inatdwi-lleat  upon  many  w»iers,  thy  end  is 
eonae."— Jer  i.  13. 


Breaks,  like  a  thunder-«)oud,  OTer  thy  brow ! 
War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 

Make  bright  the  pr""^,  and  pathor  the  shields,1 

Set  the  standard  of  God  on  high — 
Swarm  we,  like  locusts,  o'er  all  her  fields, 

"  Zion"  our  watchword,  and  "  vengeance"  our  cry ! 
Woe !  woe ! — the  time  of  thy  visitation* 

Is  come,  proud  Land,  thy  doom  is  cast—- 
And the  bleak  wave  of  desolation 

Sweeps  o'er  thy  guilty  head,  at  last ! 

War,  war,  war  against  Babylon  ! 


1  "  Mnke  bright  the  arrows;  gather  '""  »hieJd«....  »st 
the  standard  upon  the  walla  of  Babylon." — /*. 

2  "  Woe  unto  them!  fur  their  day  is  come,  the  U«    of 

their  vuualion." — Ib. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


BLACK  AND  BLUE  EYES. 

THE  brilliant  black  eye 

May  in  triumph  let  fly 
All  its  darts,  without  caring  who  feela  'em ; 

But  the  soft  eye  of  blue, 

Though  it  scatter  wounds  too, 
*  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'em. 

Dear  Fanny !  dear  Fanny ! 

The  soft  eye  of  blue, 

Though  it  scatter  wounds  too, 
IB  much  better  pleased  when  it  heals  'em,  dear  Fanny ! 

The  black  eye  may  say, 
"Come  and  worship  my  ray, — 
By  adoring,  perhaps  you  may  move  me  !" 
But  the  blue  eye,  half  hid, 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
I  love,  and  I'm  yours  if  you  love  me !" 
Dear  Fanny !  dear  Fanny ! 
The  blue  eye,  half  hid, 
Says,  from  under  its  lid, 
*  I  love,  and  am  yours  if  you  love  me  !"  dear  Fanny ! 

Then  tell  me,  oh !  why, 

In  that  lovely  eye, 
Not  a  charm  of  its  tint  I  discover; 

Or  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
That  ever  said  "  No"  to  a  lover  ? 

Dear  Fanny !  dear  Fanny ! 

Oh !  why  should  you  wear 

The  only  blue  pair 
Thit  ever  said  "No"  to  a  lover,  dear  Fanny  ? 


DEAR  FANNY. 
SHE  has  beauty,  but  still  you  must  keep  your  heart 

cool; 

She  has  wit,  but  you  must  not  be  caught  so; 
Thus  Reason  advises,  but  Reason  's  a  fool, 
And  't  is  not  the  first  time  I  have  thought  so, 
Dear  Fanny. 

She  is  lovely !"  Then  love  her,  nor  let  the  bliss  fly 
'T  is  the  charm  of  youth's  vanishing  season : 
Thus  Love  has  advised  me,  and  who  will  deny 
That  Love  reasons  much  better  than  Reason, 
Dear  Fanny  ? 


CEASE,  OH  CEASE  TO  TEMPT ! 
CEASE,  oh  cease  to  tempt 

My  tender  heart  to  love ! 
It  never,  never  can 

So  wild  a  flame  approve. 
All  its  joys  and  pa-ins 

To  others  I  resign ; 
But  be  the  vacant  heart, 

The  careless  bosom  mine. 
Then  cease,  oh  cease  to  tempt 

My  tender  heart  to  love  ! 
It  never,  never  can 

So  wild  a  flame  approve. 

S;iy,  oh  say  no  more 

That  lovers'  pains  are  sweet  1 
I  never,  never  can 

Believe  the  fond  deceit. 
Weeping  day  and  night, 

Consuming  life  in  sighs, — 
This  is  the  lover's  lot, 

And  this  I  ne'er  could  prize. 


Then  say,  oh  say  no  more 
That  lovers'  pains  are  sweet . 

I  never,  never  can 

Believe  the  fond  deceit. 


DID  NOT. 

'T  WAS  a  new  feeling — something  more 
Than  ws  had  dared  to  own  before, 

Which  then  we  hid  not,  which  then  we  hid  nol 
We  saw  it  in  each  other's  eye, 
And  wish'd,  in  every  murmur'd  sigh, 

To  speak,  but  did  not ;  to  speak,  but  did  not. 

She  felt  my  lips'  impassion'd  touch — 
'T  was  the  first  time  I  dared  so  much, 

And  yet  she  chid  not,  and  yet  she  chid  not ; 
But  whisper'd  o'er  my  burning  brow, 
"  Oh  !  do  you  doubt  I  love  you  now  ?" 

Sweet  soul !  I  did  not ;  sweet  soul !  I  did  not 

Warmly  I  felt  her  bosom  thrill, 

I  press'd  it  closer,  closer  still, 
Though  gently  bid  not,  though  gently  bid  not ; 

Till — oh !  the  world  hath  seldom  heard 

Of  lovers,  who  so  nearly  err'd, 
And  yet  who  did  not,  and  yet  who  did  not. 


FANNY,  DEAREST! 

OH  !  had  I  leisure  to  sigh  and  mourn, 

Fanny,  dearest !  for  thee  I'd  sigh ; 
And  every  smile  on  my  cheek  should  turn 

To  tears,  when  thou  art  nigh. 
But,  between  love,  and  wine,  and  sleep, 

So  busy  a  life  I  live, 
That  even  the  time  it  would  take  to  weep 

Is  more  than  my  heart  can  give 
Then  bid  me  not  despair  and  pine, 

Fanny,  dearest  of  all  the  dears! 
The  love,  that 's  order'd  to  bathe  in  wmo, 

Would  be.  sure  to  take  cold  in  tears. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


371 


Reflected  bright  in  this  heart  of  mine, 
Fanny,  dearest !  thy  image  lies ; 

liut,  oh  !  the  mirror  would  cease  to  shine, 
If  dimm'd  too  often  with  sighs. 

They  lose  the  half  of  beauty's  light, 
Who  view  it  through  sorrow's  tear ; 

And  't  is  but  to  see  thee  truly  bright 
That  I  keep  my  eye-beam  clear. 

Then  wait  no  longer  till  tears  shall  flow- 
Fanny,  dearest !  the  hope  is  vain  ; 

If  sunshine  cannot  dissolve  thy  snow, 
J  shall  never  attempt  it  with  rain. 


FANNY  WAS  IN  THE  GROVE. 
FANNY  was  in  the  grove, 

And  Lubin,  her  boy,  was  nigh ; 
Her  eye  was  warm  with  love, 

And  her  soul  was  warm  as  her  eye. 
Oh  !  oh  !  if  Lubin  now  would  sue, 
Oh !  oh  !  what  could  Fanny  do  ? 

Fanny  was  made  for  bliss, 
But  she  was  young  and  shy; 

And  when  he  had  stolon  a  kiss, 
She  blush'd,  and  said  with  a  sigh — 

"  Oh ! oh !  Lubin,  ah  !  tell  me  true, 

Oh !  oh !  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

They  wander'd  beneath  the  shade, 
Her  eye  was  dimm'd  with  a  tear, 

For  ah !  the  poor  little  maid 

Was  thrilling  with  love  and  fear. 

Oh !  oh  !  if  Lubin  would  but  sue, 

Oh !  oh !  what  could  Fanny  do ! 

Sweetly  along  the  grove 

The  birds  sang  all  the  while, 

And  Fanny  now  said  to  her  love, 
With  a  frown  that  was  half  a  smile— 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  why  did  Lubin  sue  ? 

Oh !  oh !  why  did  Lubin  sue  ?" 


Viver  en  Cadenas. 
FROM  LIFE  WITHOUT  FREEDOM. 

FROM  life  without  freedom,  oh!  who  would  not  fly 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  oh !  who  would  not  di 
Hark!  hark '.'tis  the  trumpet!  the  call  of  the  brave, 
The  death-song  of  tyrants  and  dirge  of  the  slave. 
Our  country  lies  bleeding— oh !  fly  to  her  aid ; 
One  arm  that  defends  is  worth  hosts  that  invade. 
From  life  without  freedom,  oh!  who  would  not  fly? 
For  one  day  of  freedom,  oh !  who  would  not  die 

In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  remains— 
The  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  no  chain 
On,  on  to  the  combat !  the  heroes  that  bleed 
For  virtue  and  mankind  arc  heroes  indeed. 
And  oh !  even  if  Freedom  from  this  world  be  driven 
Despair  not-at  least  we  shall  find  her  in  heaven. 
In  death's  kindly  bosom  our  last  hope  romains- 
The  dead  fear  no  tyrants,  the  grave  has  no  chains. 


HERE'S  THE  BOWER. 

HERE  's  the  bower  she  loved  no  much, 
And  the  tree  she  planted  ; 

Here  'a  the  harp  she  used  to  touch—- 
Oh !  how  that  touch  enchanted ! 

Roses  now  unheeded  sigh ; 
Where 's  the  hand  to  wreath  them  7 

Songs  around  neglected  lie. 
Where  'a  the  lip  to  breathe  them  7 

Here  'a  the  bower  she  loved  so  much, 
And  the  tree  she  planted ; 

Here 's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch — 
Oh  !  how  that  touch  enchanted ! 

Spring  may  bloom,  but  she  we  loved 
Ne'er  shall  feel  its  sweetness ! 

Time,  that  once  so  fleetly  moved, 
Now  hath  lost  its  fleetness. 

Years  were  days,  when  here  she  stray'd, 
Days  were  moments  near  her ; 

Heaven  ne'er  form'd  a  b:ighter  maid, 
Nor  Pity  wept  a  dearer ! 

Hero 's  the  bower  she  loved  softnuch, 
And  the  tree  she  planted ; 

Here 's  the  harp  she  used  to  touch—- 
Oh! how  that  touch  enchanted  ! 


HOLY  BE  THE  PILGRIM'S  SLEEP 

HOLT  be  the  Pilgrim's  sleep, 

From  the  dreams  of  terror  free ; 
And  may  all,  who  wake  to  weep, 

Rest  to-night  as  sweet  as  he ! 
Hark !  hark  !  did  I  hear  a  vesper  swell  1 

No,  no— it  is  my  loved  Pilgrim's  prayer  i 
S'o,  no — 't  was  but  the  convent  bell, 
That  tolls  upon  the  midnight  air. 
Holy  be  the  Pilgrim's  slerp  ! 
Now,  now  again  the  voice  I  hear ; 
Some  holy  man  is  wand'ring  near. 

O  Pilgrim !  where  hast  thon  been  roaming? 
Dark  is  the  way,  and  midnight's  coming. 
Stranger,  I've  been  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
And,  Pilgrim,  say,  where  art  thou  going? 
Dark  is  the  way,  the  winds  are  blowing. 
Weary  with  wand'ring,  weak,  I  falter, 
To  breathe  my  vows  at  Agne«'  altar. 
Strew,  then,  oh !  strew  his  bed  of  rushes ; 
Here  he  shall  rest  till  morning  blushes 

Pence  to  them  whose  days  are  dont, 

Death  their  eyelids  closing ; 
Ilark  !  the  burial-rite  's  begun— 

•T  is  time  for  our  reposing. 

Hore,  then,  my  Pilgrim's  course  »  o'er: 

•Tis  my  master!   'tis  my  master!   Wclccm"  I 

once  more ; 

Come  to  our  shed— all  toil  is  over 
Pilgrim  no  more,  but  knight  and  1 


372 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  CAN  NO  LONGER  STIFLE. 

I  CAN  no  longer  stifle, 
How  much  1  long  to  rifle 

That  little  part 

They  call  the  heart 
Of  you,  you  lovely  trifle  ! 
You  can  no  longer  doubt  it, 
So  let  me  be  about  it ; 

Or  on  my  word, 

And  by  the  Lord, 
I  '11  trv  to  do  without  it. 

This  pretty  thing 's  as  light,  Sir, 
As  any  paper  kite,  Sir, 

And  here  and  there, 

And  God  knows  where, 
She  takes  her  wheeling  flight,  Sir. 
Us  lovers,  to  amuse  us, 
Unto  her  tail  she  nooses ; 

There,  hung  like  bobs 

Of  straw,  or  nobs, 
She  whisks  us  where  she  chuses. 


I  SAW  THE  MOON  RISE  CLEAR. 

I  SAW  ihe  moon  rise  clear 

O'er  hills  and  vales  of  snow, 
Nor  told  my  fleet  rein-deer 

The  track  I  wish'd  to  go. 
But  quick  he  bounded  forth ; 

For  well  my  rein-deer  knew 
I  've  but  one  path  on  earth —    ' 

The  path  which  leads  to  you. 

The  gloom  that  winter  cast 

How  soon  the  heart  forgets ! 
When  summer  brings,  at  last, 

The  sun  that  never  sets. 
So  Jawn'd  my  love  for  you ; 

Thus  chasing  every  pain, 
Than  summer  sun  more  true, 

'T  will  never  set  again. 


JOYS  THAT  PASS  AWAY. 

Joys  that  pass  away  like  this, 

Alas !  are  purchased  dear, 
If  every  beam  of  bliss 

Is  follow'd  by  a  tear. 
Fare  thee  well !  oh,  fare  thee  well ! 
Soon,  too  soon  thou  'st  broke  the  spelL 
Oh  !  I  ne'er  can  love  again 

The  girl  whose  faithless  art 
Could  break  so  dear  a  chain, 

Ana  with  it  break  my  heart. 

Once,  when  truth  was  in  those  eyes, 

How  beautiful  they  shone ; 
But  now  that  lustre  flies, 

For  truth,  alas  !  is  gone. 
P  are  thee  well !  oh,  fare  thee  well ! 
How  I  've  loved  my  hate  shall  tell 


Oh !  how  lorn,  how  lost  would  prove 
Thy  wretched  victim's  fate, 

If,  when  deceived  in  love, 
He  could  not  fly  to  hate  ! 


LIGHT  SOUNDS  THE  HARP. 

LIGHT  sounds  the  harp  when  the  combat  is  over — 

When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom — 
When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover 
And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 
But,  when  the  foe  returns, 
Again  the  hero  burns  ; 

High  flames  the  sword  in  his  hand  once  more ; 
The  clang  of  mingling  arms 
Is  then  the  sound  that  charms, 
And  brazen  notes  of  war,  by  thousand  trumpets  roar. 
Oh !  then  comes  the  harp,  when  the  combat  is  over— 

When  heroes  are  resting,  and  joy  is  in  bloom — 

When  laurels  hang  loose  from  the  brow  of  the  lover, 

And  Cupid  makes  wings  of  the  warrior's  plume. 

Light  went  the  harp  when  the  War-god,  reclining, 
Lay  lull'd  on  the  white  arm  of  Beauty  to  rest — 
When  round  his  rich  armour  the  myrtle  hung  twining, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 

nest. 

But,  when  the  battle  came, 
The  hero's  eye  breathed  flame : 
Soon  from  his  neck  the  white  arm  was  flung ; 
While  to  his  wakening  ear 
No  other  sounds  were  dear, 

But  brazen  notes  of  war,  by  thousand  trumpets  supg. 
But  then  came  the  light  harp,  when  danger  was  ended. 
And  Beauty  once  more  lull'd  the  War-god  to  rest ; 
When  tresses  of  gold  with  his  laurels  lay  blended, 
And  flights  of  young  doves  made  his  helmet  their 
nest. 


LITTLE  MARY'S  EYE. 

LITTLE  Mary's  eye 

Is  roguish,  and  all  that,  Sir ; 
But  her  little  tongue 

Is  quite  too  full  of  chat,  sir 
Since  her  eye  can  speak 

Enough  to  tell  her  blisses, 
If  she  stir  her  tongue, 

Why — stop  her  mouth  with  kisses 
Oh  !  the  little  girls, 

Wily,  warm,  and  winning  ; 
When  the  angels  tempt  us  to  it, 

WTio  can  keep  from  sinning  ? 

Nanny's  beaming  eye 
Looks  as  warm  as  any  ; 
But  her  cheek  was  pale — 

Well-a-day,  poor  Nanny ! 
Nanny,  in  the  field, 

She  pluck'd  a  little  posie, 
And  Nanny's  pallid  cheek 

Soon  grew  sleek  and  rosy. 
Oh !  the  little  girls,  etc 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


ST73 


Sue,  the  pretty  nun, 

Prays  with  warm  emotion ; 
Sweetly  rolls  her  eye 

In  love  or  in  devotion. 
If  her  pious  heart 

Softens  to  relieve  you, 
She  gently  shares  the  crime, 

With,  "  Oh !  may  God  forgive  you  !" 
Oh  !  the  little  girls, 

Wily,  warm,  and  winning ; 
When  angels  tempt  us  to  it, 

Who  can  keep  from  sinning  ? 


LOVE  AND  THE  SUN-DIAL. 

YOUNG  Love  found  a  Dial  once,  in  a  dark  shade, 
Where  man  ne'er  had  wander'd  nor  sun-beam  play'd  : 
"Why  thus  in  darkness  lie  ?"  whisper'd  young  Love, 
"  Thou,  whose  gay  hours  should  in  sun-shine  move." 
"  I  ne'er,"  said  the  Dial,  "  have  seen  the  warm  sun, 
So  noonday  and  midnight  to  me,  Love,  are  one." 

Then  Love  took  the  Dial  away  from  the  shade, 
And  placed  her  where  Heaven's  beam  warmly  play'd. 
There  she  reclined,  beneath  Love's  gazing  eye, 
While,  all  mark'd  with  sun-shine,  her  hours  flew  by. 
"  Oh  !  how,"  said  the  Dial,  "  can  any  fair  maid, 
That 's  bora  to  be  shone  upon,  rest  in  the  shade  ?" 

But  night  now  comes  on,  and  the  sun-beam 's  o'er, 
And  Love  stops  to  gaze  on  the  Dial  no  more. 
Then  cold  and  neglected,  while  bleak  rain  and  winds 
Are  storming  around  her,  with  sorrow  she  finds 
That  Love  had  but  number'd  a  few  sunny  hours, 
And  left  the  remainder  to  darkness  and  showers ! 


LOVE  AND  TIME. 
'T  is  said — but  whether  true  or  not 

Let  bards  declare  who  've  seen  'em— 
That  Love  and  Time  have  only  got 
One  pair  of  wings  between  'cm. 
In  courtship's  first  delicious  hour, 
The  boy  full  oft  can  spare  'em. 
So,  loitering  in  his  lady's  bower, 
He  lets  the  gray-beard  wear  'em. 
Then  is  Time's  hour  of  play ; 
Oh !  how  he  flies  away ! 

But  short  the  moments,  short  as  bright, 

When  he  the  wings  can  borrow  ; 
If  Time'to-day  has  had  his  flight, 
Love  takes  his  turn  to-morrow. 
Ah !  Time  and  Love !  your  change  is  then 

The  saddest  and  most  trying, 
When  one  begins  to  limp  again, 
And  t'  other  takes  to  flying. 
Then  is  Love's  hour  to  stray ; 
Oh !  how  he  flies  away  ! 
But  there 's  a  nymph— whose  chains  I  feel, 

And  bless  the  silken  fetter— 
Who  knows-the  dear  one  !-how  to  deal 

With  Love  and  Time  much  better. 
So  well  she  checks  their  wanderings, 
So  peacefully  she  pairs  'em, 


That  Love  with  her  ne'er  think*  of  wings, 

And  Time  for  ever  wean  'em. 
This  is  Time's  holiday ; 

Oh !  how  he  flies  away ! 


LOVE,  STY  MARY,  DWELLS  WITH  THEE. 

LOVE,  my  Mary,  dwells  with  the* ; 
On  thy  cheek,  his  bed  I  we. 
No — that  cheek  is  pale  with  care ; 
Love  can  find  no  roses  there. 
'T  is  not  on  the  cheek  of  rose 
Love  can  find  the  best  repose : 
In  my  heart  his  home  thou  'It  see ; 
There  he  lives,  and  lives  for  ihee. 

Love,  my  Mary,  ne'er  can  roam, 
While  he  makes  that  eye  his  home. 
No — the  eye  with  sorrow  dim 
Ne'er  can  be  a  home  for  him. 
Yet,  't  is  not  in  beaming  eyes 
Love  for  ever  warmest  lies : 
In  my  heart  his  home  thou  'It  see , 
There  he  lives,  and  lives  for  thee. 


LOVE'S  LIGHT  SUMMER  CLOUD 
'AtN  and  sorrow  shall  vanish  before  us — 
Youth  may  wither,  but  feeling  will  last; 
nd  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  us, 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cast. 
Oh !  if  to  love  thee  more 
Each  hour  I  number  o'er — 
If  this  a  passion  be 
Worthy  of  thee, 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus.  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  latt : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee, 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cut. 

Rest,  dear  bosom !  no  sorrows  shall  pain  thee. 

Sighs  of  pleasure  alone  shall  thou  steal ; 
Beam,  bright  eyelid !  no  weeping  shall  stain  thee, 
Tears  of  rapture  alone  shall  thou  feeL 
Oh!  if  there  be  a  charm 
In  love,  to  banish  harm — 
If  pleasure's  truesl  spell 
Be  lo  love  well, 
Then  be  happy,  for  thus  I  adore  thee. 

Charms  may  wither,  but  feeling  shall  last : 
All  the  shadow  that  e'er  shall  fall  o'er  thee. 
Love's  light  summer-cloud  sweetly  shall  cut. 


LOVE,    WAND'RING    THROUGH    THE 

GOLDEN  MAZE. 
LOVK,  wand'ring  through  the  golden  maw 

Of  my  beloved's  hair, 
Traced  every  lock  with  fond  delays. 

And,  doting,  linger'd  there. 
And  soon  he  found  't  were  vain  to  fly  , 

His  heart  was  close  confined, 
And  every  curlct  was  a  lie— 

A  chain  by  beauty  twined 


874 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


WERRILY  EVERY  BOSOM  BOUNDETII. 

THE   TYROLESE   SONG   OF   LIBERTY. 

MERRILY  every  bosom  boundeth. 

Merrily,  oh !  merrily,  oh  ! 
Where  the  Song  of  Freedom  soundeth, 
Merrily,  oh  !  merrily,  oh ! 
There  the  warrior's  arms 
Shed  more  splendour, 
There  the  maiden's  charms 

Shine  more  tender — 
Every  joy  the  land  surroundeth, 
Merrily,  oh !  merrily,  oh ! 

Wea/Hy  every  bosom  pineth, 

Wearily,  oh  !  wearily,  oh  ! 

Where  the  bond  of  slavery  twineth, 

Wearily,  oh !  wearily,  oh  ! 

There  the  warrior's  dart 

Hath  no  fleetness, 
There  the  maiden's  heart 

Hath  no  sweetness — 
Every  flower  of  life  declineth, 
Wearily,  oh !  wearily,  oh ! 

Cheerily  then  from  hfll  and  valley. 

Cheerily,  oh !  cheerily,  oh  ! 

like  your  native  fountains  sally, 

Cheerily,  oh !  cheerily,  oh ! 

If  a  glorious  death, 

Won  by  bravery, 

Sweeter  be  than  breath 

Sigh'd  in  slavery, 
Round  the  flag  of  Freedom  rally, 
Cheerily,  oh  !  cheerily,  oh ! 


NOW  LET  THE  WARRIOR. 

Now  let  the  warrior  plume  his  steed, 

And  wave  his  sword  afar ; 
For  the  men  of  the  East  this  day  shall  bleed, 

And  the  sun  shall  blush  with  war. 
Victory  sits  on  the  Christian's  helm 

To  guide  her  holy  band : 
The  Knight  of  the  Cross  this  day  shall  whelm 

The  men  of  the  Pagan  land. 

Oh !  bless'd  who  in  the  battle  dies  ! 
God  will  enshrine  him  in  the  skies  ! 
Now  let  the  warrior  plume  his  steed, 

And  wave  his  sword  afar, 
For  the  men  of  the  East  this  day  shall  bleed, 

And  the  sun  shall  blush  with  war. 


OH,  LADY  FAIR ! 
OH,  Laily  fair  !  where  art  thou  roaming  ? 
The  sun  has  sunk,  the  night  is  coming. 
Stranger,  I  go  o'er  moor  and  mountain, 
To  tell  my  beads  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
And  who  is  the  man,  with  his  white  locks  flowing  ? 
Oh,  Lady  fair  !  where  is  he  going  ? 
A  wand' ring  Pilgrim,  weak,  I  falter, 
To  t»»U  my  b«ads  at  Agnes'  altar. 


hill  falls  the  rain,  night  winds  are  blowing, 
Dreary  and  dark  's  the  way  we  're  going. 

Fair  Lady !  rest  till  morning  blushes — 
I  '11  strew  for  thee  a  bed  of  rushes. 
Oh !  stranger !  when  my  beads  I  'm  counting, 
I  '11  bless  thy  name  at  Agnes'  fountain. 
Then,  Pilgrim,  turn,  and  rest  thy  sorrow  ; 
Thou  "It  go  to  Agnes'  shrine  to-morrow. 
Good  stranger,  when  my  beads  I  'm  telling, 
My  saint  shall  bless  thy  leafy  dwelling. 
Strew,  then,  oh  !  strew  our  bed  of  rushes ; 
Here  we  must  rest  till  morning  blushes. 


OH!  REMEMBER  THE  TIME. 

THE    CASTILIAX    MAID. 

OH  !  remember  the  time,  in  La  Mancha's  shades, 

When  our  moments  so  blissfully  flew  ; 
When  you  call'd  me  the  flower  of  Castilian  maids, 

And  I  blush'd  to  be  call'd  so  by  you. 
When  I  taught  you  to  warble  the  gay  seguadille, 

And  to  dance  to  the  light  Castanet ; 
Oh  !  never,  dear  youth,  let  you  roam  where  you  wilt 

The  delight  of  those  moments  forget. 

They  tell  me,  you  lovers  from  Erin's  green  isle 

Every  hour  a  new  passion  can  feel, 
And  that  soon,  in  the  light  of  some  lovelier  smile, 

You'll  forget  the  poor  maid  of  Castile. 
But  theyjyjow  not  how  brave  in  the  battle  you  are, 

Or  they  never  could  think  you  would  rove  ; 
For 't  is  always  the  spirit  most  gallant  in  \var 

That  is  fondest  and  truest  in  love  ! 


OH !  SEE  THOSE  CHERRIES. 
OH  !  see  those  cherries — though  once  so  glowing, 

They  've  lain  too  long  on  the  sun-bright  wall ; 
And  mark !  already  their  bloom  is  going ; 

Too  soon  they  '11  wither,  too  soon  they  '11  fall. 
Once,  caught  by  their    blushes,  the  light  bird  flew 

round, 

Oft  on  their  ruby  lips  leaving  love's  wound 
But  now  he  passes  them,  ah  !  too  knowing 
To  taste  wither'd  cherries,  when  fresh  may  be  found 

Old  Time  thus  fleetly  his  course  is  running ; 

If  bards  were  not  moral,  how  maids  would  go 

wrong ! 
And  thus  thy  beauties,  now  sunn'd  and  sunning, 

Would  wither  if  left  on  the  rose-tree  too  long. 
Then  love  while  thou  'rt  lovely— e'en  I  should  be 

glad 

So  gweetly  to  save  thee  from  ruin  so  sad  ; 
But,  oh !  delay  not — we  bards  are  too  cunning 
To  sigh  for  old  beauties  when  young  may  be  had. 


OH!  SOON  RETURN! 

THE  white  sail  caught  the  evening  ray, 
The  wave  beneath  us  seem'd  to  burn, 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


When  all  ir.y  weeping  love  could  say 

Was,  "  Oh  !  soon  return !" 
Through  many  a  clime  our  ship  was  driven, 

O'er  many  a  billow  rudely  thrown ; 
Now  chill'd  beneath  a  northern  heaven, 

Now  sunn'd  by  summer's  zone  : 
Ye',  still,  where'er  our  course  we  lay, 

When  evening  bid  the  west  wave  burn, 
I  thought  I  heard  her  faintly  say, 

"Oh!  soon  return!— Oh!  soon  return!" 

If  ever  yet  my  bosom  found 

Its  thoughts  one  moment  turn'd  from  thee, 
'T  was  when  the  combat  raged  around, 

And  brave  men  look'd  to  me. 
But  though  'mid  battle's  wild  alarm 

Love's  gentle  power  might  not  appear, 
He  gave  to  glory's  brow  the  charm 

Which  made  even  danger  dear. 
And  then,  when  victory's  calm  came  o'er 

The  hearts  where  rage  had  ceased  to  bum, 
I  heard  that  farewell  voice  once  more, 
Oh  !  soon  return !— Oh !  soon  return !" 


OH!  YES,  SO  WELL. 

On  !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me, 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 
Though  brimm'd  with  blisses,  pure  and  rare, 

Life's  cup  before  me  lay, 
Unless  thy  love  were  mingled  there, 

I  'd  spurn  the  draught  away. 
Oh !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou'rt  loved,  adored  by  me, 
Fame,  fortune,  wealth,  and  liberty, 

Are  worthless  without  thee. 

Without  thy  smile  how  joylessly 

All  glory's  meeds  I  see  ! 
And  even  the  wreath  of  victory 

Must  owe  its  bloom  to  thee. 
Those  worlds,  for  which  the  conqueror  sighs, 

For  me  have  now  no  charms  ; 
My  only  world  's  thy  radiant  eyes— 

My  throne  those  circling  arms  ! 
Oh  !  yes,  so  well,  so  tenderly 

Thou  'rt  loved,  adored  by  me, 
Whole  realms  of  light  and  liberty 

Were  worthless  without  thee. 


OH !  YES,  WHEN  THE  BLOOM. 
OH  !  yes,  when  the  bloom  of  Love's  boyhood  is  o'e 

He'  11  turn  into  friendship  that  feels  no  decay  ; 
And,  though  Time  may  take  from  him  the  win? 

once  wore, 

The  charms  that  remain  will  be  bright  as  before, 
And  he  '11  lose  but  his  young  trick  of  flying  awaj 

Then  let  it  console  thee,  if  Love  should  not  stay, 
That  Friendship  our  last   happy  moments  w 


Like  the  shadows  of  morning,  Love  lessens  away, 
While  Friendship,  like  those  at  the  closing  of  day. 
Will  linger  and  lengthen  as  Life's  sun  goes  down. 


ONE  DEAR  SMILE. 
COULDST  thou  look  as  dear  as  when 

First  I  sigh'd  for  t 
Couldst  thou  make  me  feel  again 
Every  wish  I  breathed  thee  then, 

Oh  !  how  blissful  life  would  be ! 
Hopes,  that  now  beguiling  leave  me, 

Joys,  that  lie  in  slumber  cold — 
All  would  wake,  couldst  thou  but  giv«  roe 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old. 

Oh  !  there 's  nothing  left  us  now, 

But  to  mourn  the  past ; 
Vain  was  every  ardent  vow — 
Never  yet  did  Heaven  allow 

Love  so  warm,  so  wild,  to  last 
Not  even  hope  could  now  deceive  me— 

Life  itself  looks  dark  and  cold : 
Oh !  thou  never  more  canst  give  me 

One  dear  smile  like  those  of  old 


POH,  DERMOT!  GO  ALONG  WITH  YOUtt 

GOSTER. 
POH,  Dermot !  go  along  with  your  goster, 

You  might  as  well  pray  at  a  jig, 
Or  teach  an  old  cow  Paler  Noster, 

Or  whistle  Moll  Roe  to  a  pig ! 
Arrah,  child !  do  you  think  I'm  a  blockhead, 

And  not  the  right  son  of  my  mother, 
To  put  nothing  at  all  in  one  pocket, 
And  not  half  so  much  in  the  oilier? 
Poh,  Dennot !  etc. 

Any  thing  else  I  can  do  for  you, 

Keadh  mille  faltha,  and  welcome, 
Put  up  an  Avc  or  two  for  you, 

Fear'd  that  you'd  ever  to  hell  com*. 
If  you  confess  you're  a  rogue, 

I  will  turn  a  deaf  ear,  and  not  care  for't. 
Bid  you  put  pease  in  your  brogue, 

But  just  tip  you  a  hint  to  go  barefoot. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc 

If  you've  the  whiskey  in  play, 

To  oblige  you,  I'll  come  take  a  smack  of  it . 
Stay  with  you  all  night  and  day, 

Ay,  and  twenty-four  hours  to  the  back  of 

Oh!  whiskey's  a  pa  pi-'. 

The  beads  arc  upon  it  completely ; 
But  1  think  before  over  w.-'d  leave  it, 

We'd  make  it  a  heretic  neatly. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc. 

If  you're  afear'd  of  a  Brin-hoo, 

Or  Lepn.ehamis  are  not  so  rivil,  dear, 

Let  Father  Luke  show  his  pntmch,  ho 
Will  frighten  them  all  to  the  devil,  dear 


376 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


It  'a  I  that  can  hunt  them  like  ferrets, 
And  lay  them  without  any  fear,  gra; 

But  for  whiskey,  and  that  sort  of  spirits, 
Why  them — I  would  rather  lay  here,1  gra. 
Then  get  along  with,  etc. 


SEND  THE  BOWL  ROUND  MERRILY. 

SEXD  the  bowl  round  merrily, 

Laughing,  singing,  drinking ; 
Toast  it,  toast  it  cheerily — 

Here 's  to  the  devil  with  thinking  ! 
Oh  !  for  the  round  of  pleasure, 

With  sweetly-smiling  lasses — 
Glasses  o'erflowing  their  measure, 

With  hearts  as  full  as  our  glasses. 
Send  the  bowl  round  merrily, 

Laughing,  singing,  drinking; 
Toast  it,  toast  it  cheerily — 

Here 's  to  the  devil  with  thinking ! 

Once  I  met  with  a  funny  lass, 

Oh  !  I  loved  her  dearly  ! 
Left  for  her  my  bonny  glass — 

Faith  !  I  died  for  her — nearly. 
But  she  proved  damn'd  uncivil, 

And  thought  to  peck  like  a  hen,  sir; 
So  I  pitch'd  the  jade  to  the  devil, 

And  took  to  my  glass  again,  sir. 
Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 

Now  I'm  turn'd  a  rover, 

In  love  with  every  petticoat ; 
No  matter  whom  it  may  cover, 

Or  whether  it 's  Jenny's  or  Betty's  coat ; 
And,  if  the  girls  can  put  up 

With  any  good  thing  in  pieces, 
My  heart  I'll  certainly  cut  up, 

And  share  it  with  all  young  misses. 
Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 

A  bumper  round  to  the  pretty  ones  ! 

Here 's  to  the  girl  with  the  blue  eyes ! 
Here,  's  to  her  with  the  jetty  ones, 

Where  the  languishing  dew  lies ! 
Could  all  such  hours  as  this  is 

Be  summ'd  in  one  little  measure, 
Fd  live  a  short  life  of  blisses, 

And  die  in  a  surfeit  of  pleasure ! 
Then  send  the  bowl,  etc. 


THE  DAY  OF  LOVE. 

THE  beam  of  morning  trembling 
Stole  o'er  the  mountain  brook 

With  timid  ray  resembling 

Affection's  early  look. 
Thus  love  begins — sweet  morn  of  love ! 

Tne  noon-tide  ray  ascended, 
And  o'er  the  valley  stream 

Diffused  a  glow  as  splendid 
As  passion's  riper  dream. 
Thus  love  expands— warm  noon  of  love ! 


1  Timing  his  hand  on  his  paunch. 


But  evening  came,  o'ershading 

The  glories  of  the  sky, 
Like  faith  and  fondness  fading 

From  Passion's  alter'd  eye. 
Thus  love  declines — cold  eve  of  love  ! 


THE  PROBABILITY. 

My  heart  is  united  to  Chloe's  for  ever, 
No  time  shall  the  link  of  their  tenderness  sever, 
And,  if  Love  be  the  parent  of  joy  and  of  pleasure, 
Sure  Chloe  and  I  shall  be  blest  beyond  measure. 

Come,  tell  me,  my  girl,  what 's  the  sweetest  of  blisses  T 
"  I'll  show  you,"  she  cries,  and  she  gives  me  swee 

kisses ; 

Ah,  Clo  !  if  that  languishing  eye  's  not  a  traitor 
It  tells  me  you  know  of  a  bliss  that  is  greater. 

"  Indeed  and  I  do  not ;" — then  softly  she  blushes, 
And  her  bosom  the  warm  tint  of  modesty  flushes— 
"  I'm  sure  if  I  knew  it,  I'd  certainly  show  it, 
But,  Damon,  now  Damon,  dear,  may  be  you  know  it ! 


THE  SONG  OF  WAR. 

THE  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains, 
Till  not  one  hateful  link  remains 
Of  slavery's  lingering  chains — 
Till  not  one  tyrant  tread  our  plains, 

Nor  traitor  lip  pollute  our  fountains. 
No  !  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay, 
Or  hear,  oh  Peace !  thy  welcome  lay 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 

The  song  of  war  shall  echo  through  our  mountains, 
Till  Victory's  self  shall,  smiling,  say, 
"Your  cloud  of  foes  hath  pass'd  away, 
And  Freedom  comes  with  new-born  ray, 

To  gild  your  vines  and  light  your  fountains." 
Oh  !  never  till  that  glorious  day 
Shall  Lusitania's  sons  be  gay, 
Or  hear,  oh  Peace  !  thy  welcome  lay 

Resounding  through  her  sunny  mountains. 


v       THE  TABLET  OF  LOVE. 

Yon  bid  me  be  happy,  and  bid  me  adieu 
Can  happiness  live  when  absent  from  you  ? 
Will  sleep  on  my  eyelids  e'er  sweetly  aliglrt, 
When  greeted  no  more  by  a  tender  good  night  7 
Oh,  never !  for  deep  is  the  record  enshrined ; 
Thy  look  and  thy  voice  will  survive  in  my  mind : 
Though  age  may  the  treasures  of  memory  remove, 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Love. 

Through  life's  winding  valley — in  anguish,  in  rest, 
Exalted  in  joy,  or  by  sorrow  depress'd — 
From  its  place  in  the  mirror  that  lies  on  my  heart, 
Thine  image  shall  never  one  moment  depart. 
When  time,  life,  and  all  that  poor  mortals  hold  dear 
Like  visions,  like  dreams,  shall  at  last  disappear, 
Though  raised  among  seraphs  to  realms  above, 
Unfading  shall  flourish  the  Tablet  of  Lovo 


BALLADS,  SOWS,  ETC. 


377 


THE  YOUNG  ROSE. 

THE  young  rose  which  I  give  thee,  so  dewy  and  bright, 
Was  the  floweret  most  dear  to  the  sweet  bird  of  night, 
Who  oft  by  the  moon  o'er  her  blushes  hath  hung, 
And  thrill'd  every  leaf  with  the  wild  lay  he  sung. 

Oh !  take  thou  this  young  rose,  and  let  her  life  be 
Prolong'd  by  the  breath  she  will  borrow  from  thee  ! 
For,  while  o'er  her  bosom  thy  soft  notes  shall  thrill, 
She'll  think  the  sweet  night-bird  is  courting  her  still. 


WHEN  IN  LANGUOR  SLEEPS  THE 

IIHV11T. 

WIIKN  in  languor  sleeps  the  heart, 
Love  can  wake  it  with  his  dart ; 
When  the  mind  is  dull  and  dark, 
Love  can  light  it  with  his  spark. 

Come,  oh !  come  then,  let  us  haste, 
All  the  bliss  of  love  to  taste; 
Let  us  love  both  night  and  day, 
Let  us  love  our  lives  away  ! 

And  for  hearts  from  loving  free 
(If  indeed  such  hearts  there  be,) 
May  they  ne'er  the  rapture  prove 
Of  the  smile  from  lips  we  love. 


WHEN  'MIDST  THE  GAY  I  MEET. 

WHEN  'midst  the  gay  I  meet 

That  blessed  smile  of  thine, 
Though  still  on  me  it  turns  most  sweet, 

I  scarce  can  call  it  mine : 
But  when  to  me  alone 

Your  secret  tears  you  show, 
Oh  !  then  I  feel  those  tears  my  own, 

And  claim  them  as  they  flow. 
Then  still  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free ; 
Give  smiles  to  those  who  love  you  less, 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 

The  snow  on  Jura's  steep 

Can  smile  with  many  a  beam, 
Yet  still  in  chains  of  coldness  sleep, 

How  bright  soe'er  it  seem. 
But,  when  some  deep-felt  ray, 

Wrhose  touch  is  fire,  appears, 
Oh !  then  the  smile  is  warm'd  away, 

And,  melting,  turns  to  tears. 
Then  slill  with  bright  looks  bless 

The  gay,  the  cold,  the  free ; 
Give  smiles  to  those  who  lore  you  less, 

But  keep  your  tears  for  me. 


WHEN  TWILIGHT  DEWS. 
WHEN  twilight  dews  are  falling  soft 

Upon  the  rosy  sea,  love ! 
I  watch  the  star,  whose  beam  so 
Has  lighted  me  to  thee,  love '. 
3B 


And  thou  too,  on  that  orb  no  clear, 

Ah  !  dost  thou  gaze  at  even, 
And  think,  though  lost  for  ever  here, 

Thou'lt  yet  be  mine  in  heaven  ? 

There '»  not  a  garden  walk  I  tread, 

There  'a  not  a  flower  I  see,  love ! 
But  brings  to  mind  some  hope  that  'a  fled. 

Some  joy  I've  lost  with  thee,  love '. 
And  still  I  wish  that  hour  was  near, 

When,  friends  and  foes  forgiven, 
The  pains,  the  ills  we've  wept  through  here, 

May  turn  to  smiles  in  heaven  ! 


WILL  YOU  COME  TO  THE  BOWER? 

Vi  LL  you  come  to  the  bower  I  have  shaded  for  you  T 
ur  bed  shall  be  roses  all  spangled  with  dew. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Come  to  the  bower  ? 

TVre,  under  the  bower,  pn  roses  you'll  lie, 
With  a  blush  on  your  cheek,  but  a  smile  in  your  eye 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Smile,  my  beloved  ? 

ut  the  roses  we  press  shall  not  rival  your  lip, 
or  the  dew  be  so  sweet  as  theJtisses  we'll  sip 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you 
Kiss  me,  my  love  ? 

tnd  oh !  for  the  joys  that  are  sweeter  than  dew 
'roin  languishing  roses,  or  kisses  from  you. 
Will  you,  will  you,  will  you,  will  you, 
Won't  you,  my  love  ? 


YOUNG  JESSICA. 
YOUNO  Jessica  sat  all  the  day, 

In  love-dreams  languishingly  pining, 
Her  needle  bright  neglected  lay, 

Like  truant  genius  idly  shining. 
Jessy,  't  is  in  idle  hearts 

That  love  and  mischief  are  most  nimble . 
The  safest  shield  against  the  daru 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 

A  child  who  with  a  magnet  pi 

And  knew  its  winning  ways  BO  wily, 
The  magnet  near  the  needle  laid. 

And  laughing  said,  "We  'U  steal  it  slily.' 
The  needle,  having  nought  to  do. 

Was  pleased  to  let  the  magnet  wheedle, 
Till  closer  still  the  tempter  drew, 

And  off,  at  length,  eloped  the  needle. 

Now,  had  this  needle  turn'd  its  eye 

To  some  gay  Ridiculri  construction, 
It  ne'er  had  stray'd  from  duty's  tie, 

Nor  felt  a  magnet's  sly  seduction. 
Girls,  would  you  keep  tranquil  hearts, 

Your  pnowy  fingers  must  be  nimble, 
The  safest  shield  against  the  darts 

Of  Cupid,  is  Minerva's  thimble. 


378 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  RABBINICAL  ORIGIN  OF  WOMEN. 
THKY  tell  us  that  Woman  was  made  of  a  rib 

Just  pick'd  from  a  corner  so  snug  in  the  side ; 
But  the  Rabbins  swear  to  you  this  is  a  fib, 

And  't  was  not  so  at  all  that  the  sex  was  supplied. 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

For  old  Adam  was  fashion'd,  the  first  of  his  kind, 
With  a  tail  like  a  monkey,  full  yard  and  a  span; 

And  when  Nature  cut  off  this  appendage  behind, 
Why — then  woman  was  made  of  the  tail  of  the  Man 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

If  such  is  the  tie  between  women  and  men, 

The  ninny  who  weds  is  a  piciful  elf; 
For  he  takes  to  his  tail,  like  an  idiot,  again, 

And  makes  a  most  damnable  ape  of  himself! 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 

Yet,  if  we  may  judge  as  the  fashions  prevail, 
Every  husband  remembers  the  original  plan, 

And,  knowing  his  wife  is  no  more  than  his  tail, 
Why — he  leaves  her  behind  him  as  much  as  he  can 
Derry  down,  down,  down  derry  down. 


FAREWELL,  BESSY! 

SWEETEST  love  !  I  '11  not  forget  thee, 

Time  shall  only  teach  my  heart 
Fonder,  warmer,  to  regret  thee, 
Lovely,  gentle  as  thou  art ! 

Farewell,  Bessy ! 
We  may  meet  again. 

Yes,  oh  yes !  again  we  meet,  love . 

And  repose  our  hearts  at  last ; 

Oh,  sure  't  will  then  be  sweet,  love ! 

Calm  to  think  on  sorrows  past. 

Farewell,  Bessy! 
We  may  meet  again. 

Yet  I  feel  my  heart  is  breaking 

When  I  think  I  stray  from  thee, 
Round  the  world  that  quiet  seeking 
Which  I  fear  is  not  for  me. 

Farewell,  Bessy ! 
We  may  meet  again. 

Calm  to  peace  thy  lover's  bosom — 

Can  it,  dearest !  must  it  be  ? 
Thou  within  an  hour  shall  lose  him, 
He  for  ever  loses  thee  ! 
Farewell,  Bessy ! 
Yet  oh !  not  for  ever. 


TO-DAY,  DEAREST!  IS  OURS. 
TO-DAY,  dearest !  is  ours ; 

Why  should  Love  carelessly  lose  it? 
This  life  shines  or  lowers 

Just  as  we,  weak  mortals,  use  it. 
'T  is  time  enough,  when  its  flowers  decay, 

To  think  of  the  thorns  of  Sorrow ; 
And  Joy,  if  left  on  the  stem  to-day, 

May  wither  before  to-morrow. 


Then  why,  dearest !  so  long 

Let  the  sweet  moments  fly  over  ? 
Though  now,  blooming  and  young, 

Thou  hast  me  devoutly  thy  lover, 
Yet  time  from  both,  in  his  silent  lapse, 

Some  treasure  may  steal  or  borrow ; 
Thy  charms  may  be  less  in  bloom,  perhaps, 

Or  I  less  in  l9\-e  to-morrow. 


WHEN  ON  THE  LIP  THE  SIGH  DELAYS 
WHEN  on  the  lip  the  sigh  delays, 

As  if  't  would  linger  there  for  ever ; 
When  eyes  would  give  the  world  to  gaze 

Yet  still  look  down,  and  venture  never; 
When,  though  with  fairest  nymphs  we  rove, 

There  's  one  we  dream  of  more  than  any 
If  all  this  is  not  real  love, 

'T  is  something  wondrous  like  it,  Fanny  ! 

To  think  and  ponder,  when  apart, 

On  all  we've  got  to  say  at  meeting; 
And  yet  when  near,  with  b.eart  to  heart, 

Sit  mute,  and  listen  to  their  beating : 
To  see  but  one  bright  object  move, 

The  only  moon,  where  stars  are  many— - 
If  all  this  is  not  downright  love, 

I  prithee  say  what  is,  my  Fanny  ! 

When  Hope  foretels  the  brightest,  best, 

Though  Reason  on  the  darkest  reckons  ; 
When  Passion  drives  us  to  the  west, 

Though  Prudence  to  the  eastward  beckons ; 
When  all  turns  round,  below,  above, 

And  our  own  heads  the  most  of  any— 
If  this  is  not  stark,  staring  love, 

Then  you  and  I  are  sages,  Fanny. 


HERE,  TAKE  MY  HEART. 
HERE,  take  my  heart,  't  will  be  safe  in  thy  keeping 

While  I  go  wandering  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea ; 
Smiling  or  sorrowing,  waking  or  sleeping, 

What  need  I  care,  so  my  heart  is  with  thee  ? 

If,  in  the  race  we  are  destined  to  run,  love, 
They  who  have  light  hearts  the  happiest  be — 

Happier  still  must  be  they  who  have  none,  love, 
And  that  will  be  my  case  when  mine  is  with  thee 

No  matter  where  I  may  now  be  a  rover, 
No  matter  how  many  bright  eyes  I  see ; 

Should  Venus'  self  come  and  ask  me  to  love  her, 
I'd  tell  her  I  could  not — my  heart  is  with  thee ! 

There  let  it  lie,  growing  fonder  and  fonder — 
And  should  Dame  Fortune  turn  truant  to  me, 

Why, — let  her  go — I  've  a  treasure  beyond  her, 
As  long  as  my  heart 's  out  at  interest  with  thee ! 


OH!  CALL  IT  BY  SOME  BETTER  NAME 
On  !  call  it  by  some  better  name, 
For  Friendship  is  too  cold. 


BALLADS,  SONGS,  ETC. 


379 


And  Love  is  now  a  worldly  flame, 
Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold ; 

And  passion,  like  the  sun  at  noon, 
That  burns  o'er  all  he  sees, 

Awhile  as  warm,  will  set  as  soon,— 
Oh !  call  it  none  of  these. 

Imnsrine  something  purer  far, 

More  free  from  stain  of  clay, 
Than  Friendship,  Love,  or  Passion  are, 

Yet  human  still  as  they : 
As  if  thy  lip,  for  love  like  this, 

No  mortal  word  can  frame, 
Go,  ask  of  angels  what  it  is, 

And  call  it  by  that  name ! 


POOR  WOUNDED  HEART! 

POOR  wounded  heart ! 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 

Thy  hour  is  come, 

Thy  hour  of  rest  is  come  ; 

Thou  soon  wilt  reach  thy  home, 

Poor  wounded  heart,  farewell ! 
The  pa'-n  thou  'It  feel  in  breaking 

Less  bitter  far  will  be, 
Than  that  long,  deadly  course  of  aching, 

This  life  has  been  to  thee — 
Poor  breaking  heart,  poor  breaking  heart,  farewell ! 

There — broken  heart, 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 
The  pang  is  o'er — 
The  parting  pang  is  o'er, 
Thou  now  wilt  bleed  no  more, 
Poor  broken  heart,  farewell ! 
No  rest  for  thee  but  dyinj, 

Like  waves  whose  strife  is  past, 
On  death's  cold  shore  thus  early  lying, 

Thou  sleep'st  in  peace  at  last — 
Poor  broken  heart,  poor  broken  heart,  farewell '. 


THE  EAST  INDIW. 
COMK  May,  with  all  thy  flowers, 

Thy  sweetly-scented  thorn, 
Thy  cooling  evening  showers, 

Thy  fmgrant  breath  at  morn : 
When  May-flies  haunt  the  willow, 

When  May-buds  tempt  the  bee, 
Then  o'er  the  shining  billow 

My  love  will  come  to  me. 

From  Eastern  Isles  she  's  winging 

Throueh  wnt'ry  wilds  her  way, 
And  on  her  cheek  is  bringing 

The  bright  sun's  orient  ray: 
Oh  !  come  and  court  her  hither, 

Ye  breezes  mild  and  warm — 
One  winter's  gale  would  wither 

So  soft,  so  pure  a  form. 

The  fields  where  she  was  straying 
Are  blest  with  endless  light, 


With  zephyrs  always  playing 
Through  gardens  always  bright, 

Then  now,  oh  May !  be  sweeter 
That  ere  thou  '»t  been  before ; 

Let  eighs  from  rose*  meet  her 
When  she  comes  near  our  shore. 


PAI.E  BROKEN  FLOWi:K! 
'ALE  broken  flower !  what  art  can  now  recover  thee 
Torn  from  the  stem  that  fed  thy  rosy  breath— 
In  vain  the  sun-beams  seek 
To  warm  thaj  faded  cheek ! 
The  dews  of  heaven,  that  once  like  balm  fell  ovei 

thee, 
Now  are  but  tears,  to  weep  thy  early  death ! 

So  droops  the  maid  whose  lover  hath  forsaken  her , 
Thrown  from  his  arms,  as  lone  and  lost  as  thou ; 
In  vain  the  smiles  of  all 
Like  sun-beams  round  her  fall — 
[Tie  only  smile  that  could  from  death  awaken  her 
That  smile,  alas !  ia  gone  to  others  now 


THE  PRETTY  ROSE-TREE. 
JEISG  weary  of  love,  I  flew  to  the  grove, 

And  chose  me  a  tree  of  the  fairest ; 
Saying,  "  Pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistresi  shah  be. 
I  '11  worship  each  bud  that  thou  bearest. 

For  the  hearts  of  this  world  are  hollow. 
And  fickle  the  smiles  we  follow  ; 
And  't  is  sweet,  when  all  their  witcheries  pall, 

To  have  a  pure  love  to  fly  to : 
So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistress  shah  he, 
And  the  only  one  now  I  shall  sigh  to." 

When  the  beautiful  hue  of  thy  cheek  through  tho 

dew 

Of  morning  is  bashfully  peeping, 
u  Sweet  tears,"  I  shall  say  .as  I  brush  them  away,) 
At  least  there 't  no  art  in  this  weeping." 

Although  thou  shouldest  die  L.-mcrroW, 
•T  will  not  be  from  pain  or  s.. 
And  the  thorns  of  thy  stem  are  not  like  them 

With  which  hearts  wound  each  oilier: 
So,  my  pretty  Rose-tree,  thou  my  mistress  shah  be, 
And  I  '11  ne'er  again  sigh  to  another. 


SHINE  OUT,  STAK-' 
Sit i  NT  out,  Stars !  let  heaven  assemble 
Hound  us  every  festal  ray, 

',:it  move  not,  lights  that  tremble, 
All  to  grace  this  eve  <>: 
Let  tho  flower-beds  all  lie  waking. 

And  the  odours  shut  up  there, 

From  their  downy  prisons  breaking, 

Fly  abroad  through  sea  and  air. 

And  would  I/>ve  too  bring  his  swcetnc**, 
With  our  other  joys  to  weave. 


380 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Oh,  what  glory,  what  completeness, 
Then  would  crown  this  bright  May  ere, 

Shine  out,  Stars  !  let  night  assemble 
Round  us  every  festal  ray, 

Lights  that  move  not,  lights  that  tremble, 
To  adorn  this  eve  of  May. 


THE  YOUNG  MULETEERS  OF  GRENADA 

OH  '  the  joys  of  our  evening  posada, 

When,  resting  at  the  close  of  day, 
We,  young  muleteers  of  Grenada, 

Sit  and  sing  the  last  sunshine  away ! 
So  blithe,  that  even  the  slumbers 

Which  hung  around  us  seem  gone, 
Till  the  lute's  soft  drowsy  numbers 

Again  beguile  them  on. 

Then,  as  each  to  his  favourite  sultana 

In  sleep  is  still  breathing  the  sigh, 
The  name  of  some  black-eyed  Tirana 

Half  breaks  from  our  lips  as  we  lie. 
Then,  with  morning's  rosy  twinkle, 

Again  we  're  up  and  gone — 
While  the  mule-bell's  drowsy  tinkle 

Beguiles  the  rough  way  on. 


TELL  HER,  OH  TELL  HER. 

TELL  her,  oh  tell  her,  the  lute  she  left  lying 
Beneath  the  green  arbour,  is  still  lying  there 

Breezes,  like  lovers,  around  it  are  sighing, 
But  not  a  soft  whisper  replies  to  their  prayer 

Tell  her,  oh  tell  her,  the  tree  that,  in  going, 
Beside  the  green  arbour  she  playfully  set, 

Lovely  as  ever  is  blushing  and  blowing, 
And  not  a  bright  leaflet  has  fallen  from  it  yet. 

So  while  away  from  that  arbour  forsaken, 
The  maiden  is  wandering,  oh !  let  her  be 


True  as  the  lute  that  no  sighing  can  waken, 
And  blooming  for  ever  unchanged  as  the  tree 


NIGHTS  OF  MUSIC. 
NIGHTS  of  music,  nights  of  loving, 

Lost  too  soon,  rememberd  long, 
When  we  went  by  moon-light  roving, 

Hearts  all  love,  and  lips  all  song. 
When  this  faithful  lute  recorded 

All  my  spirit  felt  to  thee, 
And  that  smile  the  song  rewarded, 

Worth  whole  years  of  fame  to  me ! 

Nights  of  song,  and  nights  of  splendour, 

Fill'd  with  joys  too  sweet  to  last — 
Joys  that,  like  your  star-light  tender, 

While  they  shone,  no  shadow  cast  • 
Though  all  other  happy  hours 

From  my  fading  memory  fly, 
Of  that  star-light,  of  those  bowers, 

Not  a  beam,  a  leaf,  shall  die ! 


OUR  FIRST  YOUNG  LOVE. 

OUR  first  young  love  resembles 

That  short  but  brilliant  ray, 
Which  smiles,  and  weeps,  and  trembles 

Through  April's  earliest  day. 
No,  no—all  life  before  us, 

Howe'er  its  lights  may  play, 
Can  shed  no  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  that  first  April  ray. 

Our  summer  sun  may  squander 

A  blaze  serener,  grander, 
Our  autumn  beam  may,  like  a  dream 

Of  heaven,  die  calm  away : 
But  no — let  life  before  us 

Bring  all  the  light  it  may, 
'T  will  shed  no  lustre  o'er  us 

Like  that  first  trembling  ray 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEJIS. 


A  MELOLOGUE 

UPON  NATIONAL  MUSIC. 

THESE  verses  were  written  for  a  Benefit  at  the 
Dublin  Theatre,  and  were  spoken  by  Miss  Smith, 
with  a  degree  of  success,  which  they  owed  solely  to 
her  admirable  manner  of  reciting  them.     I  wrote 
them  in  haste  ;    and   it  very   rarely  happens    tha 
poetry,  which  has  cost  but  little  labour  to  the  write 
is  productive  of  any  great  pleasure  to  the  reade 
Under  this  impression,  I  should  not  have  publishe 
them  if  they  had  not  found  their  way  into  some  o 
the  newspapers,  with  such  an  addition  of  errors  t 
their  own  original  stock,  that  I  thought  it  but  fair  t 
limit  their  responsibility  to  those  faults  alone  whic. 
really  belong  to  them. 

With  respect  to  the  title  which  I  have  invented  fo 
this  Poem,  I  feel  even  more  than  the  scruples  of  the 
Emperor  Tiberius,  when  he  humbly  asked  pardon  o 
the  Roman  senate  for  using  "the  outlandish  term 
nirmojHiIy."      But  the  truth  is,  having   written   th< 
Poem  with  the  sole  view  of  serving  a  Benefit, 
thought  that  an  unintelligible  word  of  this    kirn 
would  not  be  without  its  attraction  for  the  multitud< 
with  whom,  "if  'tis  not  sense,  at  least  'tis  Greek. 
To  some  of  my  readers,  however,  it  may  not  be 
superfluous  to  say,  that,  by  "  Melologue,"  I  mean 
that  mixture  of  recitation  and  music,  which  is  fre- 


quently adopted  in  the  performance  of  Collins's  Od< 
on  the  Passions,  and  of  which  the  most  striking  ex- 
ample I  can  remember  is  the  prophetic  sj>eech  oi 
load  in  the  Athaiie  of  Racine. 

T.  M. 


THERE  breathes  a  language,  known  and  felt 
Far  as  the  pure  air  spreads  its  living  zone; 
Wherever  rage  can  rouse,  or  pity  melt, 
That  language  of  the  soul  is  felt  and  known. 

From  those  meridian  plains, 
Where  oft,  of  old,  on  some  high  tower, 
The  soft  Peruvian  pour'd  his  midnight  strains, 
And  rall'd  his  distant  love  with  such  sweet  power, 

That,  when  she  heard  the  lonely  lay, 
Not  worlds  could  keep  her  from  his  arms  away;1 
To  the  bleak  climes  of  polar  night, 
Where,  beneath  a  sunless  sky, 
The  Lapland  lover  bids  his  rein-deer  fly, 
And  sings  along  the  lengthening  waste  of  snow, 


1  "A  certain  Spaniard,  one  nisht  late,  mot  an  Imlinn 
woman  in  tlie  streets  of  Cur.rii,  :md  would  have  luki-n  li'-r 
to  his  home,  but  she  cried  out.  '  For  God's  sake,  Sir,  let  mo 
go;  for  that  pi|>e,  which  you  hear  in  yonder  tower, calls  me 
with  great  passion,  and  I  cannot  return)  the  summon*;  for 
love  constrains  me.  to  pn,  that  I  may  be  his  wife,  and  he  my 
husband.'  "—Oarcilasso  de  la  Vega,  in  Sir  Paul  Rycaut's 
Initiation 


As  blithe  as  if  the  blessed  light 

Of  vernal  Phrcbus  burn'd  upon  his  brovr 

Oh  Music !  thy  celestial  claim 

Is  still  resistless,  still  the  same ; 

And,  faithful  as  the  mighty  sea 

To  the  pale  star  that  o'er  its  realm  presides, 

The  spell-bound  tides 
Of  human  passion  rise  and  fall  for  thee ! 

Greek  Air. 

List !  *t  is  a  Grecian  maid  that  sings, 
While,  from  Ilyssus'  silvery  springs, 
She  draws  the  cool  lymph  in  her  graceful  urnj 
And  by  her  side,  in  music's  charm  dissolving, 
Some  patriot  youth,  the  glorious  past  revolving, 
Dreams  of  bright  days  that  never  can  return  • 
\V  hen  Athens  nursed  her  olive-bough, 

With  hands  by  tyrant  power  unchain'd, 
And  braided  for  the  muses'  brow 

A  wreath  by  tyrant  touch  unstain'd. 
When  heroes  trod  each  classic  firl.l 

Where  coward  feet  now  faintly 
When  every  arm  was  Freedom's  shield, 
And  every  heart  was  Freedom's  altar ! 

Flourish  of  Trumpet. 
Hark  !  't  is  the  sound  that  charms 
The  war-steed's  waking  cars ! — 
Oh  !  many  a  mother  folds  her  arms 
Round  her  boy-soldier  when  that  call  she  hears; 


And,  though  her  fond  heart  sink  with  fears, 
Is  proud  to  feel  his  young  pulse  bound 
With  valour's  fever  at  the  sound  ! 
See !  from  his  native  hills  afar 
The  rude  Helvetian  flies  to  war ; 
Careless  for  what,  for  whom  he  fights, 
For  slave  or  despot,  wrongs,  or  right*  ; 

A  conqueror  oft — a  hero  never — 
Yet  lavish  of  his  life-blood  still, 
As  if  't  were  like  his  mountain  rill, 
And  gush'd  for  H 

Oh  Music  !  here,  even  here, 
Amid  this  thoughtless,  wild  career, 
hy  soul-felt  charm  asserts  its  wondrous  powei 

is  an  air,  which  oft  among  the  roclu 
Of  his  own  loved  land,  at  evening  hour, 
Is  heard,  when  shepherds  homeward   pipe  JMU 

flocks; 

)1>  !  every  note  of  it  would  thnll  his  mind 
With  tendcrcst  thoughts — would  bring  around  h» 

kll'-es 

'lie  rosy  children  whom  he  left  behind, 
Ami  fill  each  little  angel  eye 
With  s[H'.-ikin<;  tears,  thai  ask  him  why 
He  wander'd  from  his  hut  for  scenes  like  these? 
ain,  vain  is  thrn  the  trumpet's  brazen  r. 
Sweet  notes  of  home— of  love — are  til  he  bean, 


3*2 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Ami  the  stern  eyes,  that  look'd  for  blood  before, 
Now  melting,  mournful,  lose  themselves  in  tears ! 

Swiss  Air — "  Ram  des  Vaches." 
But,  wake  the  trumpet's  blast  again, 
And  rouse  the  ranks  of  warrior-men  ! 
Oh  War !  when  truth  thy  arm  employs, 
And  Freedom's  spirit  guides  the  labouring  storm, 
"T  is  then  thy  vengeance  takes  a  hallow'd  form, 

And,  like  Heaven's  lightning,  sacredly  destroys ! 
Nor,  Music  !  through  thy  breathing  sphere, 
Lives  there  a  sound  more  grateful  to  the  ear 
Of  Him  who  made  all  harmony, 
Than  the  bless'd  sound  of  fetters  breaking, 
And  the  first  hymn  that  man,  awaking 
From  Slavery's  slumber,  breathes  to  Liberty  ! 

Spanish  Chorus. 

Hark !  from  Spain,  indignant  Spain, 
Bursts  the  bold,  enthusiast  strain, 
Like  morning's  music  on  the  air  ! 
And  seems,  in  every  note,  to  swear, 
By  Saragossa's  ruin'd  streets, 

By  brave  Gerona's  deathful  story, 
That,  while  one  Spaniard's  life-blood  beats, 

That  blood  shall  stain  the  conqueror's  glory ! 

Spanish  Air — "  Ya  Desperto." 

But  ah  !  if  vain  the  patriot's  zeal, 
If  neither  valour's  force,  nor  wisdom's  light 

Can  break  or  melt  that  blood-cemented  seal 
Which  shuts  so  close  the  book  of  Europe's  right — 
What  song  shall  then  in  sadness  tell 

Of  broken  pride,  of  prospects  shaded, 
Of  buried  hopes,  remember'd  well, 

Of  ardour  quench'd,  and  honour  faded  ? 
What  Muse  shall  mourn  the  breathless  brave, 

In  sweetest  dirge  at  Memory's  shrine  ? 
What  harp  shall  sigh  o'er  Freedom's  grave  ? 
Oh  Erin !  thine ! 


LINES 

On  the  Death  of  Mr.  P-r—v-l 
IN  the  dirge  we  sung  o'er  him  no  censure  was  heard, 

Unemoitter'd  and  free  did  the  tear-drop  descend  ; 
We  forgot  in  that  hour  how  the  statesman  had  err'd, 

And  wept  for  the  husband,  the  father,  and  friend. 

Oh '  prond  was  the  meed  his  integrity  won, 

And  generous  indeed  were  the  tears  that  we  shed, 

When  in  grief  we  forgot  all  the  ill  he  had  done, 
And,  though  wrong'd  by  him  living,  bewail'd  him 
when  dead. 

Even  now,  if  one  harsher  emotion  intrude, 

*T  is  to  wish  he  had  chosen  some  lowlier  state — 

Had  known  what  he  was,  and,  content  to  be  good, 
Had  ne'er,  for  our  ruin,  aspired  to  be  great. 

So,  left  through  their  own  little  orbit  to  move, 
His  years  might  have  roll'd  inoffensive  away; 


His  children  might  still  have  been  bless'd  with  hi* 

love, 

And  England  would  ne'er  have  been  cursed  witu 
his  sway 


LINES 

On  the  Death  of  Sh-r-d-n. 

Principibus  placuisse  viris. — //or. 

YES,  grief  will  have  way — but  the  fast-falling  tear 
Shall  be  mingled  with  deep  execrations  on  those 

Who  could  bask  in  that  spirit's  meridian  career, 
And  yet  leave  it  thus  lonely  and  dark  at  its  close  :- 

Whose  vanity  flew  round  him  only  while  fed 
By  the  odour  his  fame  in  its  summer-time  gave  ; 

Whose  vanity  now,  with  quick  scent  for  the  dead, 
Like  the  ghole  of  the  East,  comes  to  feed  at  his 
grave ! 

Oh  !  it  sickens  the  heart  to  see  bosoms  so  hollow 
And  spirits  so  mean  in  the  great  and  high-born ; 

To  think  what  a  long  line  of  titles  may  follow 
The  relics  of  him  who  died — friendless  and  lorn  ! 

How  proud  they  can  press  to  the  funeral  array 
Of  one  whom  they  shunn'd  in  his  sickness  and 
sorrow : 

How  bailiffs  may  seize  his  last  blanket  to-day, 
Whose  pall  shall  be  held  up  by  nobles  to-morrow ! 

And  thou,  too,  whose  life,  a  sick  epicure's  dream, 
Incoherent  and  gross,  even  grosser  had  pass'd, 

Were  it  not  for  that  cordial  and  soul-giving  beam 
Which  his  friendship  and  wit  o'er  thy  nothingness 
cast: 

No,  not  for  the  wealth  of  the  land  that  supplies  thee 
With  millions  to  heap  upon  foppery's  shrine ; — 

No,  not  for  the  riches  of  all  who  despise  thee, 
Though  this  would  make  Europe's  whole  opulence 
mine ; — 

Would  I  suffer  what — even  in  the  heart  that  thou 

hast — 

All  moan  as  it  is — must  have  consciously  burn'd. 
When  the  pittance,  which  shame  had  wrung  from 

thee  at  last, 

And  which  found  all  his  wants  at  an  end,  was  re- 
turn'd !' 

"  Was  this,  thrn,  the  fate" — future  ages  will  say, 
When  gome  names  shall  live  but  in  history's  curse,- 

When  Truth  will  lie  heard,  and  these  lords  of  a  day 
Be  forgotten  as  fools,  or  remember'd  as  worse — 

Was  this,  then,  the^fate  of  that  high-gifted  man, 
The  pride  of  the  palace,  the  bower,  and  the  hall, 
The  orator — dramatist — minstrel, — who  ran 
Through  each  mode  of  the  lyre,  and  was  master  of 
all! 


1  The   sum    wn«     two   1m  ml  red    pounds — offerrt!   wlicn 
-r-cl-ii  could  no  longer  take  any  sustenance,  and  declined 
lot  him,  by  his  I'liends. 


MISCELLANEOrs 


"Whose  mind  was  an  essence,  compounded  with  art 
From  the  finest  and  best  of  all  other  men's  powers — 

Who  ruled,  like  a  wizard,  the  world  of  the  heart, 
And  could  call  up  its  sunshine,  or  bring  down  its 
showers ! 

''Whose  humour,  as  gay  as  the  fire-fly's  li<rht, 
Play'd  round  every  subject,  and  shone  as  it  play'd — 

Whose  wit,  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright, 
Ne'er  carried  a  heart-stain  away  on  its  blade  ;— 

'  Whose  eloquence — bright'ning  whatever  it  tried, 
Whether  reason  or  fancy,  the  gay  or  the  grave — 

Was  as  rapid,  as  deep,  and  as  brilliant  a  tide 
As  ever  bore  Freedom  aloft  on  its  wave  !" 

Ves — such  was  the  man,  and  so  wretched  his  fate  ; — 
And  thus,  sooner  or  later,  shall  all  have  to  grieve, 

Who  waste  their  morn's  dew  in  the  beams  of  the 

Great, 
And  expect 't  will  return  to  refresh  them  at  eve  ! 

In  the  woods  of  the  North  there  are  insects  that  prey 
On  the  brain  of  the  elk  till  his  very  last  sigh  ;' 

Oh,  Genius  !  thy  patrons,  more  cruel  than  they, 
First  feed  on  thy  brains,  and  then  leave  thee  to  die ! 


LINES 

WRITTEN  ON  HEARING  THAT  THE  AUSTRIANS  HAD 
ENTERED   NAPLES. 

Carbone  Notati ! 

A. Y— down  to  the  dust  with  thorn,  slaves  as  they  am— 
From  this  hour,  let  the  blood  in  their  dastardly 
veins, 

That  shrunk  at  the  first  touch  of  Liberty's  war, 
Be  suck'd  out  by  tyrants,  or  stagnate  in  chains ! 

On,  on,  like  a  cloud,  through  their  beautiful  vales, 

Ye  locusts  of  tyranny,  blasting  them  o'er— 
Fill,  fill  up  their  wide  sunny  waters,  ye  sails 

From  each  slave-mart  of  Europe,  and  poison  thei 

shore ! 
Let  their  fate  be  a  mock-word—let  men  of  all  lands 

Laugh  out,  witli  a  scorn  that  shall  ring  to  the  poles 
When  each  sword  that  the  cowards  let  fall  from  thei 
hands 

Shall  be  forged  into  fetters  to  enter  their  souls ! 

And  deep  and  more  deep  as  the  iron  is  driven, 

Base  slaves  !  may  the  whet  of  their  agony  be, 
To  think— as  the  damn'd  haply  think  of  that  heaven 

They  had  once  in  their  reach— that  they  migh 

have  been  free  ! 
Shame,  shame,  when  there  was  not  a  bosom,  whos 
heat 

Ever  rose  o'er  the  ZERO  of 's  heart, 

That  did  not,  like  erl.o,  your  war-hymn  rrp.-:,t, 

And  send  all  its  prayers  with  your  liberty  s  sir 

, — • 

1  Natnnilifl.  hnvo  observed  Ih-if.  upon '  !r""or!;j=  ""  "' 
there  were  found  in  itt  hi  .'1  Wm6  l.irge  fl.py ,ith  lU  bra 
almost  eaten  away  by  tl,ctn.-//Ml«rjf  of  Poland. 


('hen  the  world  stood  in  hope— when  a  spirit,  thai 

breathed 

The  fresh  air  of  the  olden  time,  whisper' d  about, 
nd  the  swords  of  all  Italy  half-way  unsheathed, 
But  waited  one  conquering  cry  to  flash  out ! 

Tien  around  you,  the  shades  of  your  mighty  in  fame, 
Filicnjas  and  Pelrarchs,  soem'd  bursting  to  view, 

nd  their  words  and  their  warnings— like  tongues  of 

bright  flame 
Over  Freedom's  apostles — fell  kindling  on  you ! 

ood  God !  that  in  such  a  proud  moment  of  life, 
Worth  the  history  of  ages — when,  had  you  but 

hurl'd 

ne  bolt  at  your  bloody  invader,  that  strife 
Between  freemen  and  tyrants  had  spread  through 

the  world — 

"hat  then — oh  disgrace  upon  manhood !  even  then. 
You  should  falter,  should  cling  to  your  pitiful 

breath, 
'ower  down  into  beasts,  when  you  might  hare  stood 

men, 
And  prefer  the  slave's  life  of  damnation  to  death  ! 

t  is  strange — it  is  dreadful ; — shout,  tyranny,  shout, 
Through  your  dungeons  and  palaces,  "  Freedom  i* 
o'er !" — 

f  there  lingers  one  spark  of  her  light,  tread  it  out, 
And  return  to  your  empire  of  darkness  once  mote 

^or,  if  such  are  the  braggarts  that  claim  to  be  free, 
Come,  Despot  of  Russia,  thy  feet  let  me  kis»— 

i'ar  nobler  to  live  the  brute  bondman  of  tliee, 
Than  to  sully  even  chains  by  a  struggle  like  this  ! 
Paris,  1821. 


THE  INSURRECTION  OF  THF.  PU'ERS. 

A   DREAM. 

»  It  would  be  impossible  for  Hi.  Roynl  Hijlme*  to  taut 
•age  hi«  perion  from  lh«  accumulating  pile  of  pnper*  thai 
Jneompnpwl  it."— 7.«rrf  C*m.**«AOil's  Speech  *pf* 
Colonel  M'MAHOs's  Appointment. 

LAST  night  I  tons' d  and  turn'd  in  bed. 
But  could  not  sleep— at  length  I  said, 
Til  think  of  Viscount  C-STL-R— '.".^ 
Ami  of  his  speeches— that '•  the  way." 
And  so  it  was,  for  instantly 
I  slept  as  sound  as  sound  could  be  ; 
And  then  I  drram'd— oh,  frightful  dream! 
FrsKi.i  has  no  such  theme; 

novcr  wrote  or  borrow'd 

Any  horror  half  so  horrid  ! 

M. -Thought  the  P e,  in  whisker'd  staW, 

i  nc  at  his  hrrviktVi  sate: 
On  one  Fide  lay  unrend  petitions, 
On  't  othrr,  !;inN  from  five  priysimn<— 

lea'l  iiills,  official  papers, 
from  my  Lady,  •!•  •'"*- 

:,lm*  ofwddlaa,  ''">  "'"• 
Death-warrants  and  the  Mornii 


384 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


When  16 !  the  Papers,  one  and  all, 
As  if  at  some  magician's  call, 
Began  to  flutter  of  themselves 
From  desk  and  table,  floor  and  shelves, 
And,  cutting  each  some  different  capers, 
Advanced — oh  Jacobinic  papers  ! — 
As  though  they  said,  "  Our  sole  design  is 
To  suffocate  his  Royal  Highness  !" 
The  leader  of  this  vile  sedition 
Was  a  huge  Catholic  Petition  : 
With  grievances  so  full  and  heavy, 
It  threaten'd  worst  of  all  the  bevy. 
Then  Common-Hall  Addresses  came 
In  swaggering  sheets,  and  took  their  aim 
,  Right  at  the  R-G-NT'S  well-dress'd  head, 
Af  if  determined  to  be  read ! 
Next  Tradesmen's  Bills  began  to  fly — 
And  tradesmen's  bills,  we  know,  mount  high ; 
Nay,  even  Death-warrants  thought  they'd  best 
Be  lively  too  and  join  the  rest. 

But  oh  ! — the  basest  of  defections  ! 
His  letter  about  "predilections" — 
His  own  dear  letter,  void  of  grace, 
Now  flew  up  in  its  parent's  face ! 
Shock'd  with  this  breach  of  filial  duty, 
He  just  could  murmur,  "  El  TU  Brute .'" 
Then  sunk,  subdued,  upon  the  floor, 
At  Fox's  bust,  to  rise  no  more ! 

I  waked — and  pray'd,  with  lifted  hand, 
"  Oh  !  never  may  this  dream  prove  true ; 

Though  paper  overwhelms  the  land, 
Let  it  not  crush  the  Sovereign  too !" 


PARODY  OF  A  CELEBRATED  LETTER. 

AT  length,  dearest  FREDDY,  the  moment  is  nigh, 
When,  with  P-RC-V-L'S  leave,  I  may  throw  my  chains 

by; 

And,  as  time  now  is  precious,  the  first  thing  I  do 
b  to  sit  down  and  write  a  wise  letter  to  you. 


I  meant  before  now  to  have  sent  you  this  letter, 
But  Y-R.M — TU  and  I  thought  perhaps  *t  would  be 

bettfci 

To  wait  till  the  Irish  affairs  were  decided— 
That  if,  till  both  houses  had  prosed  and  divided, 
With  all  due  appearance  of  thought  and  digestion — 
For  though  H-RTF-RD  House  had  long  settled  the 

question, 

I  thought  it  but  decent,  between  me  and  you, 
That  the  two  other  houses  should  settle  it  too. 

I  need  not  remind  you  how  cursedly  bad 

Our  affairs  were  all  looking  when  Father  went  mad ; 

A  strait-waistcoat  on  him,  and  restrictions  on  me, — 

A  more  Umilrd  monarchy  could  not  well  be. 

1  u-.-is  c.-ill'd  upon  then,  in  that  moment  of  puzzle, 

To  chuse  my  own  minister— just  as  they  muzzle 


A  playful  young  bear,  and  then  mock  his  disastet 
By  bidding  him  chuse  out  his  own  dancing-master. 

I  thought  the  best  way,  as  a  dutiful  son, 
Was  to  do  as  old  Royalty's  self  would  have  done. 
So  I  sent  word  to  say  I  would  keep  the  whole  batch  in, 
The  same  chest  of  tools,  without  cleansing  or  patch- 
ing— 

For  tools  of  this  kind,  like  Martinns's  sconce,1 
Would  lose  all  their  beauty  if  purified  once  ; 
And  think — only  think — if  our  Father  should  find, 
Upon  graciously  coming  again  to  his  mind, 
That  improvement  had  spoil'd  any  favourite  adviser — 
That  R-SE   was  grown  honest,  or  W-STM-REL-NE 

wiser — 

That  R-D-R  was,  even  by  one  twinkle,  the  brighter — 
Or  L-V-R-P — L'S  speeches  but  half  a  pound  lighter— 
What  a  shock  to  his  old  royal  heart  it  would  be ! 
No  ! — far  were  such  dreams  of  improvement  from  me; 
And  it  pleased  me  to  find  at  the  house  where,  you 

know, 

There 's  such  good  mutton-cutlets  and  strong  curacoa,* 
That  the  Marchioness  called  me  a  duteous  old  boy, 
And  my  Y-RM-TH'S  red  whiskers  grew  redder  for  joy ! 

You  know,  my  dear  FREDDY,  how  oft,  if  I  u-oiM, 
By  the  law  of  last  Sessions,  I  might  have  done  good. 
I  migJU  have  withheld  these  political  noodles 
From   knocking  their   heads    against   hot  Yankee 

Doodles ; 

I  might  have  told  Ireland  I  pitied  her  lot, 
Might  have  soothed  her  with  hope — but  you  know  I 

did  not. 

And  my  wish  is,  in  truth,  that  the  best  of  old  fellows 
Should  not,  on  recovering,  have  cause  to  be  jealous, 
But  find  that,  while  he  has  been  laid  on  the  shelf, 
We've  been  all  of  us  nearly  as  mad  as  himself. 
You  smile  at  my  hopes,  but  the  doctors  and  I 
Are  the  last  that  can  think  the  K-.NG  ever  will  die  ! 

A  new  era 's  arrived — though  you'd  hardly  believe  it — 
And  all  things,  of  course,  must  be  new  to  receive  iL 
New  villas,  new  fetes  (which  even  WAITHMAN  at- 
tends)— 

New  saddles,    new   helmets,    and — why    not  new 
friends  ? 


I  repeat  it  "  new  friends" — for  I  cannot  describe 

The  delight  I  am  in  with  this  P-RC-V-L  tribe. 

Such  capering — such  vapouring  ! — such  rigour — such 

vigour  ! 
North,  South,  East,  and  West,  they  have  cut  such  a 

figure, 
That  soon  they  will  bring  the  whole  world  round  our 

ears, 

And  leave  us  no  friends — hut  Old  Nick  and  Algiers. 
When  I  think  of  the  glory  they've  beam'd  on  my 

chains, 

'T  is  enough  quite  to  turn  my  illustrious  brains ; 
It  's  true  we  are  bankrupts  in  commerce  and  riches, 
But  think  how  we  furnish  our  Allies  witli  breeches  ! 


1  Tin-  nnlit]tip  shield  of  Martinus  Prrililcrus,  which,  upon 
gconnnz,  liirnM  out  lo  t>r>  only  an  old  sconce. 

2  The  luttcr-writer's  favourite  luncheon 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


Wve  lost  the  warm  hearts  of  the  Irish,  "t  is  granted, 
Jut  then  we've  got  Java,  an  island  much  wanted, 
I'o  put  the  last  lingering  few  who  remain 
)f  the  Walcherun  warriors  out  of  their  pain, 
riien,  how  WKI.I.INC.TOX  fights!  and  how  squabbles 

his  brother ! 

For  papists  the  one,  and  with  papists  the  other; 
Jnf  crushing  NAIMI  i:<>\  by  taking  a  rily, 
iVkile  t'  other  lays  waste  a  whole  Catholic  Commit- 
tee ! 

Dh,  deeds  of  renown  !  shall  I  baggie  or  f!:nch, 
iVith  such  prospects  before  me? — by  Jove  not  an 

inch. 

Vo — let  Eiiglimr.*  affairs  go  to  rack  if  they  will, 
We'll  look  after  the  aifaiw  of  the  Continent  still, 
And,  with  nothing  at  home  but  starvation  and  riot, 
Find  Lisbon  in  bread,  and  keep  Sicily  quiet. 
[  am  proud  to  declare  I  have  no  predilections, — 
My  heart  is  a  sieve,  where  some  scatter'd  atfections 
Are  just  danced  about  for  a  moment  or  two, 
And  the _/??ier  they  are,  the  more  sure  to  run  through: 
Neither  have  I  resentments,  nor  wish  there  should 

come  ill 

To  mortal — except  (now  I  think  on't)  BEAU  BR-MM-L, 
Who  threatened,  last  year,  in  a  superfine  passion, 
To  cut  me,  and  bring  the  old  K-NG  into  fashion. 
This  is  all  I  can  lay  to  my  conscience  at  present. 
When  such  is  my  temper,  so  neutral,  so  pleasant, 
So  royally  free  from  all  troublesome  feelings, 
So  little  encumber'd  by  faith  in  my  dealings 
(And,  that  I'm  consistent,  the  world  will  allow, — 
What  1  was  at  Newnmkct,  the  same  I  am  now) — 
When  such  are  my  merits  (you  know  I  hate  crack 

ing,) 

I  hope,  like  the  vender  of  best  Patent  Blacking, 
"  To  meet  with  the  generous  and  kind  approbation 
Of  a  candid,  enlighten'd  and  liberal  nation." 

By  the  by,  ere  I  close  this  magnificent  letter 

(No  man  except  POLK  could  have  writ  you  a  better, 

'T  would  please  me  if  those,  whom  I've  humbugg'd 

so  long 
With  the  notion  (good  men  !)  that  I  knew  right  from 

wrong, 

Would  a  few  of  them  join  me— mind,  only  a  few— 
To  let  too  much  light  in  on  me  never  would  do ; 
But  even  GREV'S  brightness  shan't  make  me  afraid, 
While  I've  C-MD-N  and  EI.D-N  to  fly  to  for  shade ; 
Nor  will  HOLLAND'S  clear  intellect  do  us  much  harn 
Wlule  there 's  W-STM-KEL-ND  near  him  to  weake 

the  charm. 

As  for  MOIRA'S  high  spirit,  if  aught  can  subdue  it, 
Sure  joining  with  H-KTF-RD  and  V-it  M— TII  will  do  it 
Between  R-n-R  and  WII-RT-N  let  SIIKKIHAN  sit, 
And  their  fogs  will  soon  quench  even  SIIKKIPAN' 

wit; 

And  against  all  the  pure  public  feeling  that  clows 
Even  in  WIIITBREAD  himself  we've  a  host  in  G— RG 

R-SF.  ! 

So  in  short,  if  they  wish  to  have  places,  they  m  iv, 
And  I'll  thank  you  to  tell  all  these  matters  loGfc*1 
Who,  I  doubt  not,  will  write  (as  there's  no  time  t 

By  the  twopenny  post,  to  tell  GREXYIM.K  the  news 

And  now,  dearest  Fnr.o  (though  I've  no  prediction 

Believe  me  jours  always  with  truest  affection. 

3  C 


. — A  copy  of  this  is  to  P-RC-V-L  going— 
ood  Lord  !  how  st.  Stephen's  will  ring  with  hi» 
crowing ! 


ANACREONTIC. 

TO  A  ri.lTMASSlKR. 

FINE  nnd  frail 
Best  of  I'l  ii  mists,  if  you  ran 
Wiih  y<mr  art  so  far  presume, 
Make  for  me  a  P E'S  plume- 
Feathers  soft  and  feathers  rare, 
Such  as  suits  a  P r.  to  wear . 

First,  thou  downiest  of  men  ! 
Seek  me  out  a  fine  pea-hen  ; 
Such  a  hen,  so  tall  and  grand, 
As  by  Juno's  side  might  stand, 
If  there  were  no  cocks  at  hand ! 
Sock  her  feathers,  soft  as  down, 

Fit  to  shine  on  P E'S  crown ; 

If  thou  canst  not  find  them,  stupid! 
Ask  the  way  of  Prior's  Cupid. 

Ranging  these  in  order  due, 
Pluck  me  next  an  old  cuckoo ; 
Emblem  of  the  happy  fates 
Of  easy,  kind,  cornuted  mates ! 
Pluck  him  well — be  sure  you  do— 
Who  would  n't  be  an  old  cuckoo, 
Thus  to  have  his  plumage  blcss'd. 
Beaming  on  a  r-y-1  crest  ? 

Bravo,  Plumist ! — now  what  bird 
Shall  we  find  for  plurne  the  third? 
Y«MI  must  get  a  learned  owl, 
Blackest  of  black-letter  fowl — 
Bigot  bird  that  hates  the  light, 
Foe  to  all  that 's  fair  nnd  bright ! 
Si:i/.e  his  quills  (so  foim'd  to  j"  n 
Books  that  shun  the  search  of  men,— 
Books  that  farfron 
In  "  swelter'd  venom  sleeping"  lie !) 
Stick  them  in,  betu 
Proud  pea-hun  and  old  cuckoo  ! 

Now  you  have  the  triple  feather, 
Bind  the  kindred  stems  together 
With  a  silken  tic  who-.- 
Once  was  brilliant  buff  and  blue  ; 
Sullied  now— alas  !  how  much  !— 
Only  fit  for  Y-RM— TII'S 
There— enougli— thy  task  u  d 

Present  worthy  G GE'S  son  ! 

Now,  beneath,  in  letters  neat, 

Write  "  I  SERVE,"  and  all '»  complete 


EXTRACT* 

FROM  THE  DIARY  OK  A  POI.IT 

I  1          I    .t    '•?*!« 

THROUGH  M-NCII-ST-R  Square  took  a  canter  Jim 
now — 

Met  the  t,ld  v  '/.;ir  rharirl,  nnd  rri-1--  a  low  '• 

This  I  did,  of  course,  thin'  >••»'  an<l  c'r^ 

But  got  such  a  look— oh,  't  was  black  as  the  devil ' 


336 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


How  unlucky  ! — incog,  he  was  travelling  about, 
And  I,  like  a  noodle,  must  go  find  him  out ! 

Mm.— When  next  by  the  old  yellow  chariot  I  ride, 
To  remember  there  is  nothing  princely  inside. 

Thursday. 

At  Levee  to-day  made  another  sad  blunder — 
What  can  be  come  over  me  lately,  I  wonder? 

The  P E  was  as  cheerful  as  if,  all  his  life 

He  had  never  been  troubled  with  Friends  or  a  Wife — 
"Fine  weather,"  says  he — to  which  I,  who  must  prate, 
Answer'd,  "  Yes,  Sir,  but  changeable  rather,  of  late." 
He  took  it,  I  fear,  for  he  look'd  rather  gruff, 
And  handled  his  new  pair  of  whiskers  so  rough, 
That  before  all  the  courtiers  I  fear'd  they'd  come  off, 
And  then,  Lord !  how  GERAMB  would  triumphantly 
scoff! 

Mem.  To  buy  for  eon  DICKY  some  unguent  or  lotion 
To  nourish  his  whiskers — sure  road  to  promotion!1 

Saturday. 

Last  night  a  concert — vastly  gay — 
Given  by  Lady  C-STL-R — GII. 
My  Lord  loves  music,  and,  we  know, 
Has  two  strings  always  to  his  bow. 
In  chusing  songs,  the  R-G-NT  named 
"  Had  la  heart  for  falsehood  framr-d." 
While  gentle  H-RTF-RD  begg'd  and  pray'd 
For  "  Young  I  am,  and  sore  afraid," 


KING  CRACK1  AND  HIS  IDOLS. 

Written  after  the  late  Negotiation  for  a  new 
M-n-stry. 

KINO  CRACK  was  the  best  of  all  possible  kings 
(At  least  so  his  courtiers  would  swear  to  you 
gladly,) 

But  CRACK  now  and  then  would  do  het'rodox  things, 
And,  at  last,  took  to  worshipping  Images  sadly. 

Some  broken-down  IDOLS,  that  long  had  been  placed 

In  his  Father's  old  Cabinet,  pleased  him  so  much 
That  he  knelt  down  and  worshipp'd,  though — such 

was  his  taste ! 

They  were  monstrous  to  look  at  and  rotten  to 
touch ! 

And  these  were  the  beautiful  Gods  of  King  CRACK! — 

Till  his  people,  disdaining  to  worship  such  things, 

Cried  aloud,  one  and  all,  "Come,  your  Godships 

must  pack — 

You  will  not  do  for  us,  though  you  may  do  for 
Kings" 


I  F.ncland  is  not  the  only  country  where  merit  of  this  kind 
'n  ni.'i'-i-d  and  rewarded.  "  I  remember,"  says  Tavt-rnier, 
"  to  have  seen  one  of  the  King  of  Persia's  porters,  whose 
miistarhios  were  BO  long  that  he  could  tie  them  behind  his 
neck,  for  which  reason  he  had  a  double  pension." 

9.  (Inrt  of  those  antediluvian  princes  with  whom  Manotho 
ar.d  Whifton  si-em  so  intimately  acquainted.  If  we  had 
III*  Memoirs  of  Thoth,  from  which  Manetho  compiled  his 
history,  we  should  find,  I  dare  say,  that  Crack  was  only  a 
Recent,  and  that  he,  perhaps,  succeeded  Typhon,  who  (as 
Whiston  says)  was  the  last  king  of  the  antediluvian  dy- 
nasty. 


Then  trampling  the  gross  IDOLS  under  their  feet, 
They  sent  CRACK  a  petition,  beginning,  "Great 

Ca:sar ! 

We  are  willing  to  worship,  but  only  entreat 
That  you  '11  find  us  some  decenter  Godhead  than 
these  are." 

"  I  '11  try,"  says  King  CRACK — then  they  furnish'd 

him  models 

Of  better  shaped  Gods,  but  he  sent  them  all  bark  ; 
Some  were  chisell'd  too  fine,  some  had  heads  'stead 

of  noddles, 
In  short,  they  were  all  much  too  godlike  for  CRACK!. 

So  he  took  to  his  darling  old  IDOLS  again, 
And,  just  mending  their  legs  and  new  bronzing 

their  faces, 
In  open  defiance  of  gods  and  of  men, 

Set  the  monsters  up  grinning  once  more  in  theu 
places ! 


WREATHS  FOR  THE  MINISTERS. 

AN   ANACREONTIC. 

HITHER,  FLORA,  Queen  of  Flowers  ! 
Haste  thee  from  old  Brompton's  bowers 
Or  (if  sweeter  that  abode,) 
From  the  King's  well-odour'd  Road, 
Where  each  little  nursery  bud 
Breathes  the  dust  and  quaffs  the  mud  ! 
Hither  come,  and  gaily  twine 
Brightest  herbs  and  flowers  of  thine 
Into  wreaths  for  those  who  rule  us — 
Those  who  rule  and  (some  say)  fool  us 
FLORA,  sure,  will  love  to  please 
England's  HOUSEHOLD  DEITIES!' 

First  you  must  then,  willy-nilly, 
Fetch  me  many  an  orange  lily — 
Orange  of  the  darkest  dye 
Irish  G-FF-RD  can  supply  ! 
Choose  me  out  the  longest  sprig, 
And  stick  it  in  old  ELD-N'S  wig  ! 

Find  me  next  a  poppy-posy, 
Type  of  his  harangues  so  dozy, 
Garland  gaudy,  dull  and  cool, 
For  the  head  of  L-V-RP — L  ! — 
*T  will  console  his  brilliant  brows 
For  that  loss  of  laurel  boughs 
Which  they  suffer'd  (what  a  pity  !) 
On  the  road  to  Paris  City. 

Next,  our  C-STL-R — GH  to  crown, 
Bring  me,  from  the  County  Down, 
Wither'd  shamrocks,  which  have  been 
Gilded  o'er  to  hide  the  Green — 
(Such  as  H — DF — T  brought  away 
From  Pall-Mall  last  Patrick's  Day.2) 


1  The  ancients,  in  like  manner,  crowned  their  lares,  or 
household  gucls. — Si-e  Juvenal,  sat.  9.  v.  138.     Plutarch  too 
tells  us  that  household  gods  were  then,  as   they  are  now, 
"  much  given  to  war  and  penal  statutes."     (fw*VMfc«|  xai 

3TG»V*/40Uf    5mUC\'X$. 

2  Certain  tinsel  imitations  of  ths  Shamrock,  which  art 
distributed  by  the  servants  of  C n  House  svery  Patrick'*- 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


M7 


Stitch  the  garland  through  and  through 

"With  shaMiy  tlir.-ads  nf  ,,;,•;/  hue — 

And  as,  Goddess  ! — entre  nous — 

His  Lordship  loves  (though  best  of  men) 

A  little  torture  now  and  then, 

Crimp  the  leaves,  thou  first  of  syrens ! 

Crimp  them  with  thy  curling-irons. 

That  *s  enough — away,  away — 
Had  I  leisure,  I  could  say 
How  the  oldest  rose  that  prows 
Must  be  pluek'd  to  deck  Old  R-SE,— 
How  the  DOCTOR'S  brow  should  smile 
Crown'd  with  wreaths  of  camomile ! 
But  time  presses. — To  thy  taste 
I  leave  the  rest  j  so,  prithee,  haste  ! 


An  excellent  thought!— call  th«  tailors— be  nimble — 
Let  Cux  bring  his  spy-glass,  and  11-fttr-u  her  thim- 
ble; 

While  Y-RM-TH  ahull  give  ns,  In  spite  of  all  quitteri, 
The  last  Paris  cut  with  his  true  Gallic  scissors." 

So  raying,  he  call*  C-BTM-OH,  and  the  Bert 
Of  his  heaven-born  statesmen,  to  come  and  be  drem'd. 
While  Y-R-M— TII,  with  snip-like  and  brisk  expedi- 
tion, 
Cuts  up,  all  at  once,  a  large  Catholic  Petition 

In  long  tailors'  measures  (the  P E  crying,  "  Well 

done '.") 
And  first  puts  in  hand  my  Lord  Chancellor  ELD-N. 


THE  NEW  COSTUME  OF  THE  MINISTERS. 

-  Nova  monstra  creavit.-Ovin.  Met.  lib.  i.  ver  437. 

HAVING  sent  off  the  troops  of  brave  Major  CAMAC, 
With  a  swinging  horse-tail  at  each  valorous  bark,  ^ 
And  such  nelmets—  God  bless  us  !—  as  never  deck'd 

any 

Male  creature  before,  except  Signor  GIOVANNI— 
«  Lot  's  see,"  said  the  R-G-NT  (like  TITUS,  perplex'd 
With  the  duties  of  empire,)  "whom  shall  I  dress 

next  ?" 

He  looks  in  the  glass—  but  perfection  is  there, 
Wig,  whiskers,  and  chin-lulls,  all  right  to  a  hair  ; 
Not  a  single  er-curl  on  his  forehead  he  traces— 
For  curls  are  like  Ministers,  strange  as  the  case  is, 
The  falser  they  are,  the  more  firm  in  their  places. 

His  coat  he  next  views—  but  the  coat  who  could 

doubt  ? 

For  his  Y-RM—  TH'S  own  Frenchified  hand  cut 
Evorv  pucker  and  scam  were  made  matters  of  state, 
And  a  grand  Household  Council  was  held  on  en 

plait  ! 
Then  whom  shall  he  dress?  Shall  he  new  rig  his 

brother, 
Great  C-MH-RL-ND'S  Duke,  with  some  kickshs 

oth?r  ? 

And  kindly  intent  him  more  Christian-like  shapes 
For  his  feather-bed  neckcloths  and  pillory  capos 
M!  no_hcre  his  anloiir  would  nv-ft  with  d,-l:.y<, 
For  the  Duke  had  been  lately  pack'd  up  in  now  Mays, 
So  complete  for  the  winter,  he  saw  vory  plain 
•T  would  be  devilish  hard  work  to  unpack  him  ag 
So  what  's  to  be  done?-there's  the  MINISTERS, 

bless  'em  !  —  . 

As  he  mad*  the  puppets,  why  should  n't  he  A 


OCCASIONAL  ADDRESS, 

For  the  Opening  of  the  New  Theatre  of  St.  St-ph-*, 
intended  to  have  been  spoken  by  the  Proprietor,  P» 
futt  Costume,  on  the  24th  of  November. 
THIS  day  a  New  House,  for  your  edification, 
We  open,  most  thinking  and  right-headod  nation ! 
Excuse  the  materials— though  rotten  and  bad, 
They  're  the  best  that  for  money  just  now  could  be 

had  ; 

And,  if  echo  the  charm  of  such  houses  should  he 
You  will  find  it  shall  echo  my  speech  to  a  T 


ing  answer  to  her  in  Suartianus 


As  for  actors,  we  've  got  the  old  company  yet, 
The  same  motley,  odd,  tragi-comicij  sot : 
And,  considering  they  all  were  but  clerks  t*  other  daf 
It  is  truly  surprising  how  well  they  can  play. 
Our  manager  (he  who  in  Ulster  was  nursed. 
And  sung  Erin  po  Bragh  for  the  galleries  first, 
But,  on  finding  Pitt-interest  a  much  better  tl. 
Changed  his  note,  of  a  sudden,  to  "  God  tave  (M 

r  /" 

Still  wise  as  he 's  blooming,  and  fat  as  he 's  clever, 
Himself  and  his  speeches  as  lengthy  as  ever. 
Here  offers  you  still  the  full  use  of  his  breath. 
Your  devoted  and  long-winded  proser  till  death ! 

You  remember,  last  season,  when  things  went  pel* 

verse  on, 

We  had  to  engage  (as  a  block  to  rehearse 
On-  Mr.  V-NS-TT-RT,  a  good  sort  of  [• 
Who's  also  employ'd  for  t!,  •  p*J 

In  M  RaWns  tho  Wind,"  and  "tl, 
We  expect  too— at  least  we're  been  plot 

planning — 

To  get  that  groat  actor  from  Liverpool,  I 
And  as  at  the  circus  there  '»  nothing  aitncts 
1  iko  a  Eood  finL'tf  rtanhnt  brought  in  'twixt  l\ 
If  ,l,o  Manner  should,  with  the  help  of  S 
Got  up  now  ,!irrrtion.\  and  C-NN-V;  "hould  . 
Who  knows  but  we  '11  have  to  announce  in  the  pa 
pors,  . 

"Grand  fi-ht— second  time— wi'h  additional  r 
Be  your  taste  for  the  ludicrous,  hum.lrum,  or 
;  -  plenty  of  each  in  this  house  to  b, 

\VI,oroonrM,rn-rruMh,.h.-P 
r  or  ^  deadend  at  tragedy  t\^n: 
\nd  there  n-vor  was  dor,l-r  in  dagger  and  «  ip, 
Who  so  mHingly  got  all  his  tragod,( 


3S3 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


His  powers  poor  Ireland  will  never  forget, 

And  the  widows  of  \Valcheren  weep  o'er  them  yet. 

So  much  for  the  actors. — For  secret  machinery, 
Traps,  and  deceptions,  and  shifting  of  scenery, 
Y-RM — TH  and  CUM  are  the  best  we  can  find 
To  transact  all  that  trickery  business  behind. 
The  former 's  employ'd  too  to  teach  us  French  jigs, 
Keep  the  whiskers  in  curl,  and  look  after  the  wigs. 

In  taking  my  leave,  now  I  've  only  to  say 

A  few  Seats  in  the  House,  not  as  yet  sold  away, 

May  be  had  of  the  Manager,  PAT  C-STL-R— GH. 


THE  SALE  OF  THE  TOOLS. 
Instrumenta  regni. — TACITUS. 

HERE'S  a  choice  set  of  tools  for  you,  Gemmen  and 

Ladies, 

They'll  fit  you  quite  handy,  whatever  your  trade  is — 
(Except  it  be  Cabinet-making — I  doubt 
In  that  delicate  service  they  are  rather  worn  out ; 
Though  their  owner— bright  youth!— if  he'd  had  bis 

own  will, 

Would  have  bungled  away  with  them  joyously  still.) 
You  can  see   they've  been  pretty  well  hack'd— and, 

alack ! 

What  tool  is  there  job  after  job  will  not  hack  1 
Their  edge  is  but  dullish,  it  must  be  confess'd, 
And  their  temper,  like  ELL-NB'R — GH'S,  none  of  the 

best; 
Eut  you'll  find  them  good  hard-working  Tools,  upon 

trying— 
Were  it  but  for  the  brass,  they  arc  well  worth  the 

buying; 
They   are    famous    for    making    blinds,   sliders,    and 

icreens, 

And  they're,  some  of  them,  excellent  turning  ma- 
chines! 

The  first  Tool  I'll  put  up  (they  call  it  a  Chancellor) 
Heavy  concern  to  both  purchaser  and  seller,— 
Though  made  of  pig-iron,  yet  (worthy  of  note  't  is) 
'T  is  ready  to  melt  at  a  half-minute's  notice. 
Who   bidsl      Gentle   buyer!    't   will   turn   as   thon 

shapest — 

T  will  make  a  good  thum-screw  to  torture  a  Papist ; 
Or  else  a  cramp-iron,  to  stick  in  the  wall 
Of  some  church  that  old  women  are  fearful  will  fall; 
Or  better,  perhaps  (for  I  'm  guessing  at  random,) 
A  neavy  drag  chain  for  some  Lawyer's  old  Tandem  ! 
Will  nobody  bid  ?    It  is  cheap,  I  am  sure,  Sir- 
Once,     twice — going,    going — thrice — gone  ! — It    is 

yours,  Sir. 

To  pay  ready  money  you  sha'n't  be  distress'd, 
As  a  bill  at  long  date  suits  the  CHANCELLOR  best. 

Come,  where 's  the  next  Tool  ? — Oh !  't  is  here  in  a 

trice — 

This  implement,  Gemmen  !  at  first  was  a  Vice— 
(A  tenacious  and  close  son  of  Tool,  that  will  let 
Nothing  out  of  its  grasp  it  once  happens  to  get) — 
But  it  since  has  received  a  new  coating  of  Tin, 
Bright  enough  for  a  Prince  to  behold  himself  in ! 


Come,  what  shall  we  say  for  it  ? — briskly  !  bid  on, 
We  '11  the  sooner  get  rid  of  it — going — quite  gone ! 
God  be  with  it !    Such  Tools,  if  not  quickly  knock'd 

down, 
Might  at  last  cost  their  owner — how  much  ?  why,  a 

Crown .' 

The  next  Tool  I  "11  set  up  has  hardly  had  handsel  or 
Trial  as  yet,  and  is  also  a  Chancellor — 
Such  dull  tilings  as  these  should  be  sold  by  the  gross 
Yet,  dull  as  it  is,  't  will  be  found  to  shave  close, 
And,  like  other  close  shavers,  some  courage  to  gather 
This  blade  first  began  by  a  flourish  on  leather! 
You  shall  have  it  for  nothing — then,  man-el  with  me 
At  the  terrible  tinkering  work  there  must  be, 
Where  aTool,such  as  this  is  (I  '11  leave  you  to  judge  it) 
Is  placed  by  ill  luck  at  the  top  of  the  Budget ! 


LITTLE  MAN  AND  LITTLE  SOUL. 
A  Ballad  to  the  Tune  of  "  There  ivas  a  little  Man,  and 
he  wooed  a  little  Maid,"  dedicated  to  the  Right  Hon, 
Ch-rl-s  Abb-t. 


Arcades  ambo 
Et  caa(-are  pares. 


1S13. 


THERE  was  a  little  Man,  and  he  had  a  little  Soul, 
And  he  said,  "  Little  Soul,  let  us  try,  try,  try, 

Whether  it 's  within  our  reach 

To  make  up  a  little  speech, 
Just  between  little  you  and  little  I,  I,  I, 
Just  between  little  you  and  little  I!" s 

Then  said  his  little  Soul, 
Peeping  from  her  little  hole, 
"  I  protest,  little  Man,  you  are  stout,  stout,  stout, 
But,  if  't  is  not  uncivil, 
Pray  tell  me,  what  the  devil 
Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about,  bout,  bout, 
Must  our  little,  little  speech  be  about 

The  little  Man  look'd  bis, 
With  the  assistance  of  his  wig, 
And  he  call'd  his  little  Soul  to  order,  order,  order, 
Till  she  fear'd  he  'd  make  her  jog  in 
To  jail,  like  Thomas  Croggan, 
(As  she  was  n't  duke  or  earl)  to  reward  her,  ward  her 

ward  her, 
As  she  was  n't  duke  or  earl,  to  reward  her. 

The  little  Man  then  spoke, 
"  Little  Soul,  it  is  no  joke, 

For,  as  sure  as  J-CKY  F-LL-R  loves  a  sup,  sup,  sup 
I  will  tell  the  Prince  and  People 
What  I  think  of  Church  and  Steeple, 
And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up,  up,  up, 
And  my  little  patent  plan  to  prop  them  up." 

Away  then,  cheek  by  jowl, 
Little  Man  and  Little  Soul 
Went,  and  spoke  their  little  speech  to  a  tittle,  tittle, 

tittle, 

And  the  world  all  declare 
That  this  priggish  little  pair 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  little,  little,  little. 
Never  yet  in  all  their  lives  look'd  so  little 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.. 


•I 


FOR  LORD  WEL- 
LINGTON. 


I  menu  of  which,  we  are  told,  u  Fuu,  The  Chmne 
Bird  of  Royalty"  i*  a  principal  ornament 

1  am,  Sir,  yours,  etc. 

Hoa 


suosque  tibi  commcnilat  Troja  penates, 

Hos  cape  futorum  coinitcs. —  t'irgil. 

1813. 

As  recruits  in  these  times  are  not  easily  got, 
And  the  Marshal  must  have  them— pray,  why  should 

\ve  not, 
As  the  last  and,  I  grant  it,  the  worst  of  our  loans  to 

him, 

Ship  off  the  Ministry,  body  and  bones  to  him  ? 
There 's  not  in  all  England,  I  'd  venture  to  swear, 
Any  men  we  could  half  so  conveniently  spare; 
And,  though  they  've  been  helping  the  French  for 

years  past, 

We  may  thus  make  them  useful  to  England  at  last 
C-STL-R — GH  in  our  sieges  might  save  some  disgraces, 
Being  used  to  the  taking  and  keeping  of  places; 
And  Volunteer  C-NX-NG,  still  ready  for  joining, 
Might  show  off  his  talent  for  sly  undermining. 
Could  the  Household  but  spare  us  its  glory  and  pride, 

Old  H DF — T  .it  horn-works  again  might  be  tried, 

And  the  Ch— f  J-ST-CE  make  a  bold  diarge  at  hia 

side ! 

While  V-NS-TT-RT  could  victual  the  troops  upon  tick, 
And  the  Doctor  look  after  the  baggage  and  sick. 

Nay,  I  do  not  see  why  the  great  R-G-NT  himself 
Should,  in  times  such  as  these,  stay  at  home  on  the 

shelf:— 

Though  through  narrow  defiles  he 's  not  fitted  to  pass, 
Yet  who  could  resist  if  he  bore  down  en  masse  ? 
And.though  oft,of  an  evening, perhaps  he  might  prove, 
Like  our  brave  Spanish  Allies,  "unable  to  move;"1 
Yet  there 's  one  thing  in  war,  of  advantage  unbounded, 
Which  is,  that  he  could  not  with  ease  be  surrounded! 

In  my  next,  I  shall  sing  of  their  arms  and  equipment. 
At  present  no  more  but— good  luck  to  the  shipment ! 


LORD  WELLINGTON  AND  THE  MINISTERS 

1813. 

So,  gently  in  peace  Alcibiades  smiled, 

While  in  battle  he  shone  forth  so  terribly  grand, 

That  the  emblem  they  graved  on  his  seal  was  a  child 
With  a  thunderbolt  placed  in  its  innocent  hand. 

Oh,  WELLINGTON  !  long  as  such  Ministers  wield 
Your  magnificent  arm,  the  same  emblem  will  do  ; 

For  while  they  're  in  the  Council  and  you  in  t: 
We  've  the  babies  in  Diem,  and  the  thunder  in  you .' 


To  the  Editor  of  the  Morning  Chronicle. 


Fl'M  AM)  II I'M, 
The  two  Bird*  of  Royalty. 

ONE  day  the  Chinese  Bird  of  Royalty,  Fum, 
Thus  accosted  our  own  Bird  of  Royalty,  Hum, 
In  that  Palace  or  China-shop  (Brighton— whu-h  i»  it?; 
Where  FUM  had  just  come  to  pay  HUM  a  short  ri*iu— 
Near  akin  are  these  Bird*,  though  they  difier  in  nation; 
(The  breed  of  the  HUMS  is  as  old  as  creation,) 
Both  full-craw'd  Legitimates— both  birds  of  prey, 
Both  cackling  and  ravenous  creatures,  half  way 
'Twixt  the  goose  and  the  vulture,  like  Lord  C-S- 
TL-R— GH  ; 

While  FUM  deals  in  Mandarins,  Bonzes,  Bohca— 
Peers,  Bishops,  and  Punch,  HUM, are  sacred  to  thee! 
So  congenial  their  tastes,  that,  when  FUM  first  did 


SIR  —In  order  to  explain  the  following 
His  necessary  to  refer  your  renders  to  a  late  flon 
description  of  the  Pavilion  at  Brighton,  in  th 


light  on 

The  floor  of  that  grand  China-warehouse  at  Brighton, 
The  lanterns,  and  dragons,  and  things  round  the  doma 
Were  so  like  what  he  left,  "God,"  says  FUM,  "I  'm 

at  home." — 
And  when,  turning,  he  saw  Bishop  L &«. 

"  Zooks,  it  is," 
Quoth  the  Bird,  "ye*— I  know  him— a  Bonze,  by  hu 

phiz — 

And  that  jolly  old  idol  he  kneels  to  so  low 
Can  be  none  but  our  round-about  godhead,  fat  Fo '." 
It  chanced,  at  this  moment,  the  Episcopal  Prig 
Was  imploring  the  P *  to  dispense  with  hi« 

Which  the  Bird,  overhearing,  flew  high  o'er  his  head, 
nd  some  TouiT-like  marks  of  his  patronage  shed. 

Which  so  dimm'd  the  poor  Dandy's  idolatrou- 
'hat  while  FUM  cried  "  Oh  Fo !"  all  the  Court  cried 
Oh  fie  I" 

But,  a  truce  to  digression.— These  Birds  of  a  feathar 

Thus  talk'd,  t'  other  night,  on  State  matter,  tor 

Tne  p E  just  in  bed,  or  about  to  depart 

lis  legs  full  of  «»ut,  and  his  arms  full  of ;) 

«j  g;i,  ys  FUM-^FCM,  of  coune,  tpok 

Chinese, 

But  bless  you,  that 's  nothing— at  Brighton  one 

Foreign  lingoe.  and  Bishop  rrawfatoi.with  eM*- 

"I  say,  HUM,  how  fares  it  with  i. 

Is  it  tip  ?  is  it  prime  1  is  it  rjxxmry— or  how  T' 
The  Bird  had  just  taken  a  Flashman'.  deg 

Under  B K,  V TH,  and  young  31 

'  \s  for  uTiu'lVkin''' "«re  *  dcyil  of   ' 

From  the  la-d-chambcr  came,  where  that  Jong  M< 

darin,  . 

C-STL-n-<;H  (whom  Fir*  call,  the  Confucva  c 

Pr"  . 

Was  rehearsing  a  speech  upon  Europe  « 
To  the  deep,  double-bass  of  the  fat  idol  • 


1  The  character  eiv.-n  to  the  Spanish  soldier,  in  Sir  Jul 
Mmrav's  memorable  dispatch 


»aud  10  a 


390 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


(Nota  Bene. — His  Lordship  and  L-V-RP — L  come, 
In  collateral  lines,  from  the  old  Mother  HUM,— 
C-STL-R — GH  a  HuM-bug — L-V-RP — L  a  HuM-drum.) 
The  speech  being  finish'd,  out  rush'd  C-STL-R — GH, 
Saddled  HUM  in  a  hurry,  and  whip,  spur,  away ! 
Through  the  regions  of  air,  like  a  Snip  on  his  hobby, 
Ne'er  paused  till  he  lighted  in  St.  Stephen's  lobby. 


EPISTLE  FROM  TOM  CRIB  TO  BIG  BEN. 

Concerning  some  foul  play  in  a  late  Transaction.1 

"Alii,  mio  Ben!" — Metastasis.* 

WHAT  !  BEN,  my  old  hero,  is  this  your  renown? 
Is  this  the  new  go  ? — kick  a  man  when  he 's  down  ! 
When  the  foe  has  knock' d  under,  to  tread  on  him 

then — 

By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  BEN  ! 
"  Foul !  foul !"  all  the  lads  of  the  fancy  exclaim — 
CHARLEY   SHOCK   is   electrified — BELCHER    spits 

flame — 

And  MOLYNEUX — ay,  even  BLACKY,  cries  "  Shamp '." 
Time  was,  when  JOHN  BOLL  little  difference  spied 
'Twist  the  foe  at  his  feet  and  the  friend  at  his  side  : 
When  he  found  (such  his  humour  in  fighting  and 

eating,) 

His  foe,  like  his  beef-steak,  the  sweeter  for  beating — 
But  this  comes,  Master  BEN,  of  your  cursed  foreign 

notions, 

Your  trinkets,  wigs,  thingumbobs,  gold  lace,  and  lo- 
tions ; 

Your  noyaus,  curacoas,  and  the  devil  knows  what — 
(One  swig  of  Blue  Ruin3  is  worth  the  whole  lot !) — 
Your  great  and  small  crosses — (my  eyes,  what  a 

brood! 
A  cross-buttock  from  me  would  do  some  of  them 

good !) 
Which  have  spoil'd  you,  till  hardly  a  drop,  my  old 

porpoise, 

Of  pure  English  claret  is  left  in  your  corpus; 
And  (as  JIM  says)  the  only  one  trick,  good  or  bad, 
Of  the  fancy  you  're  up  to,  is  Jibbing,  my  lad  ! 
Hence  it  comes, — BOXIANA,  disgrace  to  thy  page ! — 
Having  floor'd,  by  good  luck,  the  first  swell  of  the  age, 
Having  conquer'd  the  prime  one,  that  miWd  us  all 

round, 

You  kick'd  him,  old  BEN,  as  he  gasp'd  on  the  ground ! 
Ay — just  at  the  time  to  show  spunk,  if  you  M  got  any — 
Kick'd  him,  and  jaw'd  him,  and  Ligg'd*  him  to 

Botany ! 

Oh,  shade  of  the  Cheesemonger.'*  you  who,  alas ! 
Doubled  up,  by  the  dozen,  those  Mounseers  in  brass, 
On  that  great  day  of  milling,  when  blood  lay  in  lakes, 
When  Kings  held  the  bottle  and  Europe  the  stakes, 


1  Written  soon  after  B — n-p-rte's  transportation  to  St. 
Helena. 

2  Tom,  I  suppose,  was  "assisted'1  to  this  motto  l>y  Mr. 
Jackson,  who,  it  is  weft  known,  keeps   the  most  iciiinud 
company  going. 

'<  Gin.  4  Transported. 

5  A  I/ife-Guardsman,  one  of  tke  fancy,  who  distin- 
piiiiilifd  himself,  and  was  killed  in  the  memorable  set-to  at 
Waterloo 


Look  down  upon  BEN — see  him  dunghitt  all  o'er, 
Insult  the  fallen  foe  that  can  harm  him  no  more. 
Out,  cowardly  spooney! — again  and  again, 
By  the  fist  of  my  father,  I  blush  for  thee,  BEN. 
To  show  the  white  feather  is  many  men's  doom, 
But,  what  of  one  feather  ? — BEN  shows  a  whole  Pliant 


TO  LADY  HOLLAND, 
On  Napoleon's  Legacy  of  a  Snuff-box. 
GIFT  of  the  Hero,  on  his  dying  day, 

To  her,  whose  pity  watch'd,  for  ever  nigh; 
Oh  !  could  he  see  the  proud,  the  happy  ray, 
This  relic  lights  up  on  her  generous  eye, 
Sighing,  he'd  feel  how  easy  't  is  to  pay 
A  friendship  all  his  kingdoms  could  not  buy. 


CORRESPONDENCE. 

Between  a  Lady  and  a  Gentleman,  upon  the  Advan 
tage  of  (what  is  called)  "  having  Law  on  one'* 
Side." 

".Legge  aurea, 
S'  eipiace,  ci  lice." 

THE  GENTLEMAN'S  PROPOSAL. 

COME,  fly  to  these  arms,  nor  let  beauties  so  bloomy 

To  one  frigid  owner  be  tied  ; 

Your  prudes  may  revile,  and  your  old  ones  look 
gloomy, 

But,  dearest !  we've  LAW  on  our  side. 

Oh  !  think  the  delight  of  two  lovers  congenial, 

Whom  no  dull  decorums  divide ; 
Their  error  how  sweet,  and  their  raptures  how  venial, 

When  once  they've  got  LAW  on  their  side  I 

'T  is  a  thing  that  in  every  King's  reign  has  been  done, 
too  : 

Then  why  should  it  now  be  decried  ? 
If  the  Father  has  done  it,  why  shouldn't  the  Son  too  7 

For  so  argues  LAW  on  our  side  ! 

And,  even  should  our  sweet  violation  of  duty 

By  cold-blooded  jurors  be  tried, 
They  can  but  bring  it  in  "  a  misfortune,"  my  beauty  ! 

As  long  as  we've  LAW  on  our  side. 

THE  LADY'S  ANSWER. 

Hold,  hold,  my  good  Sir  !  go  a  little  more  siowly ; 

For,  grant  me  so  faithless  a  bride, 
Such  sinners  as  we  are  a  little  tooloidy, 

To  hope  to  have  LAW  on  our  side. 

Had  you  been  a  great  Prince,  to  whose  stai  shining 

o'er  'em 

The  People  should  'ook  for  their  guide, 
Then  your  Highness   (and  welcome!)  might  kick 

down  decorum — 
You'd  always  have  LAW  on  your  side. 

Were  you  even  an  old  Marquis,  in  mischief  grown 

hoary, 
Whose  heart,  though  it  long  ago  died 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


391 


To  trie  pltasurcs  of  vice,  is  alive  to  its  glory— 
You  still  would  have  LAW  on  your  side ! 

But  for  you,  Sir,  crim.  con.  is  a  path  full  of  troubles; 

By  mi/  advice  therefore  abide, 
And  leave  the  pursuit  to  those  Princes  and  lS7obles 

Who  have  such  a  LAW  on  their  side ! 


HORACE,  ODE  XI.  LIB.  IL 

Freely  Translated  by  G.  ft.1 

•CoMK,  Y-RM— TII,  my  boy,  never  trouble  your  brains 
About  wliat  your  old  croney, 
The  EMPEROR  BONEY, 
Is  doing  or  brewing  on  Muscovy's  plains: 
« JSor  tremble,  my  lad,  at  the  state  of  our  granaries  ;- 
Should  there  come  famine, 
Still  plenty  to  cram  in 
You  always  shall  have,  my  dear  Lord  of  the  ^ 

ries ! 

Brisk  let  us  revel,  while  revel  we  may  ; 
4  For  the  gay  bloom  of  fifty  soon  passes  away, 
And  then  people  get  fut, 
And  infirm,  and— all  that, 
»  And  a  wig  (I  confess  it)  so  clumsily  sits, 
That  it  frightens  the  little  Loves  out  of  their  wits. 

•  Thy  whiskers,  too,  Y-RM-TII  '.-alas,  even  they, 

Though  so  rosy  they  burn, 
Too  quickly  must  turn 
(What  a  heart-breaking  chance  for  thy  whiskers  J 
OREY 

•  Then  why,  my  Lord  Warden  !  oh  !  why  should  you 

Your  rmn? about  matters  you  don't  understand  ? 
Or  why  shou«.  -ou  write  yourself  down  for  an  idiot, 
Because  '>«,     forsooth,  "  have  U«  pen  » 

luiiiii .'" 

Think,  think  how  much  better 
Than  scribbling  a  letter 
(Which  both  you  and  I 
Should  avoid,  by  the  by)— 
•  How  much  plcasanter  't  is  to  sit  under  th    bust 
Of  old  CIIARLY,  my  friend  here,  and  drink  Ifl 
new  one ; 

— .1 ' 

rxtr:irt"'il 
.  „,..„.  ...I''1'  III'1  '/''"' 

,o,  done  into  Engusb  by 

i  ol' Vnslii'in." 

2  Quid  bcllicosim  Canlabcr  '•< 
llirpinu  Uniii'ii,  cogitct,  Adnu 
Uivisu*  objoclo,  ruuiittan 

liiurrero 

3  Nnc  trcpidps  in  usura 
Puajenlis  :i'vi  puinM. 

4  ___—  Fn^'it  ri'lro 
L(!via  ji;vi:iil!is  et  decor. 

5  Pulleiite  luscivos  amorcg 
Cauitie. 

g  . Nequc  uno  I^una  rubcns  nilet 

Yului. 
-  diiid  n'li'fiiis  minnri-m 

Consiliia  umimmi  l':it:;;;is  ! 
8  Cur  non  sub  aid  vrl  pl^liiim,  vl_hae 

Pinu  jaceiitcs  sic  tuincre 


(While  CHARLEY  looks  sulky  and  frowns  at  me,  ju«t 
As  the  ghost  in  the  pantomime  frowns  U  Don 
Juan! 

1  To  crown  us,  Lord  Warden  ! 

In  C-MB-RL-ND'S  garden 
Grows  plonty  of  monk's-hoods  in  venomous  sprigs ; 

While  Otto  of  Ros«^ 

Refreshing  all  noses, 
Shall  sweetly  exhale  from  our  whiskers  and  wigs. 
"  What  youth  of  the  Household  will  cool  our  nojaa 

In  that  streamlet  delicious, 

That,  down  'midst  the  dishes, 

All  full  of  good  fishes 

Romantic  doth  flow  ?— 

3  Or  who  will  repair 

Unto  M Sq e, 

And  see  if  the  gentle  Marchesa  be  there  ? 

Go— bid  her  haste  hither, 

*And  let  her  bring  with  her 
The  newest  No-Popery  Sermon  that's  going— 
6  Oh  !  let  her  come  with  her  dark  tresses  flowing, 
All  gentle  and  juvenile,  curly  and  gay, 
In  the  manner  of  ACKKRMANN'B  Dresses  for  May 


HORACE,  ODE  XXII.  LIB.  L 
Freely  translated  by  Lord  Eld—n. 
6  THE  man  who  keeps  a  conscience ^pure 

(If  not  his  own,  at  least  his  Prince's,) 
Through  toil  and  danger  walks  secure, 
Looks  big,  and  black,  and  never  winces ! 

T  No  want  has  he  of  sword  or  dagger, 
Cock'd  hat  or  ringlets  of  GERAMB  ; 

Though  Peers  may  laugh,  and  Papists  swagger, 
He  does  not  care  one  single  d-mn ! 

8  Whether  'midst  Irish  chairmen  going, 
Or,  through  St.  Giles's  alleys  dim, 


Cano«  odorati  eapillos 

Hum  licet,  AssyiUfM  nardo 
Potamui  uncli. 
g Ciuis  pucr  ooviii 

1 
linrt{rcu*U  lympMJ 

2  Qui,  _        uliciol  dumo 

Lydun  1 
4 Eburna  die  ago  cum  lyra  (qo.  I 

5  1,,,-ointiiin  Lucent 

M,,t,T,.i.i;»iireUgaUlK>dom. 

0  Integer  T.IBI  icelerwiiw  P«""«- 

7  Noneg«t  Mn'iri  junib 
Nee  vcnenaii*  gravida 

Fu«c«,  pbarctra. 

8  Sive  per  Syrteit  «ter  isstoosas, 

fiS&S+m 

•^"UT" 

,„<,,  iif  S|i.iin,  "lid    ' 

ulamtit  IIy.la»pe« 
licks  the  French;"  bill 

«•  in  In-  re»P«clful  KI  \ 


pieaent. 


•.  •       - 


3U2 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


'Mid  drunken  Sheelahs,  blasting,  blowing, 
No  matter — 't  is  all  one  to  him. 

1  For  instance,  I,  one  evening  late, 

Upon  a  gay  vacation  sally, 
Singing  the  praise  of  Church  and  State, 

Got  (God  knows  how)  to  Cranbourne- Alley 

When  lo  !  an  Irish  Papist  darted 
Across  my  path,  gaunt,  grim,  and  big— 

I  did  but  frown,  and  off  he  started, 
Scared  at  me  without  my  wig ! 

*  Yet  a  more  fierce  and  raw-boned  dog 

Goes  not  to  mass  in  Dublin  City, 
Nor  shakes  his  brogue  o'er  Allen's  Bog, 
Nor  spouts  in  Catholic  Committee  ! 

*  Oh  !  place  me  'midst  O'ROURKES,  OTooLES, 

The  ragged  ro^al  blood  of  TAR  A  ; 
Or  place  me  where  DICK  M-RT-N  rules, 
The  houseless  wilds  of  CONNEMARA  ; — 

4OfChu.ch  and  State  I'll  warble  still, 
Though  even  DICK  M-RT-N'S  self  should  grumble: 

Sweet  Church  and  state,  like  JACK  and  JILL, 

*So  lovingly  upon  a  hill — 
Ah  !  ne'er  like  JACK  and  JILL  to  tumble ! 


HORACE,  ODE  I.  LIB.  IIL 

A  FRAGMENT. 

Odi  profnnum  vuigus  et  arceo. 
Favele  linguis:  cannina  non  prius 
Audita,  Musarum  sacerdos, 
Virginibus,  puerisqne  canto. 
Rcgum  tremendorum  in  proprios  greges, 
Reges  in  ipsos  iinperium  est  Jovis. 

1813. 

I  HATE  thee,  oh  Mob !  as  my  lady  hates  delf ; 
To  Sir  Francis  I'll  give  up  thy  claps  and  thy  hisses, 


1  Namque  me  sylva  lupus  in  S.ibina, 
Dtini  meam  canto  Lalagen,  et  ultra 
Terminum  cm  is  vagor  expeditus, 

Fugit  inermem. 

I  cannot  help  calling  the  reader's  attention  to  the  peculiar 
ingenuity  with  which  these  lines  are  paraphrased.  Not  to 
mention  the  happy  conversion  of  the  wolf  into  a  papist 
(seeing that  Romulus  was  suckled  by  a  wolf,  that  Rome  was 
founded  by  Romulus,  and  that  the  Pope  has  always  reigned 
at  Rome,)  there  is  something  particularly  neat  insupnosing 
"  ultra  frrminum"  to  mean  vacation-time ;  and  thon  the 
modest  consciousness  with  which  the  noble  and  learned 
translator  has  avoided  touching  upon  the  words  "curis  ez- 
teditus"  (or,  as  it  has  been  otherwise  read,  causis  expedi- 
tus")  and  the  felicitous  idea  of  his  being  "  inermis"  when 
"without  his  wig,"  are  altogether  the  most  delectable  spe- 
cimens of  paraphrase  in  our  language. 

2  Quale  portentum  neqoe  militaris 
Daunia  in  latis  alit  esculetis, 
Ntc  JubiE  tellus  generat,  leonum 

Arida  nutrix. 

3  Pone  me  pijris  nhi  nulls  rampis 
Arbor  [estiva  recreatur  aura  : 
Quod  latus  mundi,  nebula;,  malusque 

Jupiter  urget. 

I  mint  horn  remark,  that  the  said  DICK  M-RT-s  being  a 
»*T  good  follow,  it  was  not  at  all  fair  to  muke  a  "  malus 
'upiter"  of  him. 

4  Dulce  ridentem  Lalagen  amabo, 

Dulce  loquentem. 

4  There  cannot  be  imagined  a  more  happy  illustration  of 


Leave  old  Magna  Charta  to  shift  for  itself, 
And,  like  G-DW-N,  write  books  for  young  masters 

and  misses, 
Oh  !  it  is  not  high  rank  that  can  make  the  heart 

merry, 
Even  monurchs  themselves  are  not  free  from  mis 

hap; 
Though  the  Lords  of  Westphalia  must  quake  before 

Jerry, 
Poor  Jerry  himself  has  to  quake  before  Nap. 


HORACE,  ODE  XXXVIII.  LIB.  I. 

A    FRAGMENT. 

Translated  by  a  Treasury  Clerk,  while  waiting  Din- 
ner for  the  Right  Hon.  G — rge  R — se. 

Persicos  odi,  puer,  apparatus: 
Displicent  nexte  philyra  coronre. 
Mtlte  scetari  ROSA  i/uo  locorum 
Sera  morctur, 

BOY,  tell  the  Cook  that  I  hate  all  nick-nackcries, 
Fricassees,  vol-au-vents,  puffs,  and  gim-crackeries,— 
Six  by  the  Horse-Guards  ! — old  Georgy  is  late — 
But  come — lay  the  table-cloth — zounds  !  do  not  wait, 
Nor  stop  to  inquire,  while  the  dinner  is  staying, 
At  which  of  his  places  Old  R — SE  is  delaying  !' 


TO 


Moria  pur  quando  vuol,  non  e  bisogna  rnutar  ni  faccia  ni 
voce  per  esser  un  Angelo.  2 

DIE  when  you  will,  you  need  not  wear 
At  heaven's  court  a  form  more  fair 
Than  Beauty  here  on  earth  has  given ; 


the  inseparability  of  Church  and  State,  and  their  (what  ii 
called)  "standing  and  falling  together,"  tiian  this  ancient 
apologue  of  JACK  and  JILL.  JACK,  of  course,  represents 
the  State  in  this  ingenious  little  allegory, 

JACK  fell  down, 

And  broke  his  Crotpn, 

And  JILL  came  turn  hi  ing  after. 

1  The  literal  closeness  of  the  version  hore  cannot  but  b« 
admired.  The  translator  has  added  a  Ion?,  erudite,  and 

lowery  note  upon  Rosis,  of  which  I  can  merely  give  a  spe- 
cimen at  present.  In  the  first  place,  he  ransacks  the  Rosa- 
rium Puliticum  of  the  Persian  poet  fvuii,  with  thu  hope  of 

inding  some  Political  Roses,  to  match  the  gentleman  in  the 
text — but  in  vain  :  he  then  tells  us  that  Cicero  accused  Ver- 
res  of  reposin?  upon  a  cushion  "  Melitensi  rosa  fartum," 
which,  from  the  odd  mixture  of  won-  -  to  he  a 

(ind  of  Irish  Bed  of  Roses,  like  Lord  Castlereaeh's.    The 

'arned  clerk  next  favours  us  with  some  remarks  upon  a 
well-known  punning  epitaph  on  fair  Rosamund,  anil  ex- 
cesses a  most  loyal  hope,  that,  if"  Ro>a  inumla"  mean  "a 
lose  \viih  clean  hands,"  it  m;iy  be  found  applicable  to  the 
Highl  Honourable  Rose  in  question.  He  then  dwells  at 
some  length  upon  the  "  Rosa  aitrea,"  which  though  de- 
scriptive, in  one  sense,  of  (he  old  Tre.isnrv  Si-t'esm  in,  ypt, 
as  being  consecrated  and  worn  by  the  Pope,  must,  of  course, 
not  be  broiisht  into  the  same  atmosphere  with  him.  Lastly, 
n  reference  to  the  words  "old  Rose,"  he  winds  up  with 
he  pathetic  lamentation  of  the  l>oet,  "ronscnutssv  Rosas." 
The  whole  note,  indeed,  .shows  a  knowledge  of  Hoses  that 
s  quite  ndifvini. 

2  The  words  a.lilre-sed  !iy  Lord  Herbert  of  Cherbury,  to 
the  beautiful  nun  at  Murano. — See  his  Life 


MISCELLANEOUS  POF.M-. 


Keep  but  the  lovely  looks  we  sc< — 
The  voice  we  hear — and  you  will  bo 
An  angel  ready-made  for  heaven  ! 


ON  A  SQriNTiNG  TOI.TESS. 

'o  no  one  Muse  does  she  her  glance  confine, 
Jut  has  an  eye,  at  once,  to  all  the  nine! 


IMPROMPTU. 

Upon  leing  obligrd  to  leave  a  ;>A  ntmif  party,  from  Oie 
want  of  a  pair  Breeches  to  dress  for  Dinner  in. 

1810. 
BETWEEN  Adam  and  me  the  great  difference  is, 

Though  a  paradise  each  has  been  forced  to  resign, 
Thai  he  never  wore  breeches  till  turn'd  out  of  his, 
While,  for  want  of  my  breeches,  I'm  banish'd  from 
mine. 


WHAT'S  MY  THOUGHT  LIKE? 
Quest. — WHY  is  a  Pump  like  Viscount  C-STL-R — GH? 

Answ. — Because  it  is  a  slender  thing  of  wood, 
That  up  and  down  its  awkward  arm  doth  sway, 
And  coolly  spout,  and  spout,  and  spout  away, 

In  one  weak,  washy,  everlasting  Hood ! 


EPIGRAM.1 
"  WHAT  news  to-day  ?"— "  Oh  !  worse  and  worse— 

M— c  is  the  PR E'S  Privy  Purse  !" 

The  PR K'S  Purge  !  no,  no,  you  fool, 

You  mean  the  PR E'S  Ridicule! 


EPIGRAM. 

Dialogue  Ictvten  a  Catholic  Delegate  and  his  R-y-l 

H-ahn-ss  the  D-ke  of  C—b-rl-tul. 
SAID  his  Highness  to  NED,  with  that  grim  face  of  his, 
"Why  refuse  us  the  Veto,  dear  Catholic  NEDDY  ?"— 
"  Because,  Sir,"  said  NED,  looking  full  in  his  phiz, 
"  \o\i'r<>.fi>r!ii<l<ling  enough,  in  all  conscience,  al- 
ready 1" 


EPIGRAM. 
Dialogue  leticeen  a  Dmrneer  and  her  Maid  on  the 

< if  Lord  Y-rm—tlt' 
*  I  WANT  the  Court-Guide."  s:iid  my  Lady,  "to  look 

If  the  house,  Seymour  Place,  be  at  30  or  -20."— 
We've  lost  the  CowMTtttde,  Ma'am,  but  here  's  the 

i;,  !  Hook, 

Where  you'll  liml,  I  dare  say,  Seymour  PLACES  in 
plenty !" 


EPIGRAM. 

FROM    THE    FRKM'H. 

"I  NEVK*  irive  a  kiss,"  says  Pruo, 
"  To  naughty  man,  for  I  abhor  it." 

She  will  not  f/tr  a  kiss  't  is  tnu — 

She  '11  tab  one,  though,  and  thank  you  for  lU 


1  This  i<  a  Ian-mot,  attributed,  I  know  n,.t  t-.mv  trulf,  l< 
fcc  PR-  NC  -ss  of  W-L-S.    I  havn  merely  vorsifi-cl  it. 
3  L) 


THE  TORCH  OF  LIBERTY. 
I  SAW  it  all  in  Fancy's  glass — 

Herself  the  fair,  tho  wild  magician, 
That  hid  this  splendid  il  ty-clre  in  pas*, 

And  named  each  gliding  apparition. 

'T  was  like  a  torch  race— «uch  as  they 

Of  Greece  perform'd,  in  ages 
When  the  fleet  youths  in  long  array, 

Pass'd  the  bright  torch  triumphant  on 

I  saw  the  expectant  nations  stand 
To  catch  the  coming  flame  in  turn — 

I  saw,  from  ready  hand  to  hand, 
The  clear  but  struggling  glory  burn. 

And,  oh  !  their  joy,  as  it  came  near, 

'T  was  in  itself  a  joy  to  tee 
While  Fancy  whispcr'd  in 

"  That  torch  they  pass  is  Liberty  !" 

And  each,  as  she  received  the  flame, 

Lighted  her  altar  with  its  ray, 
Then,  smiling  to  the  next  who  came, 

Speeded  it  on  its  sparkling  way. 

From  ALBION  first,  whose  a.* cient  shrine 
Wasfurnish'd  with  the  tin  already, 

CoLi'MHtA  caught  the  spark  divine, 
And  lit  a  flame  like  ALBION'S — steady 

The  splendid  gift  then  GAI.I.IA  took, 
And,  like  a  wild  Bacchante,  raising 

The  brand  aloft,  its  sparkles  shook, 
As  she  would  set  the  world  a-blazin£. 

And,  when  she  fired  her  altar,  nigh 

It  flash'd  into  the  redd'ning  air 
So  fierce,  that  ALBION,  who  stood  high, 

Shrunk,  almost  blinded  by  the  glare  ! 

•  \ IN— so  new  was  light  to  her— 
at  the  torch  ;  but,  ere  the  spark 
She  flung  upon  her  shriii. 
'T  was  quench'd  and  all  again  was  dark 

Yet  no — not  qurnch'd — a  treasure  worth 
So  much  to  mortals  rar 

Again  her  living  light  look'd  for' 
And  .shone,  a  beacon,  in  all  eye*. 

Who  next  received  the  flame?— Alas! 

I  iiwnnny  NAPLES— «hame  of  sh.imm 
That  ever  through  such  hands  should  pat* 

That  brightest  of  all  earthly  flames  ! 

Scarce  had  her  fingers  touch'd  the  torch, 
When,  frichted  l>y  the  spirks  it  shed, 

Nor  wailiris!  eYn  •  rch, 

She  dropp'd  It  to  the  earth— ai 

And  fallen  it  mlgtit  have  lone  re- 
But  GREECE,  who  saw  her  moment  now. 


391 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Caught  up  the  prize,  though  prostrate,  stain'd, 
And  waved  it  round  her  beauteous  brow. 

And  Fancy  bid  me  mark  where,  o'er 

Her  altar  as  its  flame  ascended, 
Fair  laurell'd  spirits  seem'S  to  soar, 

Who  thus  in  song  their  voices  blended : — 

"  Shine,  shine  for  ever,  glorious  flame, 

Divinest  gift  of  God  to  men  ! 
From  Greece  thy  earliest  splendour  came, 

To  Greece  thy  ray  returns  again  ! 

•'  Take,  Freedom  !  take  thy  radiant  round — 
When  dimin'd,  revive — when  lost,  return ; 

Till  not  a  shrine  through  earth  be  found, 
On  which  thy  glories  shall  not  burn ! 


EPILOGUE. 

LAST  night,  as  lonely  o'er  my  fire  I  sat, 
Thinking  of  cues,  starts,  exits,  and — all  that, 
And  wondering  much  what  little  knavish  sprite 
Had  put  it  first  in  women's  heads  to  write : — 
Sudden  I  saw — as  in  some  witching  dream — 
A  bright-blue  glory  round  my  book-case  beam, 
From  whose  quick-opening  folds  of  azure  light, 
Out  flew  a  tiny  form,  as  small  and  bright 
As  Puck  the  Fairy,  when  he  pops  his  head, 
Some  sunny  morning,  from  a  violet  bed. 
44  Bless  me !"  I  starting  cried,  "  what  imp  are  you  ?"— 
"  A  small  he-devil,  Ma'am — my  name  BAS  BLEU — 
A  bookish  sprite,  much  given  to  routs  and  reading: 
*T  is  I  who  teach  your  spinsters  of  good  breeding 
The  reigning  taste  in  chemistry  and  caps, 
The  last  new  bounds  of  tuckers  and  of  maps, 
And,  when  the  waltz  has  twirl'd  her  giddy  brain, 
With  metaphysics  twirl  it  back  again ! 

I  view'd  him,  as  he  spoke — his  hose  were  blue, 

His  wings — the  covers  of  the  last  Review — 

Cerulean,  border'd  with  a  jaundice  hue, 

And  tinsell'd  gaily  o'er,  for  evening  wear, 

Till  the  next  quarter  brings  a  new-fledged  pair. 

"Inspired  by  me — (pursued  this  waggish  Fairy)— 

That  best  of  wives  and  Sapphos,  Lady  3Iary, 

Votary  alike  of  Crispin  and  the  Muse, 

Makes  .:er  own  splay-foot  epigrams  and  shoes. 

For  me  the  eyes  of  young  Camilla  shine, 

And  mingle  Love's  blue  brilliances  with  mine; 

For  me  she  sits  apart,  from  coxcombs  shrinking, 

Looks  wise — the  pretty  soul ! — and    thinks    she  's 

thinkin<r. 

Dy  my  advice  Miss  Indigo  attends 
Lectures  on  Memory,  and  assures  her  friends, 
4'Pon  honour! — (immicks) — nothing  can  surpass  the 

plan 
Of  mat  professor — (trying  to  recollect) — psha  !  that 

memory-man — 

Th.it— what 's  his  name? — him  I  attended  lately — 
*Pon  honour,  he  improved  my  memory  greatly.'  " 

Here,  curtseying  low,  I  ask'd  the  blue-legg'd  sprite, 

What  share  he  had  in  this  our  play  to-night. 

'  >ay,  there — (he  cried)— there  I  am  guiltless  quite — 


What !  choose  a  he-  oine  from  that  Gothic  time, 
When   no  one  waltz'd,  and  none  but  monks  cou^d 

rhyme ; 

When  lovely  woman,  all  unschool'd  and  wild, 
Blush'd  without  art,  and  without  culture  smiled — 
Simple  as  flowers,  while  yet  unclass'd  they  shone, 
Ere  Science  call'd  their  brilliant  world  her  own, 
Ranged  the  wild  rosy  things  in  learned  orders, 
And  fill'd  with  Greek  the  garden's   blushing  bor- 
ders?— 

No,  no — your  gentle  Inas  will  not  do — 
To-morrow  evening,  when  the  lights  burn  blue, 
I'll  come — (pointing  downwards) — you  understand 
till  then  adieu !" 

And  has  the  sprite  been  here  ?    No — jests  apart— 
Howe'er  man  rules  in  science  and  in  art, 
The  sphere  of  woman's  glories  is  the  heart. 
And,  if  our  Muse  have  sketch'd  with  pencil  true 
The  wife — the  mother — firm,  yet  gentle  too — 
Whose  soul,  wrapp'd  up  in  ties  itself  hath  spun. 
Trembles,  if  touch'd  in  the  remotest  one ; 
Who  loves — yet  dares  even  Love  himself  disown, 
When  honour's  broken  shaft  supports  his  throne 
If  such  our  Ina,  she  may  scorn  the  evils, 
Dire  as  they  are,  of  Critics  and — Blue  Devils. 


TO   THE   MEMORY   OF 

JOSEPH  ATKINSON,  ESQ.  OF  DUBLIN 
IF  ever  life  was  prosperously  cast, 

If  ever  life  was  like  the  lengthen'd  flow 
Of  some  sweet  music,  sweetness  to  the  last, 

'T  was  his  who,  mourn'd  by  many,  sleeps  below 

The  sunny  temper,  bright  were  all  its  strife, 
The  simple  heart  that  mocks  at  worldly  wiles, 

Light  wit,  that  plays  along  the  calm  of  life, 
And  stirs  its  languid  surface  into  smiles ; 

Pure  charity,  that  comes  not  in  a  shower, 
Sudden  and  loud,  oppressing  what  it  feeds, 

But,  like  the  dew,  with  gradual  silent  power, 
Felt  in  the  bloom  it  leaves  among  the  meads ; 

The  happy  grateful  spirit,  that  improves 
And  brightens  every  gift  by  fortune  given, 

That,  wander  where  it  will  with  those  it  loves, 
Makes  every  place  a  home,  and  home  a  heaven : 

All  these  were  his. — Oh !  thou  who  read'st  this  stone. 

When  for  thyself,  thy  children,  to  the  sky 
Thou  humbly  prayest,  ask  this  boon  alone, 

That  ye  like  him  may  live,  like  him  may  die ! 


EPITAPH  ON  A  WELL-KNOWN  POET 

BENEATH  these  poppies  buried  deep, 
The  bones  of  Bob  the  Bard  lie  hid ; 

Peace  to  his  manes  ;  and  may  he  sleep 
As  soundly  as  his  readers  did  ! 

Through  every  sort  of  verse  meandering, 
Bob  went  without  a  hitch  or  fall, 

Through  Epic,  Sapphic,  Alexandrine, 
To  verse  that  was  no  verse  at  all ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POF.MS. 


Till  firtion  hiving  done  enough, 
To  make  a  bard  at  least  absurd, 

And  give  his  readers  quantum  siiff". 
He  took  to  praising  George  the  Third  i 

And  now,  in  virtue  of  his  crown, 

Dooms  us,  poor  whigs,  at  once  to  slaughter; 
Like  Donellan  of  bad  renown, 

Poisoning  us  all  with  laurel-water. 

And  yet  at  times  some  awkward  qualms  he 
Felt  about  leaving  honour's  track ; 

And  though  he 's  got  a  butt  of  Malmsey, 
It  may  not  save  him  from  a  sack. 

Death,  weary  of  so  dull  a  writer, 

Put  to  his  works  a  finis  thus. 
Oh !  may  the  earth  on  him  lie  lighter 

Than  did  his  quartos  upon  us ! 


THE  SYLPH'S  BALL. 

A  SYLPH,  as  gay  as  ever  sported 
Her  figure  through  the  fields  of  air, 

By  an  old  swarthy  Gnome  was  courted, 
And,  strange  to  say,  he  won  the  fair. 

The  annals  of  the  oldest  witch 
A  pair  so  sorted  could  not  show — 

But  how  refuse? — the  Gnome  was  rich, 
The  Rothschild  of  the  world  below ; 

And  Sylphs,  like  other  pretty  creatures, 
Learn  from  their  mammas  to  consider 

Love  as  an  auctioneer  of  features, 

Who  knocks  them  down  to  the  best  bidder. 

Home  she  was  taken  to  his  mine — 
A  palace,  paved  with  diamonds  all — 

And,  proud  as  Lady  Gnome  to  shine, 
Sent  out  her  tickets  for  a  ball. 

The  lou-cr  world,  of  course,  was  there, 
And  all  the  best ;  but  of  the  up;><r 

The  sprinkling  was  but  shy  and  rare— 
A  few  old  Sylphids  who  loved  supper. 

As  none  yet  knew  the  wondrous  lamp 
Of  Davy,  that  renown'd  Aladdin, 

And  the  Gnome's  halls  exhaled  a  damp, 
Which  accidents  from  fire  were  bad  in ; 

The  chambers  were  supplied  with  light 
By  many  strange,  but  safe  device*: — 

Large  fire-tlies,  such  as  shine  at  niiiht 
Among  the  Orient's  flowers  and  spices : 

Musical  Hint-mills— swiftly  play'd 
Hy  elfin  hands— that,  Hashing  round, 

Like  some  bright  glancing  minstrel  maid, 
Gave  out,  at  once,  both  light  and  sound ; 

Bologna-stones,  that  drink  the  sun 

And  water  from  that  Indian 
Whose  waves  at  night  like  wild-lire  run, 

Cork'd  up  in  crystal  carefully ; 
Glow-worms,  that  round  the  tiny  di;-hes, 

Like  !ittle  light-houses,  were  set  up; 


And  pretty  phosphorescent  fishes, 
That  by  their  own  gay  light  were  eat  up. 

"Mong  the  few  guests  from  Ether,  came 
That  wicked  Sylph,  whom  Love  we  call— 

My  Lady  knew  dim  but  by  name, 
My  Lord,  her  husband,  not  at  all. 

Some  prudent  Gnomes,  't  is  said  apprized 
That  he  was  coming,  and,  no  doubt 

Alarm'd  about  his  torch,  advised 

He  should,  by  all  means,  bo  kept  out. 

But  others  disapproved  this  plan, 

And,  by  his  flame  though  somewhat  frighted, 
Thought  Love  too  much  a  gentleman, 

In  such  a  dangerous  place  to  light  it. 

However,  there  he  was — and  dancing 

With  the  fair  Sylph,  light  as  a  f< 
They  look'd  like  two  young  sunbeams,  glancing 

At  daybreak,  down  to  earth  tot: 

And  all  had  gone  off  safe  and  well, 
But  for  that  plaguy  torch — whose  lighl 

Though  not  yet  kindled,  who  could  ic-ll 
How  soon,  how  devilishly  it ;/. 

And  so  it  chanced — which  in  those  dar 
And  fireless  halls,  was  quite  amazing 

Did  we  not  know  how  small  a  spark 
Can  set  the  torch  of  Lore  a-blazing. 

Whether  it  came,  when  close  entangled 
In  the  gay  waltz,  from  her  bright  eye*, 

Or  from  the  luccuJe,  that  spangled 
Her  locks  of  jet— is  all  surmise. 

Certain  it  is,  the  ethereal  girl 

Did  drop  a  spark,  at  some  odd  turning, 

Which,  by  the  waltz's  windy  whirl, 
Was  fann'd  up  into  actual  burning. 

Oh  for  that  lamp's  metallic  gauze— 
That  curtain  of  protecting  wire— 

Which  Davy  delicately  draws 
Around  illicit,  dangerous  fire  !— 

The  wall  he  sets  'twixt  flame  and  air 

(Like  that  which  barr'd  young  Thisbe's  bliss,) 

Through  whosesmall  holes  this  dangerous  pair 
May  see  each  other  but  not  kiss.1 

At  first  the  torch  look'd  rather  bluely— 
A  sign,  they  say,  that  no  good  boded— 

Then  quick  the  gas  became  unruly, 
And,  crack  !  the  ball-room  all  exploded. 

Sylphs,  Gnomes,  and  fiddlers,  mix'd  together, 
'With  all  their  aunts,  sons,  cousins,  nieces, 

Like  biittcrlliex,  in  stormy  weather, 

Mown— !<•;•*,  w  »'g«,  and  tails— to  piece« 

While,  'mid  these  victims  of  th<:  loirh. 

'1  lie  Sylph,  alas!  too,  bore  he'  part- 
Found  lying,  with  a  livid 

As  it'  fn>m  lightning,  </• 


Oiicula  quUiiuo  iux,  noa  pet  t  «ucuU»  cuiiirs-— O»ii 


KG 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


"Well  done!"  a  laughing  goblin  said, 
Escaping  from  this  gaseous  strife  ; 

tt  'T  is  not  the  frst  time  Love  has  made 
A  blou>up  in  connubial  life." 


After 


REMONSTRANCE. 
conversation  mth  L — d  J 


R. 


which  he  had  intimated  some  idea  of  giving  up  al 

political  pursuits. 
WHAT!  thou,  with  thy  genius,  thy  youth,  and  thy 
name — 

Thou,  born  of  a  Russel — whose  instinct  to  run 
The  accustom'd  career  of  thy  sires,  is  the  same 

As  the  eaglet's,  to  soar  with  his  eyes  on  the  sun ! 

Whose  nobility  comes  to  thee,  stamp'd  with  a  seal, 
Far,  far  more  ennobling  than  monarch  e'er  set ; 

With  the  blood  of  thy  race  oiler' d  up  for  the  weal 
Of  a  nation  thit  swears  by  that  martyixlom  yet ! 

Shalt  thou  be  faint-hearted  and  turn  from  the  strife, 
From  the  mighty  arena  where  all  that  is  grand, 

And  devoted,  and  pure,  and  adorning  in  life, 
Is  for  high-thougiited  spirits,  like  thine,  to  com' 
mand? 

Oh  no,  never  dream  it — while  good  men  despair 
Between  tyrants  and  traitors,  and  timid  men  bow, 

Never  think,  for  an  instant,  thy  country  can  spare 
Such  a  light  from  her  dark'ning  horizon  as  thou ! 

With  a  spirit  as  meek  as  the  gentlest  of  those 
Who  in  life's  sunny  valley  lie  shelter'd  and  warm ; 

Yet  bold  and  heroic  as  ever  yet  rose 
To  the  top  clitfs  of  Fortune,  and  breasted  her 
storm ; 

With  an  ardour  for  liberty,  fresh  as  in  youth, 
It  first  kindles  the  bard,  and  gives  life  to  his  lyre ; 

Yet  mellow'd,  even  now,  by  that  mildness  of  truth 
Which  tempers,  but  chills  not,  the  patriot  fire ; 

With  an  eloquence — not  like  those  rills  from  a  height, 
Which  sparkle,  and  foam,  and  in  vapour  are  o'er; 

But  a  current  that  works  out  its  way  into  light 
Through  the  filt'ring  recesses  of  thought  and  of  lore. 

Thus  gifted,  thou  never  canst  sleep  in  the  shade ; 

If  the  stirrings  of  genius,  the  music  of  fume, 
And  the  charms  of  thy  cause  have  not  power  to  per- 
suade, 

Yet  think  how  to  freedom  thou  'rt  pledged  by  thy 
name. 

Like  the  boughs  of  that  laurel,  by  Delphi's  decree, 
Set  apart  for  the  fane  and  its  service  divine, 

All  the  branches  that  spring  from  the  old  Russel  tree, 
Are  by  liberty  claim'' d  for* the  use  of  her  shrine. 


EPITAPH  ON  A  LAWYER. 

MERE  lies  a  lawyer — one  whose  mind 
(Like  that  of  all  the  lawyer  kind) 
Resembled,  though  so  grave  and  stately, 
The  pupil  of  a  cat's  eye  greatly; 


Which  for  the  mousing  deeds,  transacted 

In  holes  and  corners,  is  well  fitted, 
But  which,  in  sunshine,  grows  contracted, 

As  if 't  would — rather  not  admit  it; 
As  if,  in  short,  a  man  would  quite 

Throw  time  away  who  tried  to  let  in  a 
Decent  portion  of  God's  light 

On  lawyers'  mind  or  pussy's  retina. 

Hence  when  he  took  to  politics, 

As  a  refreshing  change  of  evil, 
Unfit  with  grand  aifairs  to  mix 
His  little  Nisi-Prius  tricks, 

Like  imps  at  bo-peep,  play'd  the  devil ; 
And  proved  that  when  a  small  law  wit 

Of  statesmanship  attempts  the  trial, 
'T  is  like  a  player  on  the  kit 

Put  all  at  once  to  a  bass  viol. 

Nay,  even  when  honest  (which  he  could 
Be,  now  and  then,)  still  quibbling  daily, 

He  serv'd  his  country  as  he  would 
A  client  thief  at  the  Old  Bailey. 

But — do  him  justice — short  and  rare 

His  wish  through  honest  paths  to  roam; 
Born  with  a  taste  for  the  unfair, 
Where  falsehood  call'd,  he  still  was  there, 

And  when  least  honest,  most  at  home. 
Thus,  shuffling,  bullying,  lying,  creeping, 

He  vvork'd  his  way  up  near  the  throne, 
And,  long  before  he  took  the  keeping 

Of  the  king's  conscience,  lost  his  own. 


MY  BIRTH-DAY. 

"Mr  birth-day  !" — What  a  different  sound 
That  word  had  in  my  youthful  ears  ! 

And  how,  each  time  the  day  comes  round, 
Less  and  less  white  its  mark  appears  ! 

When  first  our  scanty  years  are  told, 
It  seems  like  pastime  to  grow  old ;  • 
And,  as  youth  counts  the  shining  links 

That  time  around  him  binds  so  fast, 
Pleased  with  the  task,  he  little  thinks 

How  hard  that  chain  will  press  at  last. 

Vain  was  the  man,  and  false  as  vain, 

Who  said,1  "  were  he  ordain'd  to  run 
His  long  career  of  life  again, 

He  would  do  all  that  he  had  done."- 
Ah !  't  is  not  thus  the  voice  that  dwells 

In  sober  birth-days  speaks  to  me , 
Far  otherwise — of  time  it  tells 

Lavish'd  unwisely,  carelessly — 
'  Of  counsel  mock'd — of  talents,  made 

Haply  for  hi<rh  and  pure  designs, 
But  oft,  like  Israel's  incense,  laid 

Upon  unholy,  earthly  shrines — 
Of  nursing  many  a  wrong  desire — 

Of  wandering  after  Love  too  far, 
And  taking  every  meteor  fire 

That  cross'd  my  pathway  for  his  star ! 


1  Fontenelle. — "  Si  je  recorumcncais  raa  carnere,  je  fe- 
ail  tout  ce  que  j'ai  fait." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


337 


Ail  this  it  telLs,  and,  could  I  trace 

The  imperfect  picture  o'er  again, 
With  power  to  add,  retouch,  etl'ace 

The  lights  and  shades,  the  joy  and  pain, 
How  little  of  the  past  would  stay  ! 
How  quickly  all  should  melt  away- 
All — but  that  freedom  of  the  mind 

\Vhich  hath  been  more  than  wealth  to  me; 
Those  friendships  in  rny  boyhood  twined, 

And  kept  till  now  unchangingly; 
And  that  dear  home,  that  saving  ark, 

Where  Love's  true  light  at  last  I  've  found. 
Cheering  within,  when  all  grows  dark, 

And  comfortless,  and  stormy  round  ! 


FANCY. 

THE  more  I  'vc  view'd  this  world,  the  more  I  've  found 

That,  fill'd  as  't  is  with  scenes  and  creatures  rare, 
Fancy  commands,  within  her  own  bright  round, 

A  world  of  scenes  and  creatures  far  more  fair. 
Nor  is  it  that  her  power  can  call  up  there 

A  single  charm  that 's  not  from  Nature  won, 
No  more  than  rainbows,  in  their  pride,  can  wear 

A  single  tint  unborrow'd  from  the  sun — 
But 't  is  the  mental  me&um  it  shines  through, 
That  lends  to  beauty  aWts  charm  and  hue ; 
As  tho  fiame  light,  that  o'er  the  level  lake 

One  dull  monotony  of  lustre  flings, 
Will,  entering  ir.  the  rounded  rain-drop,  make 

Colours  as  gay  as  those  on  angels'  wings ! 


LOVE  AND  HYMEN. 

LOVE  had  a  fever — ne'er  could  close 
His  little  eyes  till  day  was  breaking ; 

AnJ  whimsical  enough,  Heaven  kno\\s, 
The  things  he  raved  about  while  waking. 

To  '«rt  him  pine  so  were  a  sin — 

One  tw  whom  all  the  world  's  a  debtor — 

So  Doctor  Hymen  was  call'd  in, 
Arid  Love  that  night  slept  rather  better. 

Next  day  the  case  gave  further  hope  yet, 
Though  still  some  ugly  fever  latent;— 

"  Dose,  as  before" — a  gentle  opiate, 
For  which  old  Hymen  lias  a  patent. 

After  a  month  of  daily  call, 

So  fast  the  dose  went  on  restoring, 

That  Love,  who  first  ne'er  slept  at  all, 
Now  took,  the  rogue  !  to  downright  snoring. 


TRANSLATION  FROM  CATULLUS. 

SWEET  Sirmio  !  thou,  the  very  eye 

Of  all  peninsulas  and  isles 
That  in  our  lakes  of  silver  lie, 

Or  sleep,  enwreathed  by  Neptune's  smiles, 

How  gladly  back  to  thee  I  fly  ! 

Still  doubting,  asking  can  it  be 
That  I  have  left  Bithynia's  sky, 

And  gazo  in  safety  upon  thee? 


Oh  !  what  is  happier  than  to  find 
Our  hearts  at  case,  our  perils  past , 

\N  hen,  anxious  long,  the  lighten'd  mind 
Lays  down  its  load  of  care  at  last  ? — 

When,  tired  with  toil  on  land  and  deep, 
Again  we  tread  the  welcome  floor 

Of  our  own  home,  and  sink  to  sleep 
On  tho  long-wish'd-for  bed  once  more  ? 

This,  this  it  is  that  pays  alone 

The  ills  of  all  life's  former  track — 

Shine  out,  my  beautiful,  my  own 
Sweet  Sinnio— greet  thy  master  back. 

And  thou,  fair  lake,  whose  water  quaffs 
The  light  of  heaven,  like  Lydia's  sea, 

Rejoice,  rejoice — let  all  that  laughs 
Abroad,  at  home,  laugh  out  for  me ! 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 
Written  in  a  Pocket-Book,  1822. 

THEY  tell  us  of  an  Indian  tree 

Which,  howsoe'er  the  sun  and  sky 
May  tempt  its  boughs  to  wander  free, 

And  shoot  and  blossom,  wide  and  high, 
Far  better  loves  to  bend  its  arms 

Downward  again  to  that  dear  earth 
From  which  the  life,  that  fills  and  warms 

Its  grateful  being,  first  had  birth, 

'T  is  thus,  though  woo'd  by  flattering  friends, 
And  fed  with  fame  (if  fame  it  be,) 

This  heart,  my  own  dear  mother,  bends, 
With  love's  true  instinct,  back  to  thee ! 


ILLUSTRATION  OF  A  BORE. 

IF  ever  you  've  seen  a  gay  party, 

Relieved  from  the  pressure  of  Ned — 
How  instantly  joyous  and  hearty 

They  'vc  grown  when  the  damper  was  fled — 
You  may  guess  what  a  gay  piece  of  work, 

What  delight  to  champagne  it  must  be, 
To  get  rid  of  its  bore  of  a  cork, 

And  come  sparkling  to  you,  love,  *nd  me ! 


A  SPECULATION. 

OF  all  speculations  the  market  holds  forth, 
The  best  that  I  know  for  a  lover  of  pelf 

Is,  to  buy  ******  up,  at  the  price  he  is  worth. 
And  then  sell  him  at  that  winch  he  sets  on  himsfll 


SCEPTICISM 

ERF.  Psyche  drank  the  cup  that  shed 

Immortal  life  into  her  soul, 
Some  evil  spirit  pour'd,  'tis  said, 

One  drop  of  doubt  into  the  bowl — 

Which,  mingling  darkly  with  the  stream, 
To  Psyche's  lips — she  knew  not  why — 


398 


MOORE'S  WORKS 


Made  even  that  blessed  nectar  seem 
As  though  its  sweetness  soon  would  die. 

Oft,  in  the  very  arms  of  Love, 
A  chill  came  o'er  her  heart — a  fear 

That  death  would,  even  yet,  remove 
Ifer  spirit  from  that  happy  sphere. 

"Those  sunny  ringlets,"  she  exclaim'd, 
Twining  them  round  her  snowy  fingers — 

-  That  forehead,  where  a  light,  unnamed, 
Unknown  on  earth,  for  ever  lingers — 

"  Those  lips,  through  which  I  feel  the  breath 
Of  heaven  itself,  whene'er  they  sever — 

Oh  !  are  they  mine  beyond  all  death — 
Mine  own,  hereafter  and  for  ever  ? 

"  Smile  not — I  know  that  starry  brow, 
Those  ringlets  and  bright  lips  of  thine, 

Will  always  shine  as  they  do  now — 
But  shall  /  live  to  see  them  shine  ?" 

In  vain  did  Love  say,  "  Turn  thine  eyes 
On  all  that  sparkles  round  thee  here — 

Thou  'it  now  in  heaven,  where  nothing  dies, 
And  in  these  arms — what  canst  thou  fear  ?" 

In  vain — the  fatal  drop  that  stole 
Into  that  cup's  immortal  treasure, 

Had  lodged  its  bitter  near  her  soul, 
And  gave  a  tinge  to  every  pleasure. 

And,  though  there  ne'er  was  rapture  given 
Like  Psyche's  with  that  radiant  boy, 

Hers  is  the  only  face  in  heaven 
That  wears  a  cloud  amid  its  joy. 


FROM  THE  FRENCH. 

OF  all  the  men  one  meets  about. 

There  's  none  like  Jack — he  '&  every  where : 
At  church — park — auction — dinner — rout — 

Go  when  and  where  you  will,  he  's  there. 
Try  the  West  End,  he 's  at  your  back — 

Meets  you,  like  Eurus,  in  the  East — 
You  're  call'd  upon  for  "  How  do,  Jack  ?" 

One  hundred  times  a-day,  at  least. 
A  friend  of  his  one  evening  said, 

As  home  he  took  his  pensive  way, 
"  I'pon  my  soul,  I  fear  Jack 's  dead — 

I  've  seen  him  but  three  times  to-day  !" 


ROMANCE. 

I  HAVT  a  story  of  two  lovers,  fill'd 

With  all  the  pure  romance,  the  blissful  sadness 
And  the  sad  doubtful  bliss,  that  ever  thrill'd 

Two  young  and  longing  hearts  in  that  sweet  mad- 

nrss; 
But  wbere  to  choose  the  locale,  of  my  vision 

In  this  wiile  vultrnr  world — what  real  spot 
Can  he  found  out,  sufficiently  elysian 

For  two  such  perfect  lovers,  I  know  not. 


Oh,  for  some  fair  Formosa,  such  as  he, 

The  young  Jew,1  fabled  of,  in  the  Indian  Sea, 

By  nothing  but  its  name  of  Beauty  known, 

And  which  Queen  Fancy  might  make  all  her  own, 

Her  fairy  kingdom — take  its  people,  lands, 

And  tenements  into  her  own  bright  hands, 

And  make,  at  least,  one  earthly  corner  fit 

For  Love  to  live  in — pure  and  exquisite  ! 


A  JOKE  VERSIFIED. 

"CoME,  come,"  said  Tom's  father,  "at  your  time  of 

life, 
There  's  no  longer  excuse  for  thus  playing  the 

rake — 

It  is  time  you  should  think,  boy,  of  taking  a  wife." — 
"  Why,  so  it  is,  father, — whose  wife  shall  I  take  ?" 


ON 


LIKE  a  snuffers,  this  loving  old  dame, 

By  a  destiny  grievous  enough, 
Though  r.o  oft  she  has  snapp'd  at  the  flame, 

Hath  never  caught  more  than  the  snuff. 


FRAGMENT  OF  A  CHARACTER, 

HERE  lies  Factotum  Ned  at  last : 
Long  as  he  breathed  the  vital  air, 

Nothing  throughout  all  Europe  pass'd 
In  which  he  had  n't  some  small  share. 

Whoe'er  was  in,  whoe'er  was  out — 
Whatever  statesmen  did  or  said — 

If  not  exactly  brought  about, 
Was  all,  at  least,  contrived  by  Ned. 

With  NAP  if  Russia  went  to  war, 
'T  was  owing,  under  Providence, 

To  certain  hints  Ned  gave  the  Czar — 
(Vide  his  pamphlet — price  six  pe"nce.) 

If  France  was  beat  at  Waterloo — 

As  all,  but  Frenchmen,  think  she  was — 

To  Ned,  as  Wellington  well  knew, 
Was  owing  half  that  day's  applause. 

Then  for  his  news — no  envoy's  bag 

E'er  pass'd  so  many  secrets  through  it — • 

Scarcely  a  telegraph  could  wag 
Its  wooden  finger,  but  Ned  knew  it. 

Such  tales  he  had  of  foreign  plots, 
With  foreign  names  one's  ear  to  buzz  in- 

From  Russia  chefs  and  ofs  in  lots, 
From  Poland  oivskis  by  the  dozen. 

When  GEORGE,  alarm'd  for  England's  creed, 
Turn'd  out  the  last  Whig  ministry, 

And  men  ask'd — who  advised  the  deed  ? 
Ned  modestly  confess'd  't  was  he. 

For  though,  by  some  unlucky  miss, 
He  had  not  downright  seen  the  King. 


1  IValinanazur. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


S99 


Ho  sent  such  hints  through  Viscount  This, 
To  Marquis  That,  as  clench'd  the  thing. 

The  same  it  was  in  science,  arts, 

The  drama,  books,  MS.  and  printed— 

Kean  Icani'd  from  Ned  his  cleverest  parts, 
And  Scott's  last  work  by  him  was  hinted. 

Childe  Harold  in  the  proofs  he  read, 

And,  here  and  there,  infused  some  soul  in 't— 

Nay,  Davy's  lamp,  till  seen  by  Ned, 

Had — odd  enough — a  dangerous  hole  in  't. 

'T  was  thus,  all  doing  and  all  knowing, 
Wit,  statesman,  boxer,  chemist,  singer,  . 

Whatever  was  the  best  pie  going, 
In  that  Nod — trust  him — had  his  finger. 


COUNTRY-DANCE  AND  QUADRILLE. 
ONE  night,  the  nymph  call'd  Country- Dance — 

Whom  folks,  of  hue,  have  used  so  ill, — 
Preferring  a  coquette  from  France, 

A  mincing  thing,  Mamselle  Quadrille — 

Having  been  chased  from  London  down 
To  that  last,  humblest  haunt  of  all 

She  used  to  grace — a  country-town — 
Went  smiling  to  the  new  year's  ball. 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,"  she  cried, "  though  driven 
From  London's  gay  and  shining  tracks — 

Though,  like  a  Peri  cast  from  heaven, 
I  've  lost,  for  ever  lost  Almack's — 

"Though  not  a  London  Miss  alive 

Would  now  for  her  acquaintance  own  me; 

And  spinsters,  even  of  forty-five, 

Upon  their  honours  ne'er  have  known  me: 

"  Here,  here,  at  least,  I  triumph  still, 
And— spite  of  some  few  dandy  lancers, 

Who  vainly  try  to  preach  quadrille — 
See  nought  but  true-blue  country-dancers. 

"  Here  still  I  reign,  and,  fresh  in  charms, 
My  throne,  like  Magna  Charta,  raise, 

'Mong  sturdy,  free-born  legs  and  arms, 
That  scorn  the  threaten'd  chaine  Anglaise." 

*T  was  thus  she  said,  as,  'mid  the  din 
Of  footmen,  and  the  town  sedan, 

She  lighted  at  the  King's-Head  Inn, 
And  up  the  stairs  triumphant  ran. 

The  squires  and  the  squiresses  all, 
With  young  squirinas,  just  come  out, 

And  my  lord's  daughters  from  the  Hall 
(Quadnllers,  in  their  hearts,  no  doubt,) 

Already,  as  she  tripp'c'  up  stairs, 

She  in  the  cloak-room  saw  assembling — 

When,  hark  !  some  new  outlandish  airs. 
From  the  first  fiddle,  set  her  trembling. 

She  stops — she  listens — can  it  be  ? 

Alas  !  in  vain   her  ears  would  'scape  it — • 
It  is  "  Di  tanti  palpiti," 

As  plain  as  English  bow  can  scrape  it. 


"Courage !"  however  in  she  goes, 
With  her  best  sweeping  country  grace; 

When,  ah!  too  true,  her  worst  of  foes, 
Quadrille,  there  meets  her,  face  to  face. 

Oh  for  the  lyre,  or  violin, 

Or  kit  of  that  gay  Muse,  Terpsichore, 
To  sing  the  rage  these  nymphs  were  in, 

Their  looks  and  language,  airs  and  trickery. 

There  stood  Quadrille,  with  cat-like  face 
(The  beau  ideal  of  Frenph  beauty,) 

A  band-box  thing,  all  art  and  lace, 
Down  from  her  nose-tip  to  her  shoe-tie. 

Her  flounces,  fresh  from  Victorine — 
From  Hijipolyte  her  rouge  and  hair — 

Her  poetry,  from  Lamartine — 
Her  morals  from — the  Lord  knows  where. 

And,  when  she  danced — so  slidingly, 
So  near  the  ground  she  plied  her  art, 

You  'd  swear  her  mother-earth  and  she 
Had  made  a  compact  ne'er  to  part. 

Her  face  the  while,  demure,  sedate, 
No  signs  of  life  or  motion  showing, 

Like  a  bright  pendule's  dial-plate — 
So  still,  you'd  hardly  think  't  was  going. 

Full  fronting  her  stood  Country-Dance — 
A  fresh,  frank  nyrnph,  whom  you  would  know 

For  English,  at  a  single  glance — 
English  all  o'er,  from  top  to  toe. 

A  little  gauche,  't  is  fair  to  own, 

And  rather  given  to  skips  and  bounces ; 

Endangering  thereby  many  a  gown, 
And  playing  oft  the  devil  with  flounces. 

Unlike  Mamselle — who  would  prefer 

(As  morally  a  lesser  ill) 
A  thousand  ilaws  in  character, 

To  one  vile  rumple  of  a  frill. 

No  rouge  did  she  of  Albion  wear ; 

Let  her  but  run  that  two-heat  race 
She  calls  a  NYf— not  Dian  e'er 

Came  rosier  from  the  woodland  chase. 

And  such  the  nymph,  whose  soul  had  in 't 
Such  anger  now — whose  eyes  of  blue 

(Eyes  of  that  bright  victorious  tint 
Which  English  maids  call  "  Waterloo,") 

Like  summer  lightnings,  in  the  dusk 
Of  a  warm  evening,  flashing  broke, 

While — to  the  tune  of  "Money  Musk,"1 
Which  struck  up  now — she  proudly  spoke 

"Heard  you  that  strain — that  joyous  strain? 

'T  was  such  as  Kn<;laii'l  loved  to  hear, 
Ere  thou,  and  all  thy  frippery  train, 

Corrupted  both  her  foot  and  car — 

"Ere  Waltz,  that  rake  from  foreign  lands 
Presumed,  in  sight  of  all  beholders, 


1  An  olJ  English  couutr«-danr.e. 


400 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  lay  his  rude  licentious  hands 
On  virtuous  English  backs  and  shoulders — 

*  Ere  times  and  morals  both  grew  bad, 
And,  yet  unfleeced  by  funding  blockheads, 

Happy  John  Bull  not  only  had, 
But  danced  to  '  Money  in  both  pockets.' ' 


*  Alas,  the  change ! — oh, ! 

Where  is  the  land  could  'scape  disasters, 
With  sfch  a  Foreign  Secretary, 

Aided  by  foreign  dancing-masters  ? 

"  Woe  to  ye,  men  of  ships  and  shops, 
Rulers  of  day-books  and  of  waves  ! 

Quad ril I'd,  on  one  side,  into  fops, 
And  drill'd,  on  t'  other,  into  slaves  ! 

"  Ye,  too,  ye  lovely  victims !  seen, 
Like  pigeons  truss'd  for  exhibition, 

With  elbows  a  Za  crapaudine, 
And  feet  in — God  knows  what  position. 

"  Hemm'd  in  by  watchful  chaperons, 
'  Inspectors  of  your  airs  and  graces. 
Who  intercept  all  signal  tones, 
And  read  all  telegraphic  faces. 

"  Unable  with  the  youth  adored, 
In  that  grim  cordon  of  mammas, 

To  interchange  one  loving  word, 
Though  whisper'd  but  in  queue-de-chats. 

"  Ah,  did  you  know  how  bless'd  we  ranged, 
Ere  vile  QUADRILLE  usurp'd  the  fiddle — 

What  looks  in  setting  were  exchanged, 
What  tender  words  in  down  the  middle  ! 

"How  many  a  couple,  like  the  wind, 
Which  nothing  in  its  course  controls, 

Left  time  and  chaperons  far  behind, 
And  gave  a  loose  to  legs  and  souls ! 

"How  matrimony  throve — ere  stopp'd 
By  this  cold,  silent,  foot-coquetting — 

How  charmingly  one's  partner  popp'd 
The  important  question  in  poussette-ing  ! 

"  While  now,  alas,  no  sly  advances — 
No  marriage  hints — all  goes  on  badly : 

'Twixt  Parson  Malthus  and  French  dances, 
We  girls  are  at  a  discount  sadly. 

•*  Sir  William  Scott  (now  Baron  Stowell) 
Declares  not  half  so  much  is  made 

By  licences — and  he  must  know  well — 
Since  vile  Quadrilling  spoil'd  the  trade.*' 

She  ceased — tears  fell  from  every  Miss — 
She  now  had  touch'd  the  true  pathetic : — 

One  such  authentic  fact  as  this, 
Is  worth  whole  volumes  theoretic. 

Instant  the  cry  was  "  COUNTRY-DANCE  !" 
And  the  maid  saw,  with  brightening  face, 


1  Another  old  English  country-dance. 


The  steward  of  the  nisht  advance, 
And  lead  her  to  her  birth-right  place. 

The  fiddlea,  which  awhile  had  ceased, 
Now  tuned  again  their  summons  sweet. 

And,  for  one  happy  nignt,  at  least, 
Old  England's  triumph  was  complete. 


SONG. 
FOR  THE  POCOCURANTE  SOCIETY 

To  those  we  love  we  've  drank  to-night ; 

But  now  attend,  and  stare  not, 
While  I  the  ampler  list  recite      * 

Of  those  for  whom — we  care  not. 

For  royal  men,  howe'er  they  frown, 
If  on  their  fronts  they  bear  not 

That  noblest  gem  that  decks  a  crown— 
The  People's  Love — we  care  not. 

For  slavish  men  who  bend  beneath 

A  despot  yoke,  and  dare  not 
Pronounce  the  will,  whose  very  breath 

Would  rend  its  links — tee  care  not. 

For  priestly  men  who  covet  sway 
And  wealth,  though  they  declare  no* ; 

Who  point,  like  finger-posts,  the  way 
They  never  go — we  care  not. 

For  martial  men  who  on  their  sword, 
Howe'er  it  conquers,  wear  not 

The  Pledges  of  a  soldier's  word, 
Redeem'd  and  pure — we  care  not. 

For  legal  men  who  plead  for  wrong, 
And,  though  to  lies  they  swear  not, 

Are  not  more  honest  than  the  throng 
Of  those  who  do — we  care  not. 

For  courtly  men  who  feed  upon 
The  land  like  grub?,  and  spare  not 

The  smallest  leaf  where  they  can  sun 
Their  reptile  limbs — we  care  not. 

For  wealthy  men  who  keep  their  mines 
In  darkness  hid,  and  share  not 

The  paltry  ore  with  him  who  pines 
In  honest  want — we  care  not. 

For  prudent  men  who  keep  the  power 

Of  Love  aloof,  and  bare  not 
Their  hearts  in  any  guardless  hour 

To  Beauty's  shafts — we  care  not. 

For  secret  men  who,  round  the  bowl 

In  friendship's  circle,  tear  no* 
The  cloudy  curtain  from  their  soul, 

But  draw  it  close — we  care  not. 

For  all,  in  short,  on  latid  and  sea, 
In  court  and  camp,  who  are  not, 

Who  never  were,  nor  e'er  will  be 
Good  men  and  true — tor  care  not. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


401 


GENIUS  AND  CRITi' 

'.ir.— Seneca. 

Oi-  old,  the  Sultan  Genius  rci<rn'd — 
As  Nature  meant — supreme,  alone  ; 

\Viih  mind  uncheck'd,  and  hands  unchain  d, 
His  views,  his  conquests  were  his  own. 

Put  power  like  his,  that  digs  its  grave 
With  its  own  sceptre,  could  not  last: 

!: 'became  the  slave 
Of  laws  that  Genius'  self  had  pass'd. 

As  Jove,  who  forged  the  chain  of  Fate, 
Was,  ever  after,  doom'd  to  wear  it ; 

His  nods,  his  struggles,  all  too  late— 
"  Qui  semdjussil,  semper  jxirtt." 

To  cheek  young  Genius'  proud  career, 
The  slaves,  who  now  his  throne  invaded, 

Made  Criticism  his  Prime  Vizir, 

And  from  that  hour  his  glories  faded. 

Tied  down  in  Legislation's  school, 

Afrv.d  of  even  his  own  ambition, 
His  very  victories  were  by  rule, 

And  he  was  great  but  by  permission. 

Hi--  most  heroic  deeds — the  same 
That  dazzled,  when  spontaneous  actions — 

No\v.  done  by  law,  seem'd  $old  and  tame, 
And  shorn  of  all  their  first  attractions. 

If  he  but  stirr'd  to  take  the  air, 

Instant  the  Vizir's  Council  sat — 
"Good  Lord  !  your  Highness  can't  go  there — 

Bless  us  !  your  Highness  can't  do  that." 

S,  loving  pomp,  he  chose  to  buy 
Rich  jewels  for  his  diadem — 
J  E 


"  The  taste  was  bad — the  price  was  hit;!i — 
A  flower  were  simpler  than  a  gi-in." 

To  please  them  if  he  took  to  flowers — 
"  What  trifling,  what  unmeaning  tilings! 

Fit  for  a  woman's  toilet  h- 

But  not  at  all  the  style  for  kings." 

If,  fond  of  his  domestic  sphere, 

He  play'd  no  more  the  rambling  comet — 
"  A  dull,  good  sort  of  man, 

But,  aa  for  great  or  brave — far  from  it." 

Did  he  then  look  o'er  distant  oceans 

For  realms  more  worthy  to  enthrone  InmT 

"  Saint  Aristotle,  what  wild  notions  ! 
Serve  a  '  Ne  exeat  regnii  oil  him." 

At  length — their  last  and  worst  to  do — 
They  round  him  placed  a  guard  of  watchmen— 

Reviewers,  knaves  in  brown,  or  blue 
Turn'd  up  with  yellow — chiefly  Scotchmcn- 

To  dog  his  foot-steps  all  about, 

Like  those  in  Longwood's  prison-grounds, 
Who  at  Napoleon's  heels  rode  out 

For  fear  the  Conqueror  should  break  bound* 

Oh,  for  some  champion  of  his  power, 

Some  ultra  spirit,  to  set  free, 
As  erst  in  Shakspeare's  sovereign  hour, 

The  thunders  of  his  royalty ! — 

To  vindicate  his  ancient  line, 

The  first,  the  true,  the  only  one 
Of  Right  eternal  and  divine 

That  rules  beneath  the  blessed  sun  !— • 

To  crush  the  rebels,  that  would  cloud 

His  triumphs  with  restraint  or  blame, 
And,  honouring  even  his  faults,  aloud 

«  Vive  If  Jliu  !  vuiiiul  mane         \ 


402 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


THE  following  Fugitive  Pieces,  which  have  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  the  most  popular  London  journal 
(TiiK  TIMES,)  are  very  generally  attributed  to  MR.  MOORE,  and,  though  not  acknowledged  by  that  Gentle- 
man, their  wit,  grace,  variety,  and  spirit,  sufficiently  attest  the  truth  of  the  report,  and  sanction  their  insertion 
via  complete  collection  of  his  Poetical  Works. 


AN   AMATORY   COLLOQUY   BETWEEN 
BANK  AND  GOVERNMENT. 

BANK. 

Is  all  then  forgotten  ? — those  amorous  pranks 
You  and  I,  in  our  youth,  my  dear  Government, 
play'd — 

When  you  call'd  me  the  fondest,  the  truest  of  Banks, 
And  enjoy'd  the  endearing  advances  I  made. 

When — left  to  do  all,  unmolested  and  free, 
That  a  dashing,  expensive  young  couple  should  do, 

A  law  against  paying  was  laid  upon  me, 
But  none  against  owing,  dear  helpmate,  on  you  ? 

And  is  it  then  vanish  d  ?— that  "  hour  (as  Othello 
So  happily  calls  it)  of  Love  and  Direction,"1 

And  must  we,  like  other  fond  doves,  my  dear  fellow, 
Grow  good  in  our  old  age,  and  cut  the  connection  'i 

GOVERNMENT. 

EVE*  so,  my  beloved  Mrs.  Bank,  it  must  be, — 
This  paying  in  cashj  plays  the  devil  with  wooing — 

We  've  both  had  our  swing,  but  I  plainly  foresee 
There  must  soon  be  a  stop  to  our  bill-ing  and 
cooing. 

Propagation  in  reason — a  small  child  or  two — 
Even  Reverend  Malthus  himself  is  a  friend  to  : 

The  issue  of  some  folks  is  moderate  and  few — 
But  ours,  my  dear  corporate  Bank,  there  's  no  end 
to! 

So, — hard  as  it  is  on  a  pair  who  've  already 

Disposed  of  so  many  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence; 

And,  in  spite  of  that  pink  of  prosperity,  Freddy,' 
Who  J,  even  in  famine,  cry  "D — n  the  expense  !" 

The  day  is  at  hand,  my  Papyria*  Venus, 

When,  high  as  we  once  used  to  carry  our  capers, 

Those  soft  billets-doux  we  're  now  passing  between  us 
Will  serveHiut  to  keep  Mrs.  C— Us  in  curl-papers ; 

And  when — if  we  still  must  continue  our  love, 
After  all  that  is  past — our  amour,  it  is  clear 

(Like  that  which  Miss  Danae  managed  with  Jove,) 
Must  all  be  transacted  in  bullion,  my  dear ! 


•  An  hour 


Of  lore,  of  worldly  mailer  and  direction." 

2  H  appears  that  Ovid,  however,  wag  a  friend  to  the  re- 
unui'.on  of  payment  in  specie : — 

11 finem,  Rpecie  cceleste  rpsnmta, 

Luctibus  iniposuil,  venitque  salutifcr  urbi." 

Met.  1.  xv.  v.  743. 

3  linn.  F.  Robinson. 

4  To  distinguish  her  from  the  "  Aurea." 


ODE  TO  THE  GODDESS  CERES 

BY    SIR    T S  L E. 

"Legiferae  Cereri  Phreboque." — Virgil. 

DEAR  Goddess  of  Corn,  whom  the  ancients,  we  know 
(Among   other  odd  whims  of  those  comical  bo- 
dies,) 

Adorn'd  with  somniferous  poppies  to  show 
Thou  wert    always  a  true   Country-gentleman's 
Goddess ! 

Behold,  in  his  best  shooting-jacket,  before  thee, 

An  eloquent  'Squire,  who  most  humbly  beseeches. 
Great  Queen  of  Mark-lane  (if  the  thing  does  n't  bore 

thee,) 

Thou  'It  read    o'er    the    last    of  his — never-last 
speeches. 

Ah  !  Ceres,  thou  know'st  not  the  slander  and  sporu 
Now  heap'd  upon  England's  'Squirearchy  so  boast- 
ed; 

Improving  on  Hunt^  scheme,  instead  of  the  Corn, 
'T  is  now  the  Corn-growers,  alas !  that  are  roasted  ! 

In  speeches,  in  books,  in  all  shapes  they  attack  us — 
Reviewers,  economists — fellows,  no  doubt, 

That  you,  my  dear  Ceres,  and  Venus,  and  Bacchus, 
And  Gods  of  high  fashion,  know  little  about. 

There 's  B-nth-m,  whose  English  is  all    his  OWL 

makinsr, — 

Who  thinks  just  as  little  of  settling  a  nation 
As  he  would  of  smoking  his  pipe,  or  of  taking 
(What  he,  himself,  calls)  his  "  post-prandial  vibra» 
tion."1 

There  are  two  Mr/M a,  too,  whom  those  that  like 

reading 
Through  all  that's  unreadable,  call  very  clever ; — 

And,  whereas  31 Senior  makes  war  on  good 

breeding, 
M Junior  makes  war  on  all  breeding  whatever! 

In  short,  my  dear  Goddess,  Old  England  's  divided 
Between  ultra  blockheads  and  superfine  ?;i2Ps  : — 

With  which  of  these  classes  we,  landlords,  have  sided, 
Thou'lt  find  in  my  Speech,  if  thou'lt  read  a  few 
pages 

For  therein  I  ve  prov'd,  to  my  own  satisfaction, 
And  that  of  all 'Squires  I've  the  honour  of  meeting 

That 't  is  the  most  senseless  and  foul-mouth'd  detrac- 
tion 
To  say  that  poor  people  are  found  of  cheap  eating 


1  The  venerable  Jeremy's   phrase   for  his  after-dinnei 
walk 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.. 


On  the  contrary,  such  the  chaste  notions  of  food 
That  dwell  in  each  pale  manufacturer's  heart, 

They  would  scorn  any  law,  be  it  ever  so  good, 
That  would  make  thee,  dear  Goddess,  less  dear 
lhan  thou  art! 

And,  oh  !  for  Monopoly  what  a  blest  day, 
When  the  Land  and  the  Silk  shall,  in  fond  combi- 
nation, 

(Like  Sulky  and  Silky,  that  pair  in  the  play,) 
Cry  out,  with  one  voice,  for  High  Rents  and  Star- 
vation !' 

Long  life  to  the  Minister !— no  matter  who, 

Ol  how  dull  he  may  be,  if,  with  dignified  spirit,  he 

Keeps  the  ports  shut— and  the  people's  mouths,  too,— 
We  shall  all  have  a  long  run  of  Freddy's  prosperity. 

As  for  myself,  who've,  like  Hannibal,  sworn 
To  hate  the  whole  crew  who  would  take  our  rents 
from  us, 

Had  England  but  One  to  stand  by  thee,  Dear  Corn, 
That  last  honest  Uni-corn2  would  be— SirTh s ! 


DIALOGUE  BETWEEN  A  SOVEREIGN  AND 
A  ONE  POUND  NOTE. 

»O  e»o  non  Mix,  qunm  tu  fugis,  ut  pavetacrei 
AJJIIII  lupos,  capreieque  leones/'— HOT. 

SAID  a  Sovereign  to  a  Note, 

In  the  pocket  of  my  coat, 
Where  they  met,  in  a  neat  purse  of  leather, 

H  How  happens  it,  I  prithee, 

That  though  I'm  wedded  with  thee, 
Fair  Pound,  we  can  never  live  together  ? 

"  Like  your  sex,  fond  of  change, 

With  silver  you  can  range, 
And  of  lots  of  young  sixpences  be  mother; 

While  with  me— on  iry  word, 

Not  my  Lady  and  my  Lord 
Of  W— th  see  so  little  of  each  other!" 

The  indignant  Note  replied 
(Lying  crumpled  by  his  side,) 

"  Shame,  shamp,  it  is  yourself  that  roam,  Sir- 
One  cannot  look  askance, 
But,  whip  !  you're  off  to  France, 

Leaving  nothing  but  old  rags  at  home,  S;r. 

"Your  scampering  began 

From  the  moment  Parson  Van, 
Pt.or  man,  made  us  one  in  Love's  fetter, 

'  For  better  or  for  worse' 

Is  the  usual  marriage  curse : 
But  ours  is  all '  worse'  and  no  '  better.* 


1  "  Road  to  Ruin." 

Picta  Fame-  Oreris  (quamvis  contraria  semper 
Ulius  est  opcri)  pcragit. — Ovid. 

0  This  is  meant  not  PO  much  for  a  pun,  ns  in  allusion 
&•  natural  history  of  tli»  uni-orn,  which  is  supposed  to 
sonvUi'iiL'  hrtwren  the  Bos  and  I  he  AMIIIIS,  nrnl,  as  Re* 
Oyclop«di»  tells  us,  has  a  particular  liking  for  any  tin 
eha*te.  / 


u  In  vain  are  laws  pass'd, 

There 's  nothing  holds  you  fast, 
Though  you  know,  sweet  Sovereign,  1  adore  you— 

At  the  smallest  hint  in  life, 

You  forsake  your  lawful  wife, 
As  other  Sovereigns  did  before  you. 

"  I  flirt  with  Silver,  true- 
But  what  can  ladies  do, 

When  disown'd  by  their  natural  protectors  ? 
And  as  to  falsehood,  stuff! 
I  shall  soon  befahe  enough, 

When  I  get  among  those  wicked  Bank  Director! 

The  Sovereign,  smiling  on  her, 

Now  swore,  upon  his  honour, 
To  be  henceforth  domestic  and  loyal ; 

But,  within  an  hour  or  two, 

Why — I  sold  him  to  a  Jew, 
And  he 's  now  at  No.  10,  Palais  Royal 


AN  EXPOSTULATION  TO  LORD  KING. 

"  Quern  da«  finem,  Rex  inugne,  laborumT—  Virgil. 

low  can  you,  my  Lord,  thus  delight  to  torment  all 
The  Peers  of  the  realm  about  cheapening  their 
corn,1 

When  you  know,  if  one  hasn't  a  very  high  rental, 
'T  is  hardly  worth  while  being  very  high  born ! 

SVhy  bore  them  so  rudely,  each  night  of  your  life, 
On  a  question,  my  Lord,  there  'a  so  much  to  abhor 
in? 

A  question— like  asking  one,  "How  is  your  wife?"— 
At  once  so  confounded  domestic  and  foreign. 

\s  to  weavers,  no  matter  how  poorly  they  feast, 
Bat  Peers,  and  such  animals  fed  up  for  show, 

Like  the  well-physick'd  elephant,  lately  deceased,) 
Take  a  wonderful  quantum  of  cramming,  you  knovr. 

You  might  see,  my  dear  Baron,  how  bored  and  dis- 
trest 

Were  their  high  noble  hearts  by  your  merciless  talc, 
When  the  force  of  the  agony  wrung  e'en  a  jest 

From  the  frugal  Scotch  wit  of  my  Lord  L— d— le  !* 

Bright  Peer!  to  whom  Nature  and  Berwickshire  gave 
A  humour,  endow'd  with  effects  so  provoking, 

That,  when  the  whole  House  looks  unusually  grave, 
You  may  always  conclude  that  Lord  L — d — le'« 
joking ! 

And  then,  those  unfortunate  weavers  of  Perth— 
Not  to  know  the  vast  difference  Providence  dooms 

Between  weavers  of  Perth  and  Peers  of  high  birth, 
'Twixt  those   who   have  Aeir-looms,    and   those 
who've  but  looms ! 


1  See  the  proceedings  of  the  Lord*,  W.  .Ine.sdBT,  Slaicli  1 
when  Lord   King  wnit  fevetely  reproved  by  several  oMr 
noble  IVers,  for  making  so  many  speeches  against  tl 

2  This  noble  Earl  said,  that  "when  he  heard  the  petition 
rune  from  Indies'  hoot  and  shoe-iiiukers,  lie  ihoochl  it  muM 
be  against '  the  corns  which  they  inflictod  on  the  luir  ««x 


404 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


To  talk  now  of  starving,  as  great  At — 1  said — ' 
(And  the  nobles  all  cheer'd,  and  the  bishops  all 
\\onder'd) 

When,  some  years  ago,  he  and  others  had  fed 

Of  these  same  hungry  devils  about  fifteen  hundred  ! 

It  follows  from  hence — and  the  Duke's  very  words 
Should  be  pubhsh'd  wherever  poor  rogues  of  this 
craft  are, 

That  weavers,  once  rescued  .'rum  starving  by  Lords, 
Are  bound  to  be  starved  by  said  Lords  ever  after. 

When  Rome  was  uproarious,  her  knowing  patricians 
Made  "  Bread  and  the  Circus"  a  cure  for  each  row ; 

But  not  so  the  plan  of  our  noble  physicians, 
"  No  Bread  and  the  Tread-mill  V  the  regimen  now. 

Ro  cease,  my  dear  Baron  of  Ockham,  your  prose, 
As  I  shall  my  poetry — neither  convinces; 

And  all  we  have  spoken  and  written  but  shows, 
When  you  tread  on  a  nobleman's  corn,2  how  he 

winces. 


MORAL  POSITIONS. 

A  DREAM. 

"  His  Lordship  said  that  it  took  a  long  time  for  a  moral 
position  to  find  its  way  acros§  the  Atlantic.  He  was  sorry 
that  its  voyage  hail  been  so  long,"  etc. — Spctck  of  Lord 
'Dudley  and  Ward  on  Colonial  Slavery,  March  8. 

T'OTHER  night,  after  hearing  Lord  Dudley's  oration 

(A  treat  that  comes  once  in  the  year,  as  May-day 

does,) 

I  dreamt  that  I  saw — what  a  strange  operation  ! 
A  "  moral  position"  shipp'd  off  for  Barbadoes. 

The  whole  Bench  of  Bishops  stood  by,  in  grave  atti- 
tudes, 

Packing  the  article  tidy  and  neat ; — 
As  their  Rev'rences  know,  that  in  southerly  latitudes 

"Moral  positions"  don't  keep  very  sweet. 

There  was  B — th — st  arranging  the  custom-house 

pass ; 
And,  to  guard  the  frail  package  from  lousing  and 

routing, 

There  stood  my  Lord  Eld — n,  endorsing  it  "Glass," 
Though — as  to  which  side  should  lie  uppermost — 
doubting. 

The  freight  was,  however,  stow'd  safe  in  the  hold  ; 
The  winds  were  polite,  and  the  moon  look'd  ro- 
mantic, 
While  off  in  the  good  ship  "  the  Truth"  we  were 

roll'd, 
With  our  ethical  cargo,  across  the  Atlantic. 


1  The  Dukeof  Athol  said,  that  "at  a  former  period,  when 
these  weavers  went  in  |  -    Ihe  landed  ii, 

I>rth  had  >upported  1,500  of  them.  It  was  a  poor  return 
lor  these,  very  men  now  to  petition  against  the  persons  who 
barl  f-il  ilwrn." 

2  An  improvement,  we  flatter  ourselves,  on  Lord  L"s.  joke. 


Long,  dolefully  long,  seem  d  the  voyage  we  made  ;— • 
For,  "  the  Truth"  at  all  times  but  a  very  slow  sailer 

By  friends,  near  as  much  as  by  foes,  is  delav'd, 
And  few  come  aboard  her,  though  so  many  bail 
her. 

At  length,  safe  arrived,  I  went  through  "  tare  and 
tret" — 

Deliver' d  my  goods  in  the  primest  condition — 
And  next  morning  read,  in  the  Bridattown  Gazette, 

"Just  arrived,  by  'the  Truth,'  a  new  Moral  Position; 

"The  Captain" here,  startled  to  find  myself  named 

As  "  the  Captain"  (a  thing  which,  I  own  it  with 

pain, 
I,   through    life,    have    avoided,)    I    woke — look'd 

asham'd — 
Found  I  wasn't  a  Captain,  and  dozed  off  again. 


MEMORABILIA  OF  LAST  WEEK. 

MONDAY,  MARCH  13. 

THE  Budget — quite  charming  and  witty — no  hearing, 
For  plaudits  and  laughs,  the  good  things  that  were 

in  it ; — 
Great  comfort  to  find,  though  the  Speech  is  n't  cheer* 

ing, 
That  all  its  gay  auditors  were,  every  minute. 

What,  still  more  prosperity  ! — mercy  upon  us, 

'This  boy  '11  be  the  death  of  me" — oil  as,  already 

Such  smooth  Budgeteers  have  genteelly  undone  us, 
For  Ruin  made  easy  there  's  no  one  like  Freddy. 

TUESDAY. 

Much  grave  apprehension  express'd  by  the  Peers, 
Lest — as  in  the  times  of  the  Peachums  and  Lock 

itts — 

The  large  stock  of  gold  we  're  to  have  in  three  years, 
Should  all  find  its  way  into  highwaymen's  pockets:' 

A  Petition  presented  (well-timed,  after  this) 
Throwing  out  a  sly  hint  to  Grandees,  who  are 
hurl  d 

In  their  coaches  about,  that 't  would  not  be  amiss 
If  they'd  just  throw  a  little  more  light  on  the  world  ' 

A  plan  for  transporting  half  Ireland  to  Canada,3 
Which  (briefly  the  clever  transaction  to  state)  is 

Forcing  John  Bull  to  pay  high  for  what,  any  day, 
N — rb — ry,  bless  the  old  wag,  would  do  gratis. 

Keeping  always  (said  Mr.  Sub.  Horton)  in  mind, 
That  while  we  thus  draw  off  the  claims  on  pott 
toes, 

We  make  it  a  point  that  the  Pats,  left  behind, 
Should  get  no  new  claimants  to  fill  the  hiatus.* 


1  "  Another  objection  to  a  metallic  currency  was,  that  it 
produced  a  creator  number  of  highway  robberies." — Debate 
in  I/if  J.ords. 

2  Mr.  Kstronrt  presented  a  petition,  praying  that  all  per- 
sons >lioiild  be  compelled  to  have  lamps  in  their  carriers. 

!t  Mr.  W.  Morton's  motion  on  the  subject  of  Rmi?r:ition. 

4  "  The  money  expended  in  transporting  the  Irish  to 
Cannda  would  be  judiciously  laid  out,  protidi  d  nir,isi>rej 
were  taken  to  prevent  the  gap  they  left  in  the  population 
rn>in  being  filled  up  njain.  Government  had  always  madf. 
that  a  condition." — Mr.  W.  Horton's  sj>eech. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


405 


Bub.  Horton  then  read  a  long  letter,  just  come 

From  the  Canada  Paddies,  to  say  that  these  elves 
Have  already  grown  "prosp'roua" — as  we  are,  at 

home— 

And  have,  eYu  pot  "  a  surplus,"  poor  devils,  like 
ourselves  !' 

WEDNESDAY 

Little  doing — for  sacred,  oh  Wednesday,  thou  art, 
To  the  seven  o'clock  joys  of  full  many  a  table, — 

When  the  Members  all  meet,  to  make  much  of  the 

pwt, 
With  which  they  so  rashly  fell  out,  in  the  Fable. 

It  appear'd,  though,  to-night,  that — as  churchwar- 
dens, yearly, 

Eat  up  a  small  baby — those  cormorant  sinners, 
The  Bankrupt-Commissioners,  bolt  very  nearly 
A  moderate-sized  bankrupt,  tout  chaud,  for  their 
dinners  !2 

Nota  lene — a  rumour  to-day,  in  the  city, 

"Mr.  R-b-ns-n  just  has  resign'd" — what  a  pity! 

The  Bulls  and  the  Bears  al!  fell  a  sobbing, 

When  they  heard  of  the  fate  of  poor  Cock  Robin, 

While  thus,  to  the  nursery-tune,  so  pretty, 

A  murmuring  &"tot-A--dove  breathed  her  ditty : —  • 

Alas,  poor  Robin,  he  crow'd  as  long 

And  as  sweet  as  a  prosperous  Cock  could  crow : 
But  his  ,Ki/i'  w;\s  yttit.'!/,  and  tho  ^oW-finch's  song 

Was  a  pitch  too  high  for  poor  Robin  to  go. 

Who  '11  make  his  shroud  ? 

"  I,"  snid  the  Bank,  "  though  he  play'd  me  a  prank, 
While  1  have  a  ra<T.  poor  Rrib  shall  be  roll'd  in 't ; 

With  many  a  pound  I  'll  paper  him  round, 
Like  a  plump  rouleau — without  the  gold  in  *t." 


A  HYMN  OF  WELCOME  AFTER  THE 
RECESS. 

"  Anmias  snpii  utiorcs  fieri  quiescentlo." 

AND  now — cross-buns  and  pancakes  o'er — 
Hail,  Lords  and  Gentlemen,  once  more! 

Thrice  hail  and  welcome,  Houses  Twain ! 
The  short  eclipse  of  April-day 
Having  (God  grant  it!)  pass'd  away, 

Collective  Wisdom,  shine  again  ! 

Come,  Ayes  and  Noes,  through  thick  and  thin, 
With  Paddy  II — mes  for  whipper-in  ; 

Whate'er  the  job,  prepared  to  back  it; 
Come,  voters  of  Supplies — bestowers 
Of  jackets  upon  trumpet-blowers, 

At  eighty  mortal  pounds  the  jacket !' 


Come — free,  at  length,  from  Joint-Stock  cares— 
Ye  Senators  of  many  Shares, 

Whose  dreams  of  premium  knew  no  bound'ry; 
So  fond  of  aught  like  Compint/, 
That  you  would  e'en  ha\ 

(Had  you  been  ask'd)  with  Mr.  Goundry !' 

Come,  matchless  country-gentlemen ; 
Come — wise  Sir  Thomas — wisest  then 

When  creeds  and  corn-laws  are  debated ! 
Come,  rival  e'en  the  Harlot  Red, 
And  show  how  wholly  into  bread 

A  'Squire  is  transubstantiated. 

Come,  L e,  and  tell  the  world, 

That — surely  as  thy  scratch  is  curl'd. 
As  never  scratch  was  curl'd  before — 
Cheap  eating  does  more  harm  than  good, 
And  working-people,  spoil'd  by  food, 
The  less  they  eat,  will  work  the  more. 

Come,  G — Ib-rn,  with  thy  glib  defence 
(Which  thou  'dst  have  made  for  Peter's  Pencel 

Of  Church-Rates,  worthy  of  a  halter; — 
Two  pipes  of  port  (old  port  'twas  said, 
By  honest  Neu-port)  bought  and  paid 

By  Papists  for  the  Orange  Altar !  2 

Come,  H-rt-n,  with  thy  plan  so  merry, 
For  peopling  Canada  from  Kerry — 

Not  so  much  rendering  Ireland  quiet, 
As  grafting  on  the  dull  Canadians 
That  liveliest  of  earth's  contagions, 

The  bull-pock  of  Hibernian  riot ! 

Come  all,  in  short,  ye  wond'rous  men 
Of  wit  and  wisdom,  come  again ; 

Though  short  your  absence,  all  deplore  it — 
Oh,  come  and  show,  whate'er  men  say, 
That  you  can,  after  April-Day, 

Be  just  as — sapient  as  before  it. 


ALL  IN  THE  FAMILY  WAY. 

A  NEW  PASTORAL  BALLAD. 
(Sung  in  tho  character  of  Britannia.) 

"The  Public  Debt  WM  due  from  ourselvcn  to  ourselves, 
and  rciulveil  itself  into  a  1'amily  Account." — Sir  AV.jrj 
Peel's  l.ttUr. 

TUNE — My  lianka  are  attfurnish'd  with  bees. 
MY  banks  arc  all  furnish'd  with  rags, 

So  thick — even  Fred  cannot  thin  'cm ! 
I've  torn  up  my  old  monoy-h 

Having  nothing,  worth  while,  to  put  In  cm. 
My  tradesmen  are  smashing  by  dozens, 

But  this  is  all  nothing,  they  say ; 


1  'The  hon.  <:ent!oman  then  rend  n  loiter,  which  men- 
tioned I  he  prosperous  condition  of  tin1  writer;  that  he  hud 
on  hand  a  c,onsMis-;iliV  surplus  of  corn,"  etc. 

2  Mr.  Abercron.by's  statement  of  tho  enormous  tavern 
bills  of  the  Commissioners  of  bankrupts. 

3  An  item  of  expense  which   Mr.  Ilium)  in  vnin  endea- 
voured to  act  rid  of: — trumpeters,  like  the  men  of  All-Soul; 
must  be  "  bene  vcsliti." 


1  The  eentlemnn  lately  before  the  public,  who  fc.  |il  hi* 
.Ainif-Hux  k  T.'a  Cii.upany  nil  to  himself,  singing  "  Te  to- 
turn  <nlnro." 

2  This  charge  of  two  pipes  of  port  for  the  uncrnmontnl 
wine  is  :i  ;  mien  of  ihc  'ort  of  r 

their  Catholic  fellow-parmHoOCTl  by  the  lri>h  PrutcslnnU 
"Thi-  thirst  thnt  from  the  sold  doth  r'wo 
Dotli  a»k  a  drink  divme." 


toe 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


For  bankrupts,  since  Adam,  are  cousins, 
So  it 's  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  Debt  not  a  penny  takes  from  me, 

As  sages  the  matter  explain  ;— 
Bob  owes  it  to  Tom,  and  then  Tommy 

Just  owes  it  to  Bob  back  again 
Since  all  have  thus  taken  to  oil-in"-, 

There's  nobody  left  that  can  pay; 
And  this  is  the  way  to  keep  going, 

All  quite  in  the  family  way. 

My  senators  vote  away  millions, 

To  put  in  Prosperity's  budget ; 
And  though  it  were  billions  or  trillions, 

The  generous  rogues  would  n't  grudge  it. 
T  is  all  but  a  family  hop, 

'T  was  Pitt  began  dancing  the  hay ; 
Hands  round ! — why  the  deuce  should  we  stop  ? 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  labourers  used  to  eat  mutton, 

As  any  great  man  ef  the  state  does ; 
And  now  the  poor  devils  are  put  on 

Small  rations  of  tea  and  potatoes. 
But  cheer  up,  John,  Sawney,  and  Paddy, 

The  King  is  your  father,  they  say ; 
So,  ev'n  if  you  starve  for  your  daddy, 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way. 

My  rich  manufacturers  tumble, 

My  poor  ones  have  little  to  chew ; 
And,  ev'n  if  themselves  do  not  grumble, 

Their  stomachs  undoubtedly  do 
But  coolly  to  fast  enfamtile 

Is  as  good  for  the  soul  as  to  pray ; 
And  famine  itself  is  genteel, 

When  one  starves  in  a  family  way. 

I  have  found  out  a  secret  for  Freddy, 

A  secret  for  next  Budget-day ; 
Though,  perhaps,  he  may  know  it  already ; 

As  he,  too,  's  a  sage  in  his  way. 
When  next  for  the  Treasury  scene  he 

Announces  "  the  Devil  to  pay," 
Let  him  write  on  the  bills — "  Nata  bene, 

'T  is  all  in  the  family  way." 


THE  CANONIZATION  OF  ST.  B-TT-RW-RTH 

"  A  Christian  of  the  best  edition." — Rabelais. 

CANONIZE  him ! — yea,  verily,  we  '11  canonize  him ; 

Though  Cant  is  his  hobby,  and  meddling  his  bliss, 
Though  sages  may  pity  and  wits  may  despise  him, 

He  '11  ne'er  make  a  bit  the  worse  Saint  for  all  this. 

Descend,  all  yo  spirits  that  ever  yet  spread 
The  dominion  of  Humbug  o'er  land  and  o'er  sea, 

Descend  on  our  B-tt-rw-rth's  biblical  head, 
Thrice-Great,  Bibliopolist,  Saint,  and  M.  P. 

Oomf,  shade  of  Joannn,  come  down  from  thy  sphere, 
And  bring  little  Shiloh — if  't  is  n't  too  far — 

Swh  a  .»ielit  will  to  B-tt-rw-rth's  bosom  be  dear, 
His  conceptions  and  Oiine  being  much  on  a  par. 


Nor  blush,  Saint  Joanna,  once  more  to  behold 
A  world  thou  hast  honour'd  by  cheating  so  many 

Thou  'It  find  still  among  us  one  Personage  old, 
Who  also  by  tricks  and  the  Seals*  makes  a  penny 

Thou,  too,  of  the  Shakers,  divine  Mother  Lee  !* 
Thy  smiles  to  beatified  B-tt-nv-rth  deign  ; 

Two  "  lights  of  the  Gentiles"  are  them,  Anne,  and  he. 
One  hallowing  Fleet-street,  and  I'  other  Toad-lane  !* 

The  heathen,  we  know,  made  their  gods  out  of  wood, 
And  saints  too,  are  framed  of  as  handy  mate- 
rials ; — 

Old  women  and  B-tt-rw-rths  make  just  as  good 
As  any  the  Pope  ever  book'd,  as  Ethereals. 

Stand  forth,  Man  of  Bibles — not  Mahomet's  pisreon, 
When,  perch'd  on  the  Koran,  he  dropp'd  there, 
they  say, 

Strong  marks  of  his  faith,  ever  shed  o'er  religion 
Such  glory  as  B-tt-nv-rth  sheds  every  day. 

Great  Galen  of  souls,  with  what  vigour  he  crams 
Down  Erin's  idolatrous  throats,  till  thev  crack 

again, 

Bolus  on  bolus,  good  man ! — and  then  damns 
Both  their  stomachs  and  souls,  if  they  dare  cast 
them  back  again. 

Ah,  well  might  his  shop — as  a  type  representing 
The  creed  of  himself  and  his  sanctified  clan — 

On  its  counter  exhibit  "the  Art  of  Tormcntinsr," 
Bound  neatly,  and  letter'd  "  Whole  Duly  of  Man 

As  to  politics — there,  too,  so  strong  his  digestion, 
Having  leani'd  from  the  law-books,  by  which  he  'a 
surrounded, 

To  cull  all  that 's  worst  on  all  sides  of  the  question, 
His  black  dose  of  politics  thus  is  compounded — 

The  rinsing  of  any  old  Tory's  dull  noddle, 

Made  radical-hot,  and  then  mix'd  with  some  ernins 

Of  that  gritty  Scotch  gabble,  that  virulent  twaddle, 
Which  Murray's  New  Series  of  Blackwood  con- 
tains. 

Canonize  him ! — by  Judas,  we  will  canonize  him ; 

For  Cant  is  his  hobby  and  twaddling  his  bliss. 
And,  though  wise  men  may  pity  and  wits  may  des 
pise  him, 

He  '11  make  but  the  better  shop-saint  for  all  this. 

Call  quickly  together  the  whole  tribe  of  Canters, 
Convoke  all  the  serious  Tag-rag  of  the  nation ; 

Bring  Shakers  and  Snufflers  and  Jumpers  and  Rant- 
ers, 
To  witness  their  B-tt-rw-rth's  Canonization ! 

Yea,  humbly  I  've  ventured  his  merits  to  paint, 
Yea,  feebly  have  tried  all  his  gifts  to  portray ; 


1  A  great  pait  of  the  income  of  Joanna  Southcott  arose 
from  thr  Seals  of  the  Lord's  protection  which  she  sold  to 
her  followers. 

2  Mrs.  Ann  LOP,  the  "  chosen  vessel"  of  the  Shakers,  and 
"  Moitii-r  of  all  llie  children  of  regeneration." 

3  To-id-lnne  in  Manchester,  where  Mother  Lee  was  born. 
In  her  "  Address  to  Young  Believers,"  she  savs,  that  "  it  ii 
a  matter  of  no  importance   with   them    from  whence    the 
mentis  of  their  deliverance  come,  whether  from  a  stsble  in 
Belhlehem,  or  from  Toad-lane,  Manchester  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


41)7 


And  they  form  a  sum-total  for  making  a  saint, 
That  the  Devil's  own  Advocate  could  not  gainsay. 

Jump  high,  all  ye  Jumpers  !  ye  Ranters,  all  roar! 

While    B-tt-rw-rth's  spirit,  sublimed    from    your 

eyes, 
Like  a  kite  made  of  fools-cap,  in  glory  shall  soar, 

With  a  long  tail  of  rubbish  behind,  to  the  skies  ! 


NEW  CREATION  OF  PEERS. 

BATCH    THE    FIRST. 

"  His  'prentice  han* 
He  tried  on  man, 
And  then  he  made  the  lasses." 

"  A.vnnow,"  quoth  the  Minister  (eased  of  his  panics, 
And  ripe  for  each  pastime  the  summer  affords,) 

"Having    had    our   full  swing   at    destroying    me- 
chanics, 
By  way  of  set-off,  let  us  make  a  few  Lords. 

"  'T  is  pleasant — while  nothing  but  mercantile  frac- 
tures, 
Some  simple,  some  compound,  is  dinn'd  in  our 

ears — 

To  think  that,  though  robb'd  of  all  coarse  manufac- 
tures, 
Wo  still  keep  our  fine  manufacture  of  Peers; — 

"Those  GiM'm  productions,  which  Kings  take  a  pride 
In  engrossing  the  whole  fabrication  and  trade  of; 

Choice  tapestry  things,  very  grand  on  one  side, 
But  showing,  on  t'  other,  what  rags  they  are  made 
of." 

The  plan  being  fix'd,  raw  material  was  sought, 
No  matter  how  middling,  so  Tory  the  creed  be ; 

And  first — to  begin  with — Squire   W-rt-y,  't  was 

thought, 
For  a  Lord  was  as  raw  a  material  as  need  be, 

Next  came,  with  his  penchant  for  painting  and  pelf, 
The  tasteful  Sir  Ch-rl-s,  so  renown'd,  far  and  near, 

For  purchasing  pictures,  and  selling  himself, — 
And  tioth  (as  the  public  well  knows)  very  dear. 

Beside  him  comes  L — c-st-r,  with  equal  eclat,  in ; — 
Stand  forth,  chosen  pair,  while  for  titles  we  mea- 
sure ye  ; 

Both  connoisseur  baronets,  both  fond  of  drawing, 
Sir  John,  after  nature,  Sir  Charles,  on  the  Treasury. 

But,  bless  us  ! — behold  a  new  candidate  come — 
In  his  hand  he  upholds  a  prescription,  new  written  ; 

He  poiseth  a  pill-box  't  wixt  finger  and  thumb, 

As  he  asketh  a  seat  'mong  the  Peers  of  Great  Bri- 
tain ! 

"Forbid  it,"  cried  Jenky,  "ye  Viscounts,  ye  Earls  ! — 
Oh  Rank,  how  thy  glories  would  fall  disenchanted, 

If  coionets  glisten'd  with  pills  'stead  of  pearls, 
And  the  strawberry-leaves  were  by  rhubarb  sup- 
planted ! 

"No — ask  it  not,  ask  it  not,  dear  Doctor  H-lf-rd — 
If  nought  but  a  Peerage  can  gladden  thy  life, 


And  if  young  Master  H-lf-rd  as  yet  is  too  small  for't, 
Sweet  Doctor,  we'll  make  a  she  Peer  of  thy  wife, 

Next  to  bearing  a  coronet  on  our  mim  brows 
Is  to  bask  in  its  light  from  the  brows  of  another, 

And  grandeur  o'er  thee  shall  reflect  from  thy  spouse, 
As  o'er  Vesey  Fitzgerald  'twill  shine  through  his 
mother."1 

Thus  ended  the  First  Batch — and  Jenky,  much  tired, 
(It  being  no  joke  to  make  Lords  by  the  heap,) 

Took  a  large  dram  of  ether — the  same  that  inspired 
His  speech  against  Papists — and  prosed  off  to  sleep. 


CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY. 
UTRUM  HOKUM. — A  CAMBRIDGE  BALLAD. 

"  I  authorized  my  Committee  to  Line  the  step  which  they 
lid,  of  proposing  a  fair  comparison  of  strength,  upon  the 
understanding  that  whichever  of  the  two  should  prove  to  be 
llie  weakest,  should  give  wny  to  the  other. — Extract  from 
J\Ir.  IV.  J.  Banker's  Letter  to  Mr.  Goulburn, 

"  Nix*  ftui  ouJ'  atX.X.9;,  *»  A££*TO<  J'lyivovro." 

THEOCRITUS 

B-NKES  is  weak,  and  G — Ib-rn  too, 

No  one  e'er  the  fact  denied  : — 
Which  is  "  weakest"  of  the  two, 

Cambridge  can  alone  decide. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

G — Ib-rn  of  the  Pope  afraid  is, 

B-nkes,  as  much  afraid  as  he  ; 
Never  yet  did  two  old  ladies 

On  this  point  so  well  agree. 
Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 
Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  mode  pursues, 

Each  the  same  conclusion  reaches  ; 

B-nkes  is  foolish  in  Reviews, 
G — Ib-rn,  foolish  in  his  speeches. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Each  a  different  foe  doth  damn, 

When  his  own  affairs  have  gone  ill ; 

B-nkcs  he  damncth  Buckingham, 
G — Ib-rn  damneth  Dan  O'ConnH. 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pray, 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

B-nkes,  accustom'd  much  to  roam, 
Plays  with  truth  a  traveller's  pranks : 

G — Ib-rn,  though  he  stays  at  home, 
Travels  thus  as  much  as  B-n! 

Choose  between  them,  Cambridge,  pra» 

Which  is  weakest,  Cambridge,  say. 

Once,  we  know,  a  horse's  neich 
Fix'd  the  election  to  a  throw  ; 


1   Amonj  the  persons  mentioned  »«  likely  lo  lie  mined  «O 
the  Peerage  are  the  mother  of  Mr.  Vesey  Fii/jenild,  etc 


<os 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


So,  which  ever  first  shall  bray, 

Choose  him,  Cambridge,  for  thy  own. 
Choose  him,  choose  h  in  by  his  bray, 
Thus  elect  him,  Cambridge,  pray. 


USES  WRITTEN  IN  ST.  STEPHEN'S  CHA- 
PEL,  AFTER  THE  DISSOLUTION. 

BY  A  MEMBER  OF  THE  UPPER  BENCHES. 

THE  King's  speech  toll'd  the  Commons'  knell, 
The  House  is  clear'd,  the  chair  vacated, 

And  gloom  and  loneliness  now  dwell 
Where  Britain's  wise  men  congregated. 

The  gallery  is  dark  and  lone, 

No  longer  throng'd  with  curious  folk, 

Happy  to  pay  their  good  half-crown 
To  hear  bad  speeches  badly  spoke. 

The  Treasury  seats  no  placemen  show, 

Clear'd  is  each  Opposition  bench ; 
And  even  never-ending  Joe 

No  longer  cries — "  Retrench !  retrench  !"* 

Fred.  R-b-ns-n  no  more  his  skill 

Employs  in  weaving  speeches  fair, 
The  country  gentlemen  to  fill 

With  pi  onuses  as  thin  as  air. 

Dick  M-rt-n  now  no  plan  proposes 
To  aid  the  brute  part  of  the  nation, 

While  Members  cough  and  blow  their  noses, 
To  drown  his  most  humane  oration. 

Good  Mr.  B — gd-n  where  art  thou, 

Most  worthy  C — rm-n  of  C-mm — tees  ? 

To  strip  one  laurel  from  thy  brow 
Would  surely  be  a  thousand  pities. 

T  was  a  good  joke,  forsooth,  to  think 
Thou  shouldst  give  up  thy  honest  winnings, 

And  thereby  own  that  thou  didst  wink, 
Pure  soul !  at  other  people's  sinnings.* 

Where's  H — s,  corruption's  ready  hack, 

Who  life  and  credit  both  consumes 
In  whipping  in  the  Treasury  pack, 

And  jobbing  in  committee-rooms?1 

I  look  around — no  well-known  face 

Along  the  benches  meets  my  eye- 
No  Member  "  rises  in  his  place," 
For  all  have  other  fish  to  fry. 

Not  one  U  left  of  K — s  and  sages, 
Who  lately  sat  debating  here ; 


1  "  Really  the  Hon.  Member  for  M e  should  take  a 

little  breath;  his  objection*  are  most  unfair;  and,  what  is 
worse,  they  aro  nree.r -niling:"— Pee  tlie  Ch-n — ll-r  of  the 
Ex— o,— r's  speech  in  reply  to  Mr.  H— e,  Feb.  23,  i 

2  "Mr.  B— g'l-n  said  he  certainly  should  not  refund  the 
money,  hrcau*'t  by  tn  doing,  he  should  cutitict  him  if  If." — 
Sec  the  Report  of  a  Meeting  of  the  Proprietors  of  the  Arig- 
na  Mininz  Company. 

3  The  li:in-ficcd  system  of  vnl-n*  atprivnte  bill  commit- 

iiout  liavii-»|i,.ard  on  iota  of  evidence  for  or  against, 
forms  a  distinguished  feature  in  the  nislory  of  the  late  par- 
liament. 


The  crowded  hustings  now  engages 
Their  every  hope  and  every  : 

Electors,  rally  to  the  poll, 

And  L — d  J — n  K-ss-11  never  heed: 
Let  gold  alone  your  choice  control, 

The  best  man 's  he  who  best  can  bleed." 

But  if,  too  timid,  you  delay, 
(By  Bribery  Statute  held  in  awe,) 

Fear  not — there  is  a  ready  way 
To  serve  yourself  and  cheat  the  law. 

In  times  like  these,  when  things  are  high. 

And  candidates  must  be  well  fed, 
Your  cabbages  they  'II  freely  buy, 

Kind  souls !  at  two  pounds  tec  a-head.* 

Thus  may  we  hope  for  many  a  liw, 
And  many  a  measure  most  discreet, 

When — pure  as  even  the  last  we  saw- 
Britain's  new  Parliament  shall  meet. 

Then  haste,  yc  Candidates,  and  strive 
An  M.  P.  to  your  names  to  tack ; 

And — after  July  twenty-five — 3 
Collective  wisdom — welcome  back  1 


COPY  OF  AN  INTERCEPTED  DESPATCH. 

FROM  HIS  EXCELLENCY  DON  STREPITOSO  DIABOLO 
ENVOY  EXTRAORDINARY  TO  HIS  SATANIC  MAJESTY 

St.  James's- Street,  July  1. 
GREAT  Sir,  having  just  had  the  good  luck  to  catch 

An  official  young  Demon,  preparing  to  go, 
Ready  booted  and  spurr'd,  with  a  black-leg  despatch, 
From  the  Hell  here,  at  Cr-ckf-rd's,  to  our  Hell 
below — 

I  write  these  few  lines  to  your  Highness  Pn'anic, 
To  say  that,  first  having  obey'd  your  directions, 

And  done  all  the  mischief  I  could  in  "tho  J 
My  nest' special  care  was  to  help  the  Elections. 

Well  knowing  how  dear  were  those  times  to  thy  soul, 
When  every  good  Christian  tormented  his  brother 

And  caused,  in  thy  realm,  such  a  saving  of  coal, 
From  their  all  coming  down,  ready  grill'd  by  each 
other ; 

Remembering,  besides,  how  it  pain'd  thec  to  part 
With  the  old  Penal  Code, — that  cJief-d '<zuvre  of 

Law, 

In  which  (though  to  own  it  too  modest  thou  art) 
We  could  plainly  perceive  the  fine  touch  of  thy 
claw  ; 

I  thought,  as  we  ne'er  can  those  good  times  revive 
(Though  Eld-n,  .with  help  from  your  Iliglmcss 
would  try) 


1  A  maxim  which  has  been  pretty  well  acted  •. 

rtioDS. 

2  "During  ihe  election  at  Sudbury,  four  cnbbnjrs  KO!<| 
for  101.  and  a  pla:e  of  gooseberries  fetched  251.  In--  s  licri, 
«  lii-re   t  •   •  '  scarce,  being  voters.'' — tfeo 
The  Times  of  Frid  iy,  Jm,e  20. 

3  The  ilny  on  which  the  writs  are  re'trnable,  and  the  new 
parliament  u  to  meet  pro  forma 


MISCELLANEOUS  POE.MS. 


409 


T  would  still  keep  a  taste  for  Hell's  music  alive, 
Could  we  get  up  a  thund'ring  No-Popery  cry  ; — 

That  yell  which,  when  chorus'd  hy  laics  and  clerics, 
So  like  is  to  o«r,«,  in  its  spirit  and  tone, 

That  I  often  nigli  laiiL'h  mvself  into  hysterics, 
To  think  that  Religion  should  make  it  her  own. 

So,  having  sent  down  for  the  origiml  jiotes 

Of  the  chorus,  as  sung  by  your  Majesty's  choir, 

With  a  few  pints  of  lava,  to  gargle  the  throats 
Of  mvsflf  and  some  others,  who  sing  it  "with 
fire,"1 

Though  I  "if  the  Marseillois  Hymn  could  command 
Such  audience,  though  ycll'd  by  a  Saiis-culvtle 
cre\v, 

What  wonders  shall  we  do,  who've  men  in  our  band, 
That  not  only  wear  breeches,  but  petticoats  too." 

Such  thm  were  my  hopes ;  but,  with  sorrow,  your 

Highness, 

I'm  forced  to  confess — be  the  cause  what  it  will, 
Whether  fewness  of  voices,  or  hoarseness,  or  shy- 
ness,— 
Our  Beelzebub  Chorus  has  gone  off  but  ill. 

The  truth  is,  no  placeman  now  knows  his  right  key, 
The  Treasury  pitch-pipe  of  late  is  so  various; 

And  certain  base  voices,  that  look'd  for  a  fee 

At  the  1'orA  music-meeting,  now  think  it  precarious. 

Even  some  of  our  Reverends  might  have  been  war- 
mer— 

But  one  or  two  capital  roarers  we've  had  ; 
Doctor  Wise2  is,  for  instance,  a  charming  performer, 

>-«d  Huntingdon  Muberly's  yell  was  not  bad. 

Altogetner,  however,  the  thing  was  not  hearty ; — 
Even  Eld-n  allows  we  got  on  but  so  so ; 

And,  when  next  we  attempt  a  No-Popery  party, 
We  must,  please  your  Highness,  recruit  from  below. 

But,  hark,  the  young  Black-leg  is  cracking  his  whip — 
Excuse  me,  Great  Sir — there  's  no  time  to  be 

civil ; — 

The  next  opportunity  shan't  be  let  slip, 
But,  till  then, 

I'm,  in  haste,  your  most  dutiful 

DEVIL. 


MR.  ROGER  DODSWORTH. 

TO  THE  EDITOR  OF  THE  TIMF.?. 
SIR, — Living  in  a  remote  part  of  Scotland,  and 
having  but  just  heard  of  the  wonderful  resurrection 
of  Mr.  Rosier  Dodsworth  from  under  an  avalanche, 
where  he  had  remained,  bimfrappe,  it  seems,  for  the 
last  166  years,  I  hasten  to  impart  to  you  a  few  re- 
flections 01.  the  subject. 
Yours,  etc. 

LAUDATOR  TEMPORIS  ACTI. 

WHAT  a  lucky  turn-up  !— just  as  Eld-n's  withdrawing, 
To  find  thus  a  gentleman,  frozen  in  the  year 


Sixteen  hundred  and  sixty,  who  only  wants  thawing 
To  serve  for  our  times  quite  as  well  as  the  Peer; — 

To  bring  thus  to  light,  not  the  wisdom  alone 
Of  our  ancestors,  such  as  we  find  it  on  shelves, 

But,  in  perfect  condition,  full-wigg'd  and  full-grown. 
To  shovel  up  one  of  those  wise  bucks  themselves ! 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth  and  send  him  safe  home, — 

Let  him  learn  nothing  useful  or  new  on  the  way  ; 
With  his  wisdom  kept  snug,  from  the  light  let  him 

come, 

And  our  Tories  will  hail  him  with  "Hear"  and 
"  Hurra !" 

What  a  God-send  to  them — a  good — obsolete  man, 
Who   has   never  of  Locke   or  Voltaire   been  a 

reader ; — 

Oh  thaw  Mr.  Dodsworth,  as  fast  as  you  can, 
And  the  L-nsd-les  and  H-rtf-rds  shall  chuscliim  for 
leader. 

Yes,  sleeper  of  ages,  thou  shah  be  their  Chosen  ; 

And  deeply  with  thee  will  they  sorrow,  good  men, 
To  think  that  all  Europe  has,  since  thou  wert  frozen, 

So  alter'd,  thou  hardly  canst  know  it  again. 

And  Eld-n  will  weep  o'er  each  sad  innovation 
Such  oceans  of  tears,  thou  wilt  fancy  that  he 

Has  been  also  laid  up  in  a  long  congelation, 
And  is  only  now  thawing,  dear  Roger,  like  thee 


THE  MILLENNIUM. 

SUGGESTED  BY  THE  LATE  WORK  OF  THE  REVEREND 
MR.  IRV-NO  "ON  PROPHECY." 

A  MILLENNIUM  at  hand ! — I'm  delighted  to  hear  it — 
As  matters,  both  public  and  private,  now  go, 

With  multitudes  round  us  all  starving,  or  near  it, 
A  good  rich  Millennium  will  come  .a  propos. 

Only  think,  Master  Fred,  what  delight  to  behold, 
Instead  of  thy  bankrupt  old  City  of  Rags, 

A  bran-new  Jerusalem,  built  all  of  gold, 
Sound  bullion  throughout,  from  the  roof  to  the 
flags — 

A  city,  where  wine  and  cheap  com1  shall  abound,- — 

A  celestial  Cocaigne,  on  whose  buttery  shelve* 
We  may  swear  the  best  things  of  this  world  will  be 

found, 

As  your  saints  seldom  fail  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves ! 

Thanks,  reverend  expounder  of  raptures  elysian,* 
Divine  Squintifobus,  who,  placed  within  reach 

Of  two  opposite  worlds,  by  a  twist  of  your  vision 
Can  cast,  at  the  same  time,  a  sly  look  at  each  ; — 

Thanks,  thanks  for  the  hope  thou  hast  given  us,  that 

we 

May,  even  in  our  own  times,  a  jubilee  share, 
Which  so  long  has  been  promised  by  prophets  like 

thee, 
And  so  often  has  fail'd,  we  began  to  despair. 


1  Oin  f.tocii—a  rmiMC-bnok  dircrti  >u. 

2  This  rnvert-nd  gentleman  distinguished  himself  at  the 
Reading  election. 

3  F 


1   "  A  measure  of  wliunt  fur  a  rt'iniy,  uml  I!IMV  niea«uri» 
oflwlcy  for  a  p-'iiiiy." — Hco.  <•.  6. 

In;  ora'ion  of  this  ri-vtTtiml  Rf-ntlcmnn,  w  'KTC  he 
.    the  rc;nnubinl  joy*  of  ji.ir  uli-i1,  and  piJnU  Uiu 
hovering  around  "each  happy  fuir." 


410 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


There  was  Whiston,1  who  learnedly  took  Prince 
Eugene 

For  the  man  who  must  bring  the  Millennium  about ; 
There  'a  Fiber,  whose  pious  predictions  have  been 

All  belied,  ere  his  book's  first  edition  was  out; — 

There  was  Counsellor  Dobbs,  too,  an  Irish  M.  P., 
Who  discoursed  on  the  subject  with  signal  edut, 

And,  each  day  of  his  life,  sat  expecting  to  see 
A  Millennium  break  out  in  the  town  of  Armagh  !2 

There  was  also — but  why  should  I  burden  my  lay 
With  your  Brotherses,  Southcotes,  and  names  less 
deserving, 

When  all  past  Millenniums  henceforth  must  give  way 
To  the  last  new  Millennium  of  Orator  Irv-ng. 

Go  on,  mighty  man, — doom  them  all  to  the  shelf— 
And,  when  next  thou  with  Prophecy  troublest  thy 

sconce, 

Oh  forget  not,  I  pray  thee,  to  prove  that  thyself 
An  the  Beast  (chapter  4)  that  sees  nine  ways  at 
once! 


THE  THREE  DOCTORS. 

Doctoribus  !;:•  amur  tribus. 

THOUGH  many  great  Doctors  there  be, 
There  are  three  that  all  Doctors  o'ertop,— 

Dr.  Eady,  that  famous  M.  D. 
Dr.  S — they,  and  dear  Doctor  Slop. 

The  purger — the  proser — the  bard — 
All  quacks  in  a  diffeient  style  ; 

Dr.  S — they  writes  books  by  the  yard, 
Dr.  Eady  writes  puffs  by  the  mile ! 

Dr.  Slop,  in  no  merit  outdone 

By  his  scribbling  or  physicking  brother, 
Can  dose  us  with  stuff  like  the  one, 

Ay,  and  doze  us  with  stuff  like  the  other. 

Dr.  Eady  good  company  keeps 

With  "No  Popery"  scribes  on  the  walls; 
Dr.  S — they  as  gloriously  sleeps 

With  "  No  Popery"  scribes,  on  the  stalls. 

Dr.  Slop,  upon  subjects  divine, 
Such  bedlamite  slaver  lets  drop, 

That,  if  Eady  should  take  the  mad  line, 
He'll  be  sure  of  a  patient  in  Slop. 

Seven  millions  of  Papists,  no  less, 
Dr.  S — they  attacks,  like  a  Turk  ;» 


1  When  Whiston  presented  to  Prince  Eugene  the  Essav 
in  which  ho  attempted    to  connect  his  victories  over  ihe 
Turks  with  revelation,  the  Prince  is  snul  to  ha  vr  replied  that 
"  he  wat  not  aware  he  had  ever  had  the  honour  of  bein" 
kno-vn  to  St.  John." 

2  Mr.  Dobrx  was  a  Member  of  the  Irish  Parliament,  and, 
on  all  other  subject's  but  the  Millennium,  a  verv  sensible  per- 
son.    He  chose  Armaih  as  the  scene  of  the  Millennium,  on 
account  of  the  name  Armageddon,  mentioned  in  Revelation  ! 

3  This  S-r iphic  Doctor,  in  the  preface  to  hi*  last  work 
(rindicia  Ecelrsia  -tfji/r/iean*,)  is  pleased  to  anathema- 
tize not  cnly  nil  Catholics,  but  all  advocates  of  Catholics: 

*  They  havn  for  their  immediate  allies  (he  says)  every  fac- 
*v»n  that  a  banded  •gainst  the  Slate,  every  demagogue, 


Dr.  Eady,  less  bold,  I  confess, 
Attacks  but  his  maid  of  all  work.1 

Dr.  S — they,  for  his  grand  attack, 

Both  a  laureate  and  senator  is  ; 
While  poor  Dr.  Eady,  alack, 

Has  been  had  up  to  Bow-street,  for  his  ! 

And  truly,  the  law  does  so  blunder, 
That,  though  little  blood  has  been  spilt,  ha 

May  probably  suffer  as,  under 

The  Chalking  Act,  known  to  be  guilty. 

So  much  for  the  merits  sublime 

(With  whose  catalogue  ne'er  should  I  stop) 
Of  the  three  greatest  lights  of  our  time, 

Doctor  Eady  and  S— they  and  Slop  ! 

Should  you  ask  me,  to  which  of  the  three 
Great  Doctors  the  preference  should  fall, 

As  a  matter  of  course,  I  agree 
Dr.  Eady  must  go  to  the  walL 

But,  as  S — they  with  laurels  is  crown'd, 
And  Slop  with  a  wig  and  a  tail  is, 

Let  Eady's  bright  temples  be  bound 
With  a  swinging  "Corona  3/uraZw.'"2 


EPITAPH  ON  A  TUFT-HUNTER, 

LAMENT,  lament,  Sir  Isaac  Heard, 

Put  mourning  round  thy  page,  Debrett, 

For  here  lies  one,  who  ne'er  preferr'd 
A  Viscount  to  a  Marquis  yet. 

Beside  him  place  the  God  of  Wit, 
Before  him  Beauty's  rosiest  girls, 

Apollo  for  a  star  he'd  quit, 
And  Love's  own  sister  for  an  Earl's. 

Did  niggard  fate  no  peers  afford, 
He  took,  of  course,  to  peers'  relations  ; 

And,  rather  than  not  sport  a  lord, 
Put  up  with  even  the  last  creations. 

Even  Irish  names,  could  he  but  tag  'em 

With  "  Lord"  and  "  Duke,"  were  sweet  to  call 

And,  at  a  pinch,  Lord  Ballyraggum 
Was  better  than  no  Lord  at  all. 

Heaven  grant  him  now  some  noble  nook, 

For,  rest  his  soul,  he'd  rather  be 
Genteelly  damn'd  beside  a  Duke, 

Than  saved  in  vulgar  company. 


THE  PETITION 

OF  THE  ORANGEMEN  OF  IRELAND. 

To  the  People  of  England,  the  humble  Petition 
Of  Ireland's  disconsolate  Orangemen,  showing"- 


every  irreligious  and   gtdi'iuijs  j'jum.iii-t,  cv.  ry  open  ana 
every  in>iilious  enemy  to  Monarchy  and  to  Christianity." 

1  See  the  late  accounts  in  the  newspapers  of  the  appear- 
ance of  this  gentleman  at  one  of  the  ;  i  conse- 
quence of  an  alleged  nstsault  upon  his  "maid  of  all  u-ork." 

2  A  crown  granted  as  a  reward  among  the  Rum-ins  to  per- 
sons who  performed  any  extraordinary  exploits  upon  walls — 
such    as   scaling   them,    battering   them,   etc.      \0   doubt, 
writing  upon  them,  to  the  extent  that  Dr.  Eady  do«6,  would 
equally  establish  a  claim  to  the  honour. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


411 


That  sad,  very  sad,  is  our  present  condition  ; — 
That  our  jobs  are  all  gone,  and  our  noble  selves 
going ; 

That,  forming  one  seventh — within  a  few  fractions 
Of  Ireland's  seven  millions  of  hot  heads  and  hearts 

We  hold  it  the  basest  of  all  base  transactions 
To  keep  us  from  murdering  the  other  six  parts  ; — 

Tint,  as  to  laws  made  for  the  good  of  the  many, 
We  humbly  suggest  there  is  nothing  less  true  ; 

As  all  human  laws  (and  our  own,  more  than  any) 
Are  made  by  and  for  a  particular  few  ; — 

That  much  it  delights  every  true  Orange  brother 
To  see  you,  in  England,  such  ardour  evince, 

In  discussing  which  sect  mo^t  tormented  the  other, 
And  burn'd  with  most  gusto,  some  hundred  years 
since ; — 

That  we  love  to  behold,  while  Old  England  grows 
faint, 

Messrs.  Southey  and  Butler  near  coming  to  blows, 
To  decide  whether  Dunstan,that  strong-bodied  saint, 

Ever  truly  and  really  pull'd  the  devil's  nose ; 

Whether  t'  other  saint,  Dominic,  burnt  the  devil's 

paw — 

Whether  Edwy  intrigued  with  Elgiva's  old  mo- 
ther—1 
And  many  such  points,  from  which  Southey  doth 

draw 
Conclusions  most  apt  for  our  hating  each  other. 

That 't  is  very  well  known  this  devout  Irish  nation 
Has  now,  for  some  ages  gone  happily  on, 

Believing  in  two  kinds  of  Substantiation, 
One  party  in  Trans,  and  the  other  in  Con;* 

fTiat  we,  your  petitioning  Cons,  have,  in  right 
Of  the  said  monosyllable,  ravaged  the  lands, 
And  embezzled  the  goods,  and  annoy'd,  day  and 


night, 

Both  the  bodies   and 
Trans; 


souls  of  the  sticklers  for 


That  we  trust  to  Peel,  Eldon,  and  other  such  sages, 
For  keeping  us  still  in  the  same  state  of  mind ; 

Pretty  much  as  the  world  used  to  be  in  those  ages, 
When  still  smaller  syllables  madden'd  mankind; — 

When  the  words  ex  and  per3  served  as  well,  to  annoy 
One's  neighbours  and  friends  with,  as  con  and  (ran* 
now; 

And  Christians,  like  Southey,  xvho  stickled  for  oi, 
Cut  the  throats  of  all  Christians,  who  stickled  for 


1  To  such  important  disrussions  us  tlip«r>  the  tfrnntcr  part 
of  1'r    Soiisln-y's  /  indicia  F.cclrsice  .Inylicana  isdevoted. 

2  fVnaiib-'tantiation — the  true  reformed  belief;  nt  lenat, 

f  of  Luther,  and,  as  Motheim  amcrli,  of  Melanc- 
thon  also. 

3  \\~lirn  John  of  Rajnsa  went  to  Constantinople  (at  the 
time  the  dispute   hetw.-rn  '•  pv"  and  "  per"  wan  froing  on,) 
he  found  the 'Turku,  we   are  told,  "  lanihin"  nt  the  Cliris- 

!iH-in2  divided  by  two  such  insignificant  particles." 

4  The  Arian  controversy. — Before  that  time,  nay*  Hooker, 
4'tn  order  to  he  i  sound   Mitring  ("hristinn.  men  were  not 
curious  what  syllables  or  particles  of  speech  they  used." 


That  relying  on  England,  whose  kindness  already 
So  often  has  hclp'd  us  to  play  the  game  o'er, 

We  have  gjot  our  red  coats  and  our  carabines  ready 
And  wait  but  the  word  to  show  sport,  as  before. 

That,  as  to  the  expense — the  few  millions,  or  BO, 
Which  for  all  such  diversions  John  Bull  has  to 

pay— 

'T  is,  at  least,  a  great  comfort  to  John  Bull  to  know 
That  to  Orangemen's  pockets  't  will  all  find  it- 
way. 

For  which  your  petitioners  ever  will  pray, 

etc.  etc.  etc.  etc.  etc 


A  VISION. 

BY   THE    AUTHOR   OF    CHRISTABEL 

"  UP  !"  said  the  Spirit,  and,  ere  I  could  pray 
One  hasty  orison  whirl'd  me  away 
To  a  limbo,  lying — I  wist  not  where — 
Above  or  below,  in  earth  or  air ; 
All  glimmering  o'er  with  a  doubtful  light, 
One  could  n't  say  whether  't  was  day  or  night , 
And  crost  by  many  a  mazy  track, 
One  did  n't  know  how  to  get  on  or  back  ; 
And,  I  felt  like  a  needle  that 's  going  astray 
(With  its  one  eye  out)  through  a  bundle  of  hay ; 
When  the  Spirit  he  grinn'd,  and  whisper'd  me, 
'  Thou  'it  now  in  the  Court  of  Chancery  !" 

Around  me  flitted  unnumber'd  swarms 
Of  shapeless,  bodiless,  tailless  forms  ; 

Like  bottled  up  babes,  that  grace  the  room 
Of  that  worthy  knight,  Sir  Everard  Home) — 
All  of  them  things  half  kill'd  in  rearing; 
Some  were  lame — some  wanted  hearing ; 

•  had  through  half  a  century  run, 
Though  they  had  n't  a  leg  to  stand  upon. 
Others,  more  merry,  as  just  beginning, 
Around  on  a.  point  of  law  were  spinning: 
Or  balanced  aloft,  twixt  Bill  and  Answer, 

«ad  at  each  end — like  a  tight-rope  dancer. — 

ome  were  so  cross,  that  nothing  could  plense  *ein 
Some  gulp'd  down  affidavits  to  ease  'm  ; — 
All  were  in  motion,  yet  never  a  one, 

^et  it  move  as  it  might,  could  ever  move  on. 
"These,"  said  the  Spirit,  "you  plainly  see, 
Are  what  are  called  Suits  in  Chancery  '" 

heard  a  loud  screaming  of  old  and  young, 
^ike  a  chorus  by  fifty  Velutis  sung; 
Or  an  Irish  Dump  ("  the  words  by  Moore") 
At  an  amateur  concert  scream'd  in  score  : — 
•?o  harsh  on  my  ear  that  wailing  fell 
Of  the  wretches  who  in  this  Limbo  dwell ! 
t  seem'd  like  the  dismal  symphony 
Of  the  shapes  .(Eneas  in  hell  did  see; 
Or  those  frogs,  whose  legs  a  barbarous  cook 
}ut  off,  and  left  the  frncrs  in  the  brook, 
\>  cry  all  night,  till  life  s  last  <1: 
(Jive  us  our  lerrs  ! — give  us  our  1 
\>uch'd  with  the  sad  and  sorrowful  scene, 
il  ask'd  what  all  this  yell  m;?ht  mi-:m  ? 
|  When  the  Spirit  replied,  with  a  rrrin  of  glee 
I  "  T  is  the  cry  of  the  suitors  in  Chancery  ' 


412 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


I  look'd,  and  I  saw  a  wizard  rise, 
With  a  wig  like  a  cloud  before  men's  eyes. 
In  his  aged  hand  he  held  a  wand, 
Wherewith  he  beckon'd  his  embryo  band, 
And  they  moved,  and  moved,  as  he  waved  it  o'er, 
But  they  never  got  on  one  inch  the  more  ; 
And  still  they  kept  limping  to  and  fro, 
Like  Ariels  round  old  Prospero — 
Saying,  "  Dear  Master,  let  us  go  ;" 
But  still  old  Prospero  answer'd,  "  No." 
And  I  heard  the  while,  that  wizard  elf, 
Mattering,  muttering  spells  to  himself, 
While  over  as  many  old  papers  he  turn'd, 
As  Hume  ere  moved  for,  or  Omar  burn'd. 
He  talk'd  of  his  Virtue,  though  some,  less  nice, 
(He  own'd  with  a  sigh)  preferr'd  his  Vice — 
And  he  said,  "I  think"— " I  doubt"— "  I  hope," 
Call'd  God  to  witness,  and  damn'd  the  Pope  ; 
With  many  more  sleights  of  tongue  and  hand 
I  could  n't,  for  the  soul  of  me,  understand. 
Amazed  and  posed,  I  was  just  about 
To  ask  his  name,  when  the  screams  without, 
The  merciless  clack  of  the  imps  within, 
And  that  conjuror's  mutterings,  made  such  a  din, 
That,  startled,  I  woke— leap'd  up  in  my  bed- 
Found  the  Spirit,  the  imps,  and  the  conjurer  fled, 
And  bless'd  my  stars,  right  pleased  to  see 
That  I  was  n't  as  yet,  in  Chancery. 


NEWS  FOR  COUNTRY  COUSINS. 
DEAR  Coz,  as  I  know  neither  you  nor  Miss  Draper, 
When  Parliament  *s  up,  ever  take  in  a  paper, 
But  trust  for  your  news  to  such  stray  odds  and  ends 
As  you  chance  to  pick  up  from  political  friends — 
Being  one  of  this  well-inform'd  class,  I  sit  down, 
To  transmit  you  the  lost  newest  news  that 's  in  town. 

As  to  Greece  and  Lord  Cochrane,  things  could  n't 
look  better — 

His  Lordship  ( who  promises  now  to  fight  faster) 
Had  just  taken  Rhodes,  and  despatch'd  off  a  letter 

To  Daniel  O'Connel,  to  make  him  Grand  Master ; 
Engaging  to  change  the  old  name,  if  he  can, 
From  the  Knignis  of  St.  John  to  the  Knights  of  St. 

Dan)— 

Or,  if  Dan  should  prefer,  as  a  still  better  whim, 
Being  made  the  Colossus,  't  is  all  one  to  him. 

From  Russia  the  last  accounts  are,  that  the  Czar — 
Most  generous  and  kind,  as  all  sovereigns  are, 
And  whose  first  princely  act  (as  you  know,  1  suppose,) 
Was  to  give  away  all  his  late  brother's  old  clothes — 
Is  now  busy  collecting,  with  brotherly  care, 
The  late  Emperor's  night-caps,  and  thinks  of  be- 
stowing 
One  night-cap  a-piece  (if  he  has  them  to  spare) 

On  all  the  distinguish'd  old  ladies  now  going. 
(While   I  write,  an  arrival   from  Riga — "the  Bro- 
thers"— 

Having  night-caps  on   board  for  Lord    E!d-n   and 
others.) 

Last  advices  from  India — Sir  Arch}',  't  is  thought, 
Was  near  catching  a  Tartar  (the  first  ever  caught 


In  N.  lat.  21.) — and  his  Highness  Burmese, 
Being  very  hard  prest  to  shell  out  the  rupees, 
But  not  having  much  ready  rhino,  they  say,  meant 
To  pawn  his  august  golden  foot1  for  the  payment.- 
(How  lucky  for  monarchs,  that  can,  when  they  cliuse, 
Thus  establish  a  running  account  with  the  Jews  !) 
The  security  being  what  Rothschild  calls  "goot," 
A  loan  will  be  forthwith,  of  course,  set  on  foot ;— 
The  parties  are  Rothschild — \t  Baring  and  Co., 
And  three  other  great  pawnbrokers — each  takes  a  toe. 
And  engages  (lest  Gold-foot  should  give  us  leg-bail, 
As  he  did  once  before)  to  pay  down  on  tiie  nail. 

This  is  all  for  the  present, — what  vile  pens  and  paper ! 
Yours  truly,  dear  Cousin, — best  love  to  Miss  Draper 


AN  INCANTATION. 

BUNG   BY    THE   BUBBLE    SPIRIT. 

AIR — "  Come  with  me,  and  we  will  po 
Where  the  rocks  of  coral  grow." 

COME  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles,  as  we  go  ; 
Bubbles,  bright  as  ever  Hope 
Drew  from  Fancy — or  from  soap ; 
Bright  as  e'er  the  South  Sea  sent 
From  its  frothy  element ! 
Come  with  me,  and  we  will  blow 
Lots  of  bubbles  as  we  go. 
Mix  the  lather,  JOHNNY  W-LKS, 
Thou  who  rhymest  so  well  to  "  bilks : 
Mix  the  lather — who  can  be 
Fitter  for  such  task  than  thee, 
Great  M.  P.  for  Sudxbury  ! 

Now  the  frothy  charm  is  ripe, 
Puffing  Peter,  bring  thy  pipe,— 
Thou,  whom  ancient  Coventry, 
Once  so  dearly  loved,  that  she 
Knew  not  which  to  her  was  sweeter, 
Peeping  Tom  or  puffing  Peter — 

Puff  the  bubbles  high  in  air, 
Puff  thy  best  to  keep  them  there 
Bravo,  bravo,  PETER  M — RE  !        < 
Now  the  rainbow  humbugs3  soar, 
Glittering  all  with  golden  hues, 
Such  as  haunt  the  dreams  of  Jews — 
Some,  reflecting  mines  that  lie 
Under  Chili's  glowing  sky  ; 
Some,  those  virgin  pearls  that  sleep 
Cloistcr'd  in  the  southern  deep ; 


1  This  Potentate  styles  himsull'  ihe  Monarch  o(  'Ji&Uoid- 
en  Foot. 

2  Strong    indications  of  character    may  be  wrnio-imM 
raced  in  the  rhymes  to  names.     Marvell  thought  »o,  when 
IG  wrote 

"  S>  Eilwnrd  Sutton, 

The  foolish  knight  who  rhymes  to  niiiuuu." 

I 

3  An  hiimbli!  imitation  of  ono  of  our  modern  pnpfs,  who 
n  a  poem  against  war,  nfier  ilociibin;  Ihe  Sj  lonJid  Imhili 
ni'iits   of  tlie   guldier,  apostrophize.*  him — "  tlmu  rainbow 
uliiun '" 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


413 


Others,  as  iflunt  a  ray 
From  the  streaming  -Milky  Way, 
Glistening  o'er  with  curds  and  whey 
From  the  cows  of  Alderncy  ! 

Now  's  the  moment — who  shall  first 
Catch  the  bubbles  ere  they  burst  ? 
Run,  ye  squires,  ye  viscounts,  run, 
BH.-GD-N,  T-VNII-#I,  P-I.M-RST-V; — 
JOHN  W-LKS,junior,  runs  beside  ye, 
Take  the  good  the  knaves  provide  ye!' 
Sri-,  with  upturn'd  eyes  and  hands, 
Where  the  CVioreman,2  BR-GU-N,  stands, 
Gaping  for  the  froth  to  fall 
Down  his  swallow — bje  and  all ! 
See! 

Bill  hark,  my  time  is  out — 
Now,  like  some  great  water-spout, 
Scatter'd  by  the  cannon's  thunder, 
Burst,  ye  bubbles,  all  asunder! 

'Here  the  stage  darkens, — a  discordant  crash  is  heard 
from  the  orchestra — the  broken  buU>ks  descend  in  a 
a  snponaccous  but  uncleanly  mist  over  Ute  hmtln  oj 
the  Dramatis  Persona;,  and  the  scene  drops,  leaving 
the  bubble  hunters — all  in  the  suds.] 


A  DREAM  OF  TURTLE. 

BY    SIR   W.    CURTIS. 

T  WAS  evening  time,  in  the  twilight  swrct 
I  was  sailing  along,  when — whom  should  I  meet, 
But  a  turtle  journeying  o'er  the  sea, 
"  On  the  service  of  his  Majesty  !"3 

When  I  spied  him  first,  in  the  twilight  dim, 
I  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  him ; 
But  said  to  myself— as  low  he  plied 
His  lins,  and  roll'd  from  side  to  side, 
Conceitedly  over  the  watery  path — 
w  'Tis  my  Lord  of  ST-W-LL,  taking  a  bath, 
And  I  hear  him  now,  among  the  fishes, 
Quoting  Vatel  and  Burgerdiscius !" 

But,  no — 't  was,  indeed,  a  turtle,  wide 

And  plump  as  ever  these  eyes  descried  ; 

A  turtle,  juicy  as  ever  yet 

Glued  up  the  lips  of  a  baronet! 

Ah,  much  did  it  grieve  my  soul  to  »ee 

That  an  animal  of  such  dignity, 

Like  an  absentee,  abroad  should  roam, 

When  he  ought  to  stay  and  be  ate,  at  home. 

But  now,  "a  change  came  o'er  my  dream," 
Like  the  magic  lantern's  shifting  slider;— 

I  look'd,  and  saw  hy  the  evening  beam, 
On  the  back  of  that  turtle  sat  a  rider, — 


1  "  Lovely  Thais  sits  besicic  Ihee, 

Tike  the  good  the  gods  provide  thee." 

2  So  called  by  91  sort  of  Tuscan  dulcification  of  the  cA,  in  the  word 

3  We  are  told  that  the  pawport  of  the  late  grand  diplomatic  turtle  de 
Kribed  him  .«  "  on  his  Mijisty'i  service." 

dapibus  supremi 

Grata  testudo  Jo  vis. 


A  goodly  man,  with  an  eye  so  merry, 
I  knew  't  was  our  Foreign  Secretary, 
Who  there,  at  his  ease,  did  sit  and  smile. 
Like  Waterton  on  his  crocodile ; 
Cracking  such  jokes,  at  every  motion, 

\s  m:u!<>  the  turtle  squeak  with  glee, 
And  own  that  they  gave  him  a  lively  notion 

Of  what  his  own/orccrf-meat  kills  would  be 

So,  on  the  Sec.,  in  his  glory,  went, 

Over  the  briny  element, 

Waving  his  hand,  as  he  took  farewell, 

With  a  graceful  air,  and  bidding  me  tell 

Inquiring  friends,  that  the  turtle  and  he 

Were  gone  on  a  foreign  embassy — 

To  soften  the  heart  of  a  Diplunuite, 

Who  is  known  to  doat  upon  verdant  fat, 

And  to  let  admiring  Europe  see, 

That  calipash  and  calipee 

Are  the  English  forms  of  Diplomacy ! 


A  VOICE  FROM  MARATHON. 

O  FOR  a  voice,  cis  loud  as  that  of  Fame, 

To  breathe  the  word — Arise  ! 
From  Pindus  to  Taygetus  to  proclaim — 

Let  every  Greek  arise  ! 

Ye  who  have  hearts  to  strike  a  single  blow, 

Hear  rny  despairing  cries  ! 
Ye  who  have  hands  to  immolate  one  foe, 

Arise  !  arise !  arise  ! 

From  the  dim  fields  of  Asphodel  beneath, 

Upborne  by  cloudy  sighs 
Of  those  who  love  their  country  still  in  death, — 

E'en  I-— e'en  I — arise  ! 

These  are  not  hands  for  earthly  wringing — these  !— • 
Blood  should  not  blind  these  eyes ! — 

Yet  here  I  stand,  untomb'd  MILTIADES, 
Weeping — arise  !  arise ! 

Hear  ye  the  groans  that  heave  this  burial-field  ? — 

Old  Gnocia's  saviour-band 
Cry  from  the  dust — "  Fight  on !  nor  DARK  to  yield  ! 

Save  ye  our  father-land  ! 

"Blunt  with  your  bosom  the  barbaric  spear! 

Break  it  within  your  breast ; 

Then  come,  brave  Greek !   and  join  your  jrothcn 
here  v 

In  our  immortal  rest !" 

Shall  modern  DATIS,  swoln  with  Syrian  pride, 

Cover  the  land  with  slaves  t — 
Ay — let  them  cover  it,  both  far  and  wide. — 

Cover  it  with  their  graves  I 

Much  has  been  done— hut  more  remains  to  do- 

Ve  have  fought  lon;r  and  well! 
The  trutii|>  that,  on  the  Egcan,  plory  blew, 

Beein'd  with  a  storm  in  swell : 

Asia's  [trim  tyrant  shudiler'd  at  the  sound, 

He  leap'd  upon  his  throne  ! 
Murmur'd  his  horse-tail'd  cliicftainry  around- 

"  Another  Marathon  I" 


414 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Podona,  'mid  her  fanes  and  forests  hoar, 

Heard  it  with  solemn  glee : 
And  old  Parnassus,  with  a  lofty  roar, 

Told  it  from  sea  to  sea ! 

High-bosom'd  Greece,  through  her  unnumber'd  vales, 

Broke  forth  in  glorious  song ! 
Her  classic  streams  that  plough  the  headlong  dales, 

Thunder'd  the  notes  along ' 

But  there  's  a  bloodier  wreath  to  gain,  oh  friends ! 

Now  rise,  or  ever  fall ! 
If  ye  fight  now*  no  fiercer  than  the  fiends, 

Better  not  fight  at  all ! 

The  feverish  war-drum  mingles  with  the  fife 

In  dismal  symphony, 
And  Moslem  strikes  at  liberty  and  life — 

For  both,  strike  harder  ye ! 

Hark !  how  Cithaeron  with  lu's  earthquake  voice 

Calls  to  the  utmost  shores  ! 
While  Pluto  bars,  against  the  riving  noise, 

His  adamantine  doors ! 

Athene,  tiptoe  on  her  crumbling  dome, 

Cries — "  Youth,  ye  must  be  men !" 
And  Echo  shouts  within  her  rocky  tomb,— 

"  Greeks,  become  Greeks  again !" 

The  stone  first  brought,  his  living  tomb  to  close, 

Pausanias'  mother  piled : 
Matrons  of  Greece !  will  ye  do  less  for  foes, 

Than  she  did  for  her  child  ? 

Let  boyhood  strike ! — Let  every  rank  and  age 

Do  each  what  each  can  do  ! 
Let  him  whose  arm  is  mighty  as  his  rage, 

Strike  deep — strike  home — strike  through! 

Be  wise,  be  firm,  be  cautious,  yet  be  bold ! 

Be  brother-true  !  be  ONE  ! 
I  teach  but  what  the  Phrygian  taught  of  old — 

Divide,  and  be  undone  ! 

Hallow'd  in  life,  in  death  itself,  i?  he 

Who  for  his  country  dies ; 
A  light,  a  star,  to  all  futurity — 

Arise  ye,  then !  arise ! 

O  countrymen  !  O  countrymen  !  once  more — 

By  earth — and  seas — and  skies — 
By  Heaven — by  sacred  Hades — 1  implore — 

Arise  !  arise !  arise ! 


COTTON  AND  CORN. 

A  DIALOGUE. 

SAID  Cotton  to  Corn,  t'  other  day, 
As  they  met,  and  exchanged  a  salute — 

(Squire  Corn  in  his  cabriolet, 
Poor  Cotton,  half  famish'd,  on  foot) 

"  fireafc  squire,  if  it  is  n't  uncivil 
To  hint  at  starvation  before  you, 

Look  down  on  a  hungry  poor  devil, 
And  give  him  some  bread,  I  implore  you  !' 


Quoth  Corn  then,  in  answer  to  Cotton, 
Perceiving  he  meant  to  make/ree, — 

"  Low  fellow,  you  *ve  surely  forgotten 
The  distance  between  you  and  me  ! 

"  To  expect  that  we,  peers  of  high  birth, 
Should  waste  our  illustrious  acres 

For  no  other  purpose  on  earth 
Than  to  fatten  curst  calico-makers ! — 

"  That  bishops  to  bobbins  should  bend, — 
Should  stoop  from  their  bench's  sublimity, 

Great  dealers  in  lawn,  to  befriend 
Your  contemptible  dealers  in  dimity ! 

"  No — vile  manufacturer !  ne'er  harbour 
A  hope  to  be  fed  at  our  boards ; 

Base  offspring  of  Arkwright,  the  barber, 
What  claim  canst  thou  have  upon  lords  1 

"  No — thanks  to  the  taxes  and  debt, 
And  the  triumph  of  paper  o'er  guineas, 

Our  race  of  Lord  Jemmys,  as  yet, 

Many  defy  your  whole  rabble  of  Jennys .'" 

So  saying,  whip,  crack,  and  away 
Went  Corn  in  his  cab  through  the  throng, 

So  madly,  I  heard  them  all  say 
Squire  Corn  would  be  down,  before  long. 


THE  DONKEY  AND  HIS  PANNIERS 

A  FABLE. 


•  fes*us  jam  sudat  asellus, 


Farce  illi;  vestrumdclicium  est  asinus.—  Virgil  Capo. 

A  DONKEY,  whose  talent  for  burdens  was  wondrous, 
So  much  that  you  'd  swear  he  rejoiced  in  a  load, 

One  day  had  to  jog  under  panniers  so  pond'rous, 
That — down  the  poor  donkey  fell,  smack  on  tne 
road. 

His  owners  and  drivers  stood  round  in  amaze — 
What !  Neddy,  the  patient,  the  prosperous  Neddy 

So  easy  to  drive  through  the  dirtiest  ways, 
For  every  description  of  job-work  so  ready! 

One  driver  (whom  Ned  might  have  "hail'd"  as  a 
"brother")' 

Had  just  been  proclaiming  his  donkey's  renown, 
For  vigour,  for  spirit,  for  one  thing  or  other, — 

When,  lo,  'mid  his  praises,  the  donkey  came  down 

But,  how  to  upraise  him  1 — one  shouts,  f  oilier  whis- 
tles, 

While  Jenky,  the  conjuror,  wisest  of  all, 
Declared  that  an  "  over-production"  of  thistles — * 

(Here  Ned  gave  a  stare) — ,vas  the  cause  of  his  tall 

Another  wise  Solomon  cries,  as  he  passes, — 

'  There,  let  him  alone,  and  the  fit  will  soon  cease 


1  Alhidinj  to  an  early  poem  of  Mr.  Co'criiisi-'s  addressed 
to  an  ass.  anil  bpzinniu;:.  "  I  hail  thi-p,  brother!" 

2  A  certain  country  ^emii'man  having  said  in  the  HOIISP, 
that  «•(>  must  return  at  hut  to  the  food  M"  our  ancrstors  " 

somebody  a«k.>d  Mr.  T. "  what  food  tln>  frt'iitlemaii  meant  1'* 
— "  Thistles,  I  suppose,"  answered  Air.  T 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


415 


The  beast  has  been  fighting  with  other  jack-asses, 
And  this  is  his  mode  of  '  transition  to  peace.'  " 

Some  look'd  at  his  hoofs,  and,  with  learned  grimaces, 
Pronounced  that  too  long  without  shoes  he  had 
gone — 

"  Let  the  blacksmith  provide  him  a  sound  metal  basis, 
(The  wiseacres  said,)  and  he  's  sure  to  jog  on." 

But  others  who  gabbled  a  jargon  half  Gaelic, 
Exclaim'd,    "  Hoot    awa,    mon,  you  're  a'  gane 
astray,"— 

And  declared  that, "  whoe'er  might  prefer  the  metallic, 
They  'd  shoe  their  own  donkeys  with  papier  mache." 

Meanwhile  the  poor  Noddy,  in  torture  and  fear, 
Lay  under  his  panniers,  scarce  able  to  groan, 

And — what  was  still  dolefuller — lending  an  ear 
To  advisers  whose  ears  were  a  match  for  his  own. 

At  length,  a  plain  rustic,  whose  wit  went  so  far 
As  to  see  others'  folly,  roar'd  out,  as  he  pass'd — 

"Quick — oft"  with  the  jwnniers,  all  dolts  as  ye  are, 
Or  your  prosperous  Neddy  will  soon  kick  his  last !" 


ODE  TO  THE  SUBLIME  PORTE. 

GREAT  Sultan,  how  wise  are  thy  state  compositions ! 

And  oh,  above  all,  I  admire  that  decree, 
In  which  thou  comtnuiid'st  that  all  she  politicians 

Shall  forthwith  be  strangled  and  cast  in  the  sea, 

'T  is  my  fortune  to  know  a  lean  Benthamite  spinster — 
A  maid,  who  her  faith  in  old  JEREMY  puts ; 

Who  talks,  with  a  lisp,  of  "  the  last  new  Westminster," 
And  hopes  you  're  delighted  with  "Mill  upon 
Gluts ;" 

Who  tolls  you  how  clever  one  Mr.  F-NBL-NQUE  is, 
How  charming  his  Articles  'gainst  the  Nobility  ; — 

And  assures  you,  that  even  a  gentleman's  rank  is, 
In  Jeremy's  school,  of  no  sort  of  utility. 

To  see  her,  ye  Gods,  a  new  Number  devouring — 
Art.  1 — "  On  the  Needles  variations,"  by  Snip ; — 

Art   2 — "On   the  Bondage  of  Greece,"  by  JOHN 

B — R-NG  . 
(That  eminent  dealer  in  scribbling  and  scrip  ;) — 

Art.  3 — "  Upon  Fallacies,"  JKRKMY'S  own — 

(The  chief  fallacy  bdi]f>  his  hope  to  find  readers  ;) — 

Art  4 — "  Upon  Honesty,"  author  unknown  ; — 
Art.  5 — (by  the  young  Mr.  M — )  "  Hints  to  Breed- 
ers." 

Oh  Sultan,  oh  Sultan,  though  oft  for  the  ba<j 

And  the.  bowstring,  like  thee,  I  am  tempted  to  rnll  — 
Though  drowning 's  too  good  for  each  blue-stocking 

I  would  bag  this  she  Benthamite  first  of  them  all! 

Ay,  and — lest  she  should  ever  again  lift  her  head 

From  the  watery  bottom,  her  clack  to  renew, — 
As  a  clog,  as  a  sinker,  far  better  than  lead, 

would  hang  round  her  neck  her  own  darling  Re- 
view 


REFLECTIONS 

SUGGESTED  BY  A  LATE  CORRESPONUENCK  ON  TH1 
CATHOLIC  QUESTION. 

POOR  Catholics,  bitter  enough, 

Heaven  knows,  are  the  doses  you've  taken ; 
You've  swallow'd  down  L-V-RP — L'S  stuff, 

His  nonsense  of  ether,  "  well  shaken  ;" 
You've  borne  the  mad  slaver  of  LEES, 

And  the  twaddle  of  saintly  Lord  L-RT-N; 
But — worse,  oh  ye  gods,  than  all  these — 

You've  been  lectured  by  Mr.  Sec.  H-RT-N! 

Alas  for  six  millions  of  men  ! 

Fit  subjects  for  nought  but  dissection, 
When  H-RT-N  himself  takes  the  pen, 

To  tell  them  they  've  lost  his  protection  t 
Ye  sects,  who  monopolise  bliss, 

While  your  neighbours'  damnation  you  sport  on, 
Know  ye  any  damnation  like  this — 

To  be  cut  by  the  Under  Sec.  H-RT-N  ? 


THE  GHOST  OF  MILTIADES. 

Ab  quoties  dubiui  Scriptis  exarsit  amator  ! — Ovid. 

THE  ghost  of  Miltiades  came  at  night, 
And  he  stood  by  the  bed  of  the  Benthamite, 
And  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  thrill'd  the  frame, 
"  If  ever  the  sound  of  Marathon's  name 
Hath  fired  thy  blood,  or  flush'd  thy  brow, 
Lover  of  liberty,  rouse  thee  now !" 

The  Benthamite,  yawning,  left  his  bed — 

Away  to  the  Stock  Exchange  he  sped, 

And  he  found  the  scrip  of  Greece  so  high, 

That  it  fired  his  blood,  it  flush'd  his  eye, 

And  oh !  't  was  a  sight  for  the  ghost  to  see, 

For  there  never  was  Greek  more  Greek  than  he  ! 

And  still,  as  the  premium  higher  went, 

His  ecstasy  rose — so  much  per  cent, 

(As  we  see,  in  a  glass  that  tells  the  weather, 

The  heat  and  the  silver  rise  together,) 

And  Liberty  sung  from  the  patriot's  lip, 

While  a  voice  from  his  pocket  whisper'd, "  Scrip ' 

The  ghost  of  Miltiados  came  n^ain  ; — 
He  smiled,  as  the  pale  moon  shines  through  rain, 
For  his  soul  was  glad  at  that  Patriot  strain  ; 
(And,  poor,  dear  ghost — how  little  he  knew 
The  jobs  and  ficks  of  the  Fhilhollene  crew  !- 
"Blessings  and  thanks!"  was  all  he  said, 
Then  melting  away,  like  a  night-dream,  fiVJ '. 

The  Benthamite  hoars — amazed  that  ghost* 
Could  be  such  fools — and  a\vay  he  pusts. 
A  patriot  still  ?  Ah  no,  ah  no — 
Goddess  of  Freedom,  thy  scrip  is  low, 
And,  warm  and  fond  as  thy  lovers  an-, 
Thou  triest  their  passion  when  under  par. 
The  Benthamite's  ardour  fast  decays, 
By  turns,  he  weeps,  and  swears,  and  prr.vs, 
And  wishes  the  D— 1  had  crescent  and  crossj, 
Ere  he  had  been  forced  to  sell  at  a  loss 


416 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


They  quote  him  the  stock  of  various  nations, 

But,  spite  of  his  classic  associations, 

I.ord  !  how  he  loathes  the  Greek  quotation*  ' 

"  Who'll  buy  my  scrip  ?  Who'll  buy  my  scrip?" 

Is  now  the  theme  of  the  patriot's  lip, 

Ae  he  runs  to  tell  how  hard  his  lot  is 

To  Messrs.  Orlando  and  Luriottis, 

And  says,  "  Oh  Greece,  for  liberty's  sake, 

Do  buy  my  scrip,  and  I  vow  to  break 

Those  dark,  unholy  bonds  of  thine — 

If  you'll  only  consent  to  buy  up  mine?1 

The  ghost  of  Miltiades  came  once  more  ;— 
His  brow,  like  the  night,  was  lowering  o'er, 
And  he  said,  with  a  look  that  flash'd  dismay, 
"  Of  Liberty's  foes  the  worst  are  they 
Who  turn  to  a  trade  her  cause  divine, 
And  gamble  for  gold  on  Freedom's  shrine !" 
Thus  saying,  the  ghost,  as  he  took  his  flight, 
Gave  a  Parthian  kick  to  the  Benthamite, 
Which  sent  him,  whimpering,  off  to  Jerry — 
And  vanish'd  away  to  the  Stygian  ferry ! 


CORN  AND  CATHOLICS. 

Utrum  horum 

Dirius  borum  ? — Ineerti  Auttortt. 

WHAT  !  »fi7Z  those  two  infernal  questions, 

That  with  our  meals,  our  slumbers  mix- 
That  spoil  our  tempers  and  digestions — 
Eternal  Corn  and  Catholics  ! 

Gods  !  were  there  ever  two  such  bores  ? 

Nothing  else  talk'd  of,  night  or  morn — 
Nothing  in  doors  or  out  of  doors, 

But  endless  Catholics  and  Corn ! 

Never  was  such  a  brace  of  pests — 
While  Ministers,  still  worse  than  either, 

Skill'd  but  in  feathering  their  nests, 
Bore  us  with  both,  and  settle  neither. 

So  addled  in  my  cranium  meet 
Popery  and  Com,  that  oft  I  doubt, 

Whether,  this  year,  't  was  bonded  wheat, 
Or  bonded  papists,  they  let  out. 

Here  landlords,  here  polemics,  nail  you, 
Arm'd  with  all  rubbish  they  can  rake  up  ; 

Prices  and  texts  at  once  assail  you — 
From  Daniel  these,  and  those  from  Jacob. 

And  when  you  sleep,  with  head  still  torn, 
Between  the  two,  their  shapes  you  mix, 

Till  sometimes  Catholics  seem  Corn, — 
Then  Corn  again  seems  Catholics. 

Now  Dantzie  wheat  before  you  floats—- 
Now, Jesuits  from  California — 

Now  Ceres,  link'cl  with  Titus  Oats, 
Comes  dancing  through  the  "Porta  Cornea."1 


1  The  Horn  Gate,  through  which  the  ancients  supposed 
all  tru«  dreams  (such  as  those  of  the  Popish  Plot,  etc.)  to 


Oft,  too,  the  Corn  grows  animate, 
And  a  whole  crop  of  heads  appears, 

Like  Papists,  bearding  Church  and  State—- 
Themselves, together  by  lite  ears  ! 

While,  leaders  of  the  wheat,  a  row 

Of  Poppies,  gaudily  declaiming, 
Like  Counsellor  O'Bric  and  Co., 

Stand  forth,  somniferously  flaming  ! 

In  short,  their  torments  never  cease  ; 

And  oft  I  wish  myself  transferr'd  oil 
To  some  far,  lonely  land  of  peace, 

Where  Corn  or  Papist  ne'er  were  heard  ot 

Oh  waft  me,  Parry,  to  the  Pole  ; 

For — if  my  fate  is  to  be  chosen 
'Twixt  bores  and  ice-bergs — on  my  soul, 

I'd  rather,  of  the  two,  be  frozen ! 


CROCKFORDIANA 

EPIGRAMS. 

1. 

Mala  vicini  pecoris  contagia  la-dunt. 
WHAT  can  those  workmen  be  about  ? 

Do,  C 1),  let  the  secret  out, 

Why  thus  your  houses  fall. — 
Quoth  he,  "  Since  folks  are  not  in  town, 
I  find  it  better  to  putt  down, 
Than  have  no  putt  at  att." 


2. 


SEE,  passenger,  at  C- 


-D'S  high  behest, 


Rfd  coats  by  black-legs  ousted  from  their  nest,— 
The  arts  of  peace,  o'ermatching  reckless  war, 
And  gallant  Rouge~\indone  by  wily  A'oir .' 

3. 

Impar  consrressus 

FATE  gave  the  word — the  King  of  dice  and  cards 
In  an  unguarded  moment  took  the  Guards ; 
Contrived  his  neighbours  in  a  trice  to  drub, 
And  did  the  trick  by — turning  up  a  Club 

4. 

Nu'.lum  simile  est  idem. 
'T  is  strange  how  some  will  differ — some  advance 
That  the  Guard's  Club-House  was  pull'd  down  by 

chance ; 

While  some,  with  juster  notions  in  their  mazard, 
Stoutly  maintain  the  deed  was  done  by  hazard. 


THE  TWO  BONDSMEN. 

WHEN  Joseph,  a  Bondsman  in  Egypt,  of  old, 

Shunn'd  the  wanton  embraces  of  Potiphar's  dame 
She  offer'd  him  jewels,  she  offer'd  him  gold, 

But  more  than  all  riches  he  valued  his  fame. 
3h  Joseph  !  thou  Bondsman  of  Greece,  can  it  be 
That  the  actions  of  namesakes  so  little  agree  ? 

reek  Scrip  is  a  Potiphar's  lady  to  thee. 
When  with  13  per  cent,  she  embellish'd  herpharms, 
Didst  thou  fly,  honest  Joseph  ?  Yes — into  her  arms 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


4P 


Oh  Joseph  !  dear  Joseph  !  bethink  thec  in  time, 
And  take  a  friend's  counsel,  though  tender'd  in  rhyme. 
Refund,"  honest"  Joseph:  how  great  werejhe  shame, 
If,  when  posteriority1  sits  on  thy  name, 
They  should  sternly  decree,  'twixt  your  namesake 

and  you, 
That  he  was  the  Christian,  and  thou  wert  the  Jew. 


THE  PERIWINKLES  AND  THE  LOCUSTS. 

A  SALMAGUNDIAN  HYMN. 

"  To  Pinurgo  was  assigned  tlie  [,nird-hip  of  SalmngumVt, 
which  v.  "-".»  rva'.s,  besides   tli<; 

revenue  of  the  l.ocu*ls  and  Periwinkles,  amounting  one 
fear  with  another  to  the  value  of  2,455,768,  etc.  etc."  — 
UibUais. 


!  Hurra!"  I  heard  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'd  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went, 
To  open  in  state  his  Parliament. 

The  Salrmjimdians  once  were  rirh, 

Or  thought  they  were  —  no  matter  which  — 

For,  every  year,  the  Revenue2 

From  their  Periwinkles  larger  grew  ; 

And  their  rulers,  skill'd  in  all  the  trick, 

And  legerdemain  of  arithmetic, 

Knew  how  to  place  1,  2,  3,  4, 

5,  6,  7,  8,  and  9,  and  10, 
Such  various  ways,  behind,  before, 
That  they  made  a  unit  seem  a  score, 

And  proved  themselves  most  wealthy  men  ! 

So,  on  they  went,  a  prosperous  crew, 
The  people  wise,  the  rulers  clever,  — 

And  God  help  those,  like  me  and  you, 

Who  dared  to  doubt  (as  some  now  do) 

That  the  Periwinkle  Revenue 
Would  thus  go  flourishing  on  for  ever. 

"  Hurra  !  hurra  '."  I  heard  them  say, 
And  they  cheer'  d  and  shouted  all  the  way, 
As  the  Great  Pamirge  in  glory  went, 
To  open  his  own  dear  Parliament. 

B'lt  fol!;s  at  length  begin  to  doubt 

What  all  this  conjurinnr  was  about; 

For,  every  day,  more  deep  in  debt 

They  saw  their  wealthy  rulers  get  :  — 

tt  Let  "s  look  (said  they)  the  items  through, 

And  see  if  what  we're  told  be  true 

Of  our  Periwinkle  Revenue." 

But,  lord,  they  found  there  was  n't  a  tittle 

Of  truth  in  aught  they  heard  before  ; 
For,  th?y  gnin'd  by  Periwinkles  little, 

And  lost  by  Locusts  ten  tinn-s  more  ! 
These  Locusts  are  a  lordly  breed 
Some  Salmagundians  love  to  feed. 


1  Remote   posterity — a  favourite  word   of  the  present 
Attorney-OenerHl's. 

2  Accented  as  in  Swift's  line— 

"  Not  so  a  nation's  revenues  are  paid." 
3G 


Of  all  the  beasts  that  ever  were  born, 
Your  Locust  most  delights  in  corn  ; 
And,  though  his  body  be  but  sin. ill, 
To  fatten  him  takes  the  devil  and  all  • 

Nor  this  the  worst,  for  direr  still, 

Alack,  alack  and  a  well-a-day  ! 

Their  Periwinkles,— once  the  stay 
And  prop  of  the  Salmngundian  till—- 
For want  of  feeding,  all  fell  ill ! 

And  still,  as  they  thinn'd  and  died  away, 
The  Locusts,  ay,  and  the  Locusts'  Kill 

Grew  fatter  and  fatter  every  day  ! 

"Oh  fie  !  oh  fie !"  was  now  the  cry, 
As  they  saw  the  gaudy  show  go  by, 
And  the  Laird  of  Salmagundi  went  • 
To  open  his  Locust  Parliament ! 


A.  CASE  OF  LIBEL. 
A  CERTAIN  old  Sprite,  who  dwells  below 

('T  were  a  libel,  perhaps,  to  mention  where) 
Came  up  incog.,  some  winters  ago, 

To  try  for  a  change,  the  London  air. 

So  well  he  looked,  and  dress'd  and  talked, 
And  hid  his  tail  and  his  horns  so  handy. 

You'd  hardly  have  known  him,  as  he  walk'd 
From  *****,  or  any  other  Dandy. 

(N.B. — iris  horns,  they  say,  unscrew  ; 

So,  he  has  but  to  take  them  out  of  the  socket, 
And — just  as  some  fine  hitsb-inds  do— 

Conveniently  clap  them  into  his  pocket,) 

In  short,  he  look'd  extremely  natty, 

And  ev'n  contrived — to  his  own  great  wonder 
By  dint  of  sundry  scents  from  Gattic, 

To  keep  the  sulphurous  hogo  under. 

And  so  my  gentleman  hoofd  about, 

Unknown  to  all  but  a  chosen  few 
At  White's  and  CrockfordV,  where,  no  doubt 

He  had  many  post-obits  falling  due. 

Alike  a  gamester  and  a  wit, 

At  night  he  was  seen  with  Crockford's  ctew  , 
At  morn  with  learned  dames  would  sit — 

So  piss'd  his  time  't  wixt  black  and  Hue. 

Some  wish'd  to  rmke  him  an  M.  P., 
But,  finding  W — Iks  was  also  one,  he 

Was  heard  to  say  "he  'd  be  d — d  if  he 
Would  ever  sit  in  one  house  with  Johnnj. 

At  length,  as  secrets  travel  fast, 

And  devils,  whether  he  or  she, 
Are  sure  to  be  found  out  :  • 

The  affair  got  wind  most  rapidly. 

The  press,  the  unpnrtial  pre«<5,  that  snubs 
Alike  a  fiend's  or  U  'i<;rs— 

Miss  Paton's  soon  as  Beelzebub's — 

Fired  off  a  squib  in  the  morning  papers: 

"We  warn  pood  men  to  keep  aloof 
From  a  grim  old  Dandy,  seen  about, 


119 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


:\'ilh  a  fire-proof  wig,  and  a  cloven  hoof, 
Through  a  neat-cut  Hoby  smoking  out." 
fow,  the  Devil  being  a  gentleman, 

Who  piques  himself  on  his  well-bred  dealings, 
Vou  may  guess,  when  o'er  these  lines  he  ran, 
How  much  they  hurt  and  shock'd  his  feelings. 

Away  he  posts  to  a  man  of  law, 
And  oh,  't  would  make  you  laugh  to  've  seen 

'em, 

As  paw  shook  hand,  and  hand  shook  paw, 
And  't  was  "  hail,  good  fellow,  well   met,"  be- 
tween "er™. 

Straight  an  indictment  was  preferr'd— 
And  much  the  Devil  enjoy'd  the  jest, 

When,  looking  among  the  judges,  he  heard 
That,  of  all  the  batch,  his  own  was  Best, 

In  vain  Defendant  profTer'd  proof 

That  Plaintiff's  self  was  the  Father  of  Evil- 
Brought  Hoby  forth,  to  swear  to  the  hoof, 

And  Stultz,  to  speak  to  the  tail  of  the  Devil. 

The  Jury — saints,  all  snug  and  rich, 
And  readers  of  virtuous  Sunday  papers, 

Found  for  the  Plaintiff — on  hearing  which 
The  Devil  gave  one  of  his  loftiest  capers. 

For  oh,  it  was  nuts  to  the  father  of  lies 
(As  this  wily  fiend  is  named,  in  the  Bible,) 

To  find  it  settled  by  laws  so  wise, 
That  the  greater  the  truth,  the  worse  the  libel ! 


LITERARY  ADVERTISEMENT. 

WANTED — Authors  of  all-worfc,  to  job  for  the  sea- 
son, 

No  matter  which  party,  so  faithful  to  neither  :— 
Good  hacks,  who,  if  posed  for  a  rhyme  or  a  reason, 

Can  manage,  like  *****,  to  do  without  either. 

If  in  gaol,  all  the  better  for  out  o'-door  topics  ; 

Your  gaol  is  for  trav'llers  a  charming  retreat ; 
They  can  take  a  day's  rule  for  a  trip  to  the  Tropics, 

And  sail  round  the  world,  at  their  ease,  in  the  Fleet. 

For  Dramatists,  too,  the  most  useful  of  schools — 
They  may  study  high    life  in  the  King's  Bench 

community : 

Aristotle  could  scarce  keep  them  more  within  ndes, 
And  of  place  they  're,  at  least,  taught  to  stick  to  the 
wttty. 

Any  lady  or  gentleman  come  to  an  age 
To  have  good  "Reminiscences"  (three-score,  or 

higher,) 

Will  mpfit  with  encouragement — so  much,  per  pajrp, 
And  the  spelling  and  grammar  both  found  by  the 
buyer. 

No  matter  with  what  their  remembrance  is  stock'd, 
So  they  '11  only  remember  the  quantum  desired  ; — 

Enough  to  fill  handsomely  Two  Volumes,  Oct., 

Price  twenty-four  shillings,  is  all  that 's  required.   . 


They  may  treat  us,  like  Kelly,  with  old  jeux-d 'esprtts, 
Lake  Reynolds,  may  bo'^t  of  each  mountebank 

frolic, 
Or  kindly  inform  us,  like  Madame  Genlis,1 

That  ginger-bread  cakes  always  give  them  the  co- 
lick. 

There's  nothing,  at  present,  so  popular  growing 
As  your  Autobiographers — fortunate  elves, 

Who  manage  to  know  all  the  best  people  going, 
Without  having  ever  been  heard  of" themselves! 

Wanted,  also,  new  stock  of  Pamphlets  on  Corn, 
By  "Farmers'*  and  "Landholders" — (gemmen^ 

•whose  lands 

Enclosed  all  in  bow-pots,  their  attics  adorn, 
Or,  whose  share  of  the  soil  may  be  seen  on  tneir 
hands.) 

No-Popery  Sermons,  in  ever  so  dull  a  vein, 

Sure  of  a  market; — should  they,  too,  who  pen  'em, 

Be  renegade  Papists,  like  Murtagh  O'S-11-v-n,2 
Something  extra  allow'd  for  the  additional  venom. 

Funds,  Physic,  Corn,  Poetry,  Boxing,  Romance, 
All  excellent  subjects  for  turning  a  penny  ; — 

To  write  upon  all  is  an  author's  sole  chance 
For  attaining,  at  last,  the  least  knowledge  of  any. 

Nine  times  out  often,  if  his  title  be  good, 

His  matter  within  of  small  consequence  is  ; — 

Let  him  only  write  fine,  and,  if  not  understood, 
Why, — that 's  the  concern  of  the  reader,  not  his. 

N.B. — A  leam'd  Essay,  now  printing,  to  show, 
That  Horace  (as  clearly  as  words  could  express  It 

Was  for  taxing  the  Fund-holders,  ages  ago, 

When  he  wrote  thus — "  Quodcunque  in  Fund  w 
assess  it."3 


THE  SLAVE 

I  HEARD,  as  f  lay,  a  wailing  sound, 

"  He  is  dead — he  is  dead,"  the  rumour  flew  ; 

And  I  raised  my  chain,  and  turn'd  me  round, 
And  ask'd,  through  the  dungeon  window,  "  who  ?' 

I  saw  my  livid  tormentors  pass  ; 

Their  grief 't  was  bliss  to  hear  and  see ; 
For  never  came  joy  to  them,  alas, 

That  did  n't  bring  deadly  bane  to  me. 

Eager  I  look'd  through  the  mist  of  night, 
And  ask'd,  "  What  foe  of  my  race  hath  died  ? 

Is  it  he — that  Doubter  of  law  and  right, 
Whom  nothing  but  wrong  could  e'er  decide— 

"  Who,  long  as  he  eees  but  wealth  to  win, 
Hath  never  yet  felt  a  qualm  or  doubt 


1  This  lady,  in  her  Mi-moirs,  also  favours  us  with  the  ad 
iliv-<   of  thosi?  apiitliceaiics  who  have,  from  time  to  time, 
given  her  pill"  that  agreed  with  her; — alwnys  desiring  that 
the  pills  should  hu  ordered  "commc  pour  rllr." 

2  A  priitli.-miin.  who  distinguished  himself  by  hia  evidence 
before  thn  Tri-Oi  Committees. 

3  According  to  the  common  reading  "  quodcunque  infun 
dis,  acescit." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


419 


What  suitors  for  justice  he'd  keep  in, 
Or  what  suitors  for  freedom  he  'd  shut  out — 

"  Who,  a  clog  for  ever  on  Truth's  advance, 
Stifles  her  (like  the  Old  Man  of  the  Sea 

Round  Sinbud's  nerk,')  nor  leaves  a  chance 
Of  shaking  him  off— is  't  he  i  is  't  he?" 

Ghastly  my  grim  tormentors  smiled, 

And  thursting  me  back  to  my  den  of  woe, 

With  a  laughter  even  more  fierce  and  wild 
Than  their  funeral  howling,  answer'd,  "No." 

But  the  cry  still  pierced  my  prison  gate, 
And  again  1  ask'd,  "  What  scourge  is  gone? 

Is  it  he — that  Chief,  so  coldly  great, 
Whom  Fame  unwillingly  shines  upon — 

"  Whose  name  is  one  of  th'  ill  omen'd  words 
They  link  with  hate  on  his  native  plains  ; 

And  why  ? — they  lent  him  hearts  and  swords, 
And  he  gave,  in  return,  scoffs  and  chums  1 

Is  it  he  ?  is  it  he  ?"  I  loud  inquired, 
When,  hark  ! — there  sounded  a  royal  knell ; 
And  I  knew  what  spirit  had  just  expired, 
And,  slave  as  I  was.  my  triumph  fell. 


1  "  You  ffll,"  said  they,  "imo  the  hiinds  of  tlie  oM  man 
of  tlio  sen,  and  are  the  first  who  ever  escaped  *Uangling  by 
bu  malicious  tuck*."— Stury  yf  Sinbad. 


lie  had  pledged  a  hate  unto  me  and  mine, 
He  had  left  to  the  future  nor  hope  nor  chuice, 

But  seal'd  that  hate  with  a  name  divine, 
And  he  now  was  dead,  and — I  could  n't  rejoice  ! 

He  had  fann'd  afresh  the  burning  brands 

Of  a  bigotry  waxing  cold  and  dim  ; 
He  had  arm'd  anew  my  torturers'  hands, 

Anu  tfiem  did  I  curse— but  sigh'd  for  him. 

For  his  was  the  error  of  head,  not  heart. 

And — oh,  how  beyond  the  ambush'd  foe. 
Who  to  enmity  adds  the  traitor's  part, 

And  carries  a  smile,  with  a  curse  below  ! 

If  ever  a  heart  made  bright  amends 
For  the  fatal  fault  of  an  erring  head — 

Go,  learn  his  fame  from  the  lips  of  friends. 
In  the  orphan's  tear  be  his  glory  read. 

A  prince  without  pride,  a  man  without  guile, 
To  the  last  unchanging,  warm,  sincere, 

For  worth  he  had  ever  a  hand  and  smile, 
And  for  misery  ever  his  purse  and  tear. 

Touch'd  to  the  heart  by  that  solemn  toll, 

I  calmly  sunk  in  my  chains  again  ; 
While,  still  as  I  said,  "  Heaven  rest  his  soul  f" 

My  mates  of  the  dungeon  sigh'd,  "  Amen  !* 


ALCIPIIRON. 


LETTER   I. 

PROM  ALCIPIIRON  AT  ALEXANDRIA  TO  CLEON 
AT  ATHENS. 

WET.L  may  you  wonder  at  ray  flight 

From  those  fair  Gardens,  in  whose  bowers 
Lingers  whate'er  of  wise  and  bright, 
Of  Beauty's  smile  or  Wisdom's  liulit, 

Is  left  to  grace  this  world  of  ours. 
Well  may  my  comrades,  as  they  roam, 

On  evenings  sweet  as  this,  inquire 
Why  I  have  left  that  happy  home 

Where  all  is  found  that  all  desire, 

And  Time  hath  wings  that  never  tire; 
Where  bliss,  in  all  the  countless  shapes 

That  Fancy's  self  to  bliss  hath  given, 
Comes  clustering  round,  like  road-side  grapes 

That  woo  the  traveller's  lip,  at  even; 
Where  Wisdom  flings  not  joy  away, — 
As  Pallas  in  the  stream,  they  say, 
Once  flung  her  flute, — but  smiling  owns 
That  woman's  lip  can  send  forth  tones 
Worth  all  the  music  of  those  spheres 
So  many  dream  of,  but  none  hears; 
Where  Virtue's  self  puts  on  so  well 

Her  sister  Pleasure's  smile  that,  loth 
From  either  nymph  apart  to  dwell, 

We  finish  by  embracing  both. 

Yes,  such  the  place  of  bliss,  I  own. 
From  all  whose  charms  I  just  have  flown; 
And  ev'n  while  thus  to  ihee  I  write, 

And  by  the  Nile's  dark  flood  recline, 
Fondly,  in  thought,  I  wing  mv  flight 
Back  to  those  groves  and  gardens  bright, 
And  often  think,  by  this  sweet  light, 

How  lovelily  they  all  must  shine ; 
Can  see  that  graceful  temple  throw 

Down  the  green  slope  its  lengthen'd  shade, 
While,  on  the  marble  steps  below, 

There  sits  some  fair  Athenian  maid, 
Over  some  favourite  volume  bending; 
%  And,  by  her  side,  a  youthful  sage      • 

Holds  back  the  ringlets  that,  descending, 

Would  else  o'ershadow  all  the  page. 
But  hence  such  thoughts ! — nor  let  me  grieve, 
O'er  scenes  of  joy  that  I  but  leave, 
As  the  bird  quils  awhile  its  nest 
To  come  again  with  livelier  zest. 

And  now  to  tell  thee — what  I  fear 
Thou  Ml  gravely  smile  at — why  I  'm  here. 
Though  through  my  life's  short  sunny  dream, 

I  've  floated  without  pain  or  care. 
Like  a  light  leaf,  down  pleasure's  stream, 

Caught  in  each  sparkling  eddy  there; 
Though  never  Mirth  awake  a  strain 
That  my  heart  echoed  not  again  ; 
Yet  have  I  felt,  when  ev'n  most  gny, 

Sad  thoughts — I  knew  not  whence  or  why — 

Suddenly  o'er  my  spirit  fly, 
Like  clouds,  that,  ere  we  've  time  to  say 

"  How  bright  the  sky  is!"  shade  the  sky. 
Sometimes  so  vague,  so  undefin'd 
Were  these  strange  darkenings  of  my  mind — 


While  nought  hut  joy  around  me  heam'd 
So  causelessly  they  've  come  arid  flown, 

That  not  of  lifp  or  earth  they  seem'd, 
But  shadows  from  some  world  unknown. 

More  oft,  however,  't  was  the  ihoucrlit 
How  soon  that  scene,  with  all  its  play 
Of  life  and  gladness,  must  decay. — 

Those  lips  I  prest,  the  hands  I  caught — 

Myself — the  crowd  that  mirth  hud  brought 
Around  me, — swept  like  weeds  away  ! 

This  thought  it  was  that  came  to  shed 

O'er  rapture's  hour  its  worst  alloys; 
And,  close  as  shade  with  sunshine,  wed 

Its  sadness  with  my  happiest  joys. 
Oh,  but  for  this  disheart'ning  voice 

Stealing  amid  our  mirth  to  say 
That  all,  in  which  we  most  rejoice, 

Ere  night  may  be  the  earth-worm's  prey---* 
But  for  this  bitter — only  this — 
Full  as  the  world  is  brimm'd  with  bliss, 
And  capable  as  feels  my  soul 
Of  draining  to  its  dregs  the  <vhole, 
I  should  turn  earth  to  heav'n,  and  be, 
If  bliss  made  Gods,  a  Deity ! 

Thou  know'st  that  night — the  very  last 
That  with  my  Garden  friends  I  pass'd— 
When  the  School  held  its  feast  of  mirta 
To  celebrate  our  founder's  birth, 
And  all  that  He  in  dreams  but  saw 
When  he  set  Pleasure  on  the  throne 
Of  this  bright  world,  and  wrote  her  law 

In  human  hearts,  was  felt  and  known— 
Not  in  unreal  dreams,  but  true, 
Substantial  joy  as  pulse  e'er  knew. — 
By  hearts  and  bosoms,  that  each  felt 
Itself  the  realm  where  Pleasurdkdwelt 

That  night,  when  all  our  mirth  was  o'er, 

The  minstrels  silent,  and  the  feet 
Of  the  young  maidens  heard  no  more— 

So  stilly  was  the  time,  so  sweet. 
And  such  a  calm  came  o'er  that  scene, 
Where  life  and  revel  late  had  been — 
Lone  as  the  quiet  of  some  bay. 
From  which  the  sea  hath  ebb'd  away—- 
That still  I  linger'd.  lc>st  in  thought, 

Gazing  upon  the  stars  of  night, 
Sad  and  intent,  as  if  I  sought 

Some  mournful  secret  in  their  light; 
And  ask'd  them,  mid  that  silence,  \\liy 
Man,  glorious  man,  alone  must  die, 
While  they,  less  wonderful  than  he, 
Shine  on  through  all  eternity. 

That  nigh' — l/iou  haply  may'st  forget 

Its  loveliness — lid  't  was  n  night 
To  make  earth's  meanest  slave  regret 

jLeaving  a  v;or(d  so  fnff  and  bright. 
On  one  side,  in  tlie.  dark  f,Ine  sky, 
lamely  and  radiant,  was  the.  eye 
Of  Jove  himndf,  while,  on  the.  other, 

'Mong  stars  that  came  out  one  by  one, 
The  young  moon — like  the  Roman  mother 

Among  her  living  jewels-     V>r<e. 

,420> 


ALCIPHRON 


421 


"O  thnt  from  yonder  orbs,"  I  thought, 

"  1'ure  and  otorn:d  ns  they  are, 
There  could  lii  earth  sonic  |«mer  be.  brought, 
Some  charm,  willi  their  own  essence  fraught, 

To  make  man  deathless  as  a  star, 
And  open  to  his  vast  desires 

A  course,  ns  boundless  :md  sublime 
As  lies  before.  ihos:i  comet-fires, 

That  roam  and  burn  throughout  all  timo  !" 

While  thoughts  like  these  ahsorb'd  my  mind, 

That  weariness  which  earth'v 
However  sweet,  still  leaves  behind, 

As  if  to  show  how  earthly  't  is. 
Came  lulling  o'er  me,  and  I  laid 

My  limbs  at  that  fair  slaiue's  base — 
That  miracle,  which  Art  hath  made 

Of  all  the  choice  of  Nature's  ^race—- 
To which  so  oft  I  've  knelt  and  sworn, 

That,  could  a  living  maid  like  her 
Unto  this  wondering  world  be  born, 

I  would,  myself,  turn  worshipper. 

Sleep  came  then  o'er  me — ami  I  seem'd 

To  be  transported  far  away 
To  a  bleak  desert  plain,  where  gleam'd 

One  sincle,  melancholy  rnv. 
Throughout  that  darkness  dimly  shed 

From  a  small  taper  in  the  hand 
Of  one,  who,  pale  ns  are  the  dead, 

Before  me  took  his  spectral  stand, 
And  said,  while,  awfully  a  smile 

Came  o'er  the  wanness  of  his  cheek — 
"Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile, 

You  '11  find  th'  Eternal  Life  you  seek." 

Soon  as  he  spoke  these  words,  the  hue 
Of  death  upon  his  features  grew — 
Like  the  pale  morning,  when  o'er  night 
She  gains  the  victory — full  of  light; 
White  the  small  torch  he  held  became 
A  glory  in  his  hand,  whose  flame 
Briihten'd  the  desert  suddenly, 

E'en  to  the  far  horizon's  line— 
Alone  whose  level  I  could  see 

Gardens  and  aroves,  that  seem'd  to  shine, 
As  if  then  freshly  o'er  them  plny'd 
A  vernal  rainbow's  rich  cascade, 
While  music  was  heard  every  where, 
Breathing,  as  'twere  itself  the  air, 
And  spirits,  on  whose  wings  the  hue 
Of  heav'n  still  linger'd,  round  me  flew. 
Till  from  all  sides  such  splendors  broke, 
That  with  the  excess  of  light,  I  woke ! 

Such  wns  mv  dream — and,  I  confess, 

Though  none  of  all  our  creed  less  school 
Hath  e'er  believ'd,  or  reveiorv.'d  less 

The  fables  of  the  priest-led  fool, 
Who  tells  ns  of  a  soul,  a  mind. 
Separate  and  pure,  within  us  shrin'd, 
Which  is  to  live — ah,  hope  too  bright  I—- 
For ever  in  yon  fields  of  lisrht — 
Who  fondly'thinks  the  guardian  eyes 

Of  cods  are  on  him — as  if,  blest 
And  blooming  in  their  own  blue  skies, 
Th'  eternal  cods  were  not  too  wise 

To  let  weak  man  disturb  their  rest! 
Thoiisrh  thinking  of  s'irli  creeds  as  thou 

And  all  our  Garden  sages  think, 
Yet  is  there  something,  I  allow, 

In  dreams  like  this — a  sort  of  link 
With  worlds  unseen,  which,  from  the  hour 

I  first  could  lisp  my  thoughts  till  now. 
Hath  master'd  me  with  spell-like  power. 

And  who  can  tell,  as  we  're  combin'd 
Of  various  atoms — some  refined, 


Like  those  thnt  scintillate  and  play 
In  the  fixed  stars, — some,  gross  as  they 
That  frown  in  clouds  or  s-lrep  in  clay, — 
Who  can  be  sure,  but  'I  i«  the  In  st 

And  brighteM  atoms  of  our  frame, 

Those  most  akin  to  stellar  flame, 
That  shine  out  thus,  when  we  're  at  rest, — 
F.v'n  ns  their  kindred  stars,  whose  Jight 
Comes  out  but  in  the  silent  night. 
Or  is  it  that  there  lurks,  indeed, 
Some  truth  in  Man's  prevailing  creed. 
And  that  our  guardians,  from  on  hiuh, 

Come,  in  that  pause  from  toil  and  Bin, 
To  put  the  senses'  curtain  by. 

And  on  the  wakeful  soul  look  in! 

Vain  thought! — but  yet,  howe'er  it  be. 

Dreams,  more  than  once,  have  prov'd  to  me 

Oracles,  truer  far  than  Oak, 

Or  Dove,  or  Tripod  ever  spoke. 

And  't  was  the  words — thou  'It  hear  and  smile— 

The  words  that  phantom  seem'd  to  speuk — 
"Go,  and  beside  the  sacred  Nile 

You  'II  find  the  Eternal  Life  you  seek, — " 
That,  haunting  me  by  night,  by  day. 

At  length,  as  with  the  unseen  hand 
Of  Fate  itself;  urg'd  me  away 

From  Athens  to  this  Holy  Land; 
Where,  "mong  the  secrets,  still  untaught, 

The  myst'ries  thnt,  as  yet,  nor  sun 
Nor  eye  hath  reach'd — oh  blessed  thought.'— 

May  sleep  this  everlasting  one. 

Farewell — when  to  our  Garden  friends 
Thou  talk'st  of  the  wild  dream  that  senda 
The  gayest  of  their  school  thus  far, 
Wandering  beneath  Cnnopus'  star, 
Tell  them  that,  wander  where  he  will, 

Or,  howsoe'er  they  now  condemn 
His  vague  and  vain  pursuit,  he  still 

Is  worthy  of  the  School  and  them  ;— 
Still,  all  their  own, — nor  e'er  forgets. 

Ev'n  while  his  heart  and  sosil  pursue 
Th'  Eternal  Light  which  never  sets, 

The  many  meteor  joys  that  do, 
But  seeks  triem,  hails  them  with  delight 
Where'er  they  meet  his  longinjp^ighU 
And,  if  his  life  must  wane  awav. 
Like  other  lives,  at  lenst  th 
The  hour  it  lasts  shall,  like  a  fire. 
With  incense  fed,  in  sweets  expire. 


LETTER   II. 

FROM  THE  RAMR  TO  THE  SAME. 

MrmpMfc 

T  is  true,  alas  — the  mysteries  and  the  lore 

I  cnme  to  study  f>n  this  wondrous  shore, 

Are  all  forgotten  in  tlie  new  delights. 

The  siraii-re,  wild  jovs  tint  (ill  my  days  and  nights 

In-trad  of  dark,  dull  oracles  that  speak 

From  subterranean  temple?,  those  /seek 

Come  from  the  breathiusr  shrines,  where  Hen'ity  live*, 

And  Love,  her  priest,  the  soft  responses  gives. 

Instead  of  honoring  Tsin  in  those  rites 

At  Coptos  held,  I  hail  her,  when  she  lichts 

Her  first  young  crescent  on  the  holy  stream— 

When  wandering  youths  and  maidens  watch  herb«am 

And  number  o'er 'the  nichts  sho  hath  to  run, 

Ere  she  again  embrace  her  bridegroom  sun. 

While  o'er  some  mystic  leaf,  that  dimly  lend* 

A  clue  into  past  times,  the  student  bends, 


422 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


And  by  its  glimmering  guidance  learns  to  tread 

Back  through  the  shadowy  knowledge  of  the  dead, — 

The  only  skill,  alas,  /yet  can  claim 

Lies  in  deciphering  some  new  lov?d-one's  nnme — 

Some  gentle  missive,  hmling  time  and  place, 

In  language,  soft  as  Memphian  reed  can  trace. 

And  where — oh  where 's  the  heart  that  could  with 

stand, 

Th'  unnumbered  witcheries  of  this  sun-born  land. 
Where  first  young  Pleasure's  banner  was  unf'url'd, 
And  Love  hath  temples  ancient  as  the  world! 
Where  mystery,  like  the  veil  by  Beauty  worn, 
Hides  but  to  heighten,  shades  but  to  adorn ; 
And  that  luxurious  melancholy,  born 
Of  passion  and  of  genius,  sheds  a  gloom 
Making  joy  holy ; — where  the  bower  and  tomb 
Stand  side  by  side,  and  Pleasure  learns  from  Death 
The  instant  value  of  each  moment's  breath. 
Couldst  thou  but  see  how  like  a  poet's  dream 
This  lovely  land  now  looks ! — the  glorious  stream, 
That  late,  between  its  banks,  was  seen  to  glide 
'Mong  shrines  and  marble  cities,  on  each  side 
Glittering  like  jewels  strung  along  a  chain, 
Hath  now  sent  forth  its  waters,  and  o'er  plain 
And  valley,  like  a  giant  from  his  bed 
Rising  with  out-stretch'd  limbs,  hath  grandly  spread 
While  far  as  sight  can  reach,  beneath  as  clear 
And  blue  a  heav'n  as  ever  bless'd  our  sphere, 
Gardens,  and  pillar'd  streets,  and  porphyry  domes, 
And  high-built  temples,  fit  to  be  the  homes 
Of  mighty  Gods,  and  pyramids,  whose  hour 
Outlasts  all  time,  above  the  waters  tower! 

Then,  too,  the  scenes  of  pomp  and  joy,  that  make 

One  theatre  of  this  vast,  peopled  lake, 

Where  all  that  Love,  Religion,  Commerce  gives 

Of  life  and  motion,  ever  moves  and  lives. 

Here,  up  the  steps  of  temples  from  the  wave 

Ascending,  in  procession  slow  ano^  grave, 

Priests  in  white  garments  go,  with  sacred  wands 

And  silver  cymbals  gleaming  in  their  hands; 

While  there,  rich  barks — fresh  from  those  sunny  tracts 

Far  off,  beyond  the  sounding  cataracts — 

Glide,  with  their  precious  lading  to  the  sea, 

Plumes  of  bright  birds,  rhinoceros  ivory, 

Gems  from  the  islS^f  Meroe,  and  those  grains 

Of  gold,  wash'd  down  by  Abyssinian  rains. 

Here,  where  the  waters  wind  into  a  bay 

Shadowy  and  cool,  some  pilgrims,  on  their  way 

To  Sais  or  Bubastus,  among  beds 

Of  lotus  flowers,  that  close  above  their  heads, 

Push  their  light  barks,  and  there,  as  in  a  bower, 

Sing,  talk,  or  sleep  away  the  sultry  hour — 

Oft  (lipping  in  the  Nile,  when  faint  with  heat, 

That  leaf;  from  which  its  waters  drink  most  sweet. 

While  haply,  not  far  off,  beneath  a  bank 

Of  blossoming  acacias,  many  a  prank 

Is  play 'd  in  the  cool  current  by  a  train          r 

Of  laughing  nymphs,  lovely  as  she,*  whose  chain 

Around  two  conquerors  of  the  world  was  cast, 

But,  lor  a  third  too  feeble,  broke  at  last. 

For  oh,  believe  not  them,  who  dare  to  brand, 
As  poor  in  charms,  the  women  of  this  land. 
Though  darken'd  by  that  sun,  whose  spirit  flows 
Through  every  vein,  nnd  tinges  as  it  goes, 
T  is  but  th'  embrowning  of  the  fruit  that  tells 
How  rich  within  the  soul  of  ripeness  dwells,— 
The  hue  their  own  dark  sanctuaries  wear, 
Announcing  heav'n  in  half-caught  glimpses  there. 
And  never  yet  did  tell-tale  looks  set  free 
The  secret  of  young  hearts  more  tenderly. 
Such  eyes! — long,  shadowy,  with  that  languid  fall 
Of  the  frmg'd  lids,  which  may  be  seen  in  all 


*  Cleopatra. 


Who  live  beneath  the  sun's  too  ardent  rays — 
Lending  such  looks  as,  on  their  marriage  days 
Young  maids  cast  down  before  a  bridegroom's  gaze! 
Then  for  their  grace  —  mark    but   the    nymph-like 

shapes 

Of  the  young  village  girls,  when  carrying  grapes 
From  green  Anthylla,  or  light  urns  oi  flowers — 
Not  our  own  Sculpture,  in  her  happiest  hours, 
E'er  imag'd  forth,  even  at  the  touch  of  himt 
Whose  touch  was  life,  more  luxury  of  limb! 
Then,  canst  thou  wonder  if)  mid  scenes  like  these, 
I  should  forget  all  graver  mysteries, 
All  lore  but  Love's,  all  secrets  but  that  best 
In  heav'n  or  earth,  the  art  of  being  blest ! 

Yet  are  theje  times, — though  brief,  I  own,  their  stay, 

Like  summer-clouds  that  shine  themselves  away, — 

Moments  of  gloom,  when  ev'n  these  pleasures  pall 

Upon  my  sadd'nirig  heart,  and  I  recall 

That  Garden  dream — that  promise  of  a  power. 

Oh  were  there  such ! — to  lengthen  our  life's  hour 

On,  on,  as  through  a  vista,  far  away 

Opening  before  us  into  endless  day  ! 

And  chiefly  o'er  my  spirit  did  this  thought 

Come  on  that  evening — bright  as  ever  brought 

Light's  golden  farewell  to  the  world — when  first 

The  eternal  pyramids  of  Memphis  burst 

Awfully  on  my  sight — standing  sublime 

"fwixt  earth  and  heav'n,  the  watch-towers  of  Time, 

From  whose  lone  summit,  when  his  reign  hath  past 

From  earth  for  ever,  he  will  look  his  last ! 

There  hung  a  calm  and  solemn  sunshine  round 

Those  mighty  monuments,  a  hushing  sound 

In  the  still  air  that  circled  them,  which  stole 

Like  music  of  past  times  into  my  soul. 

I  thought  what  myriads  of  the  wise  and  brave 

And  beautiful  had  sunk  into  the  grave, 

Since  earth  first  saw  these  wonders — and  I  said 

"  Are  things  eternal  only  for  the  Dead  ? 

Is  there  for  Man  no  hope — but  this,  which  dooms 

His  only  lasting  trophies  to  be  tombs  ! 

But  'tis  not  so — earth,  heaven,  all  nature  shows 

lie  may  become  immortal, — may  unclose 

The  wings  within  him  wrapt,  and  proudly  rise 

Kedeem'd  from  earth,  a  creature  of  the  skies  ! 

"  And  who  can  say,  among  the  written  spells 
From  Hermes'  hand,  that,  in  these  shrines  and  cells 
Have,  from  the  Flood,  lay  hid,  there  may  not  be 
Some  secret  clue  to  immortality, 
Some  amulet,  whose  spell  can  keep  life's  fire 
Awake  within  us,  never  to  expire  ! 
"Pis  known  that,  on  the  Emerald  Table,!  hid 
For  ages  in  yon  loftiest  pyramid, 
The  Thrice-Great$  did  himself,  engrave,  of  old, 
The  chymic  mystery  that  gives  endless  gold. 
And  why  may  not  this  mightier  secret  dwell 
Within  the  same  dark  chambers  ?  who  can  tell 
But  that  those  kings,  who,  by  the  \\ritien  skill 
Of  th'  Emerald  Table,  call'd  forth  gold  at  will, 
And  quarries  upon  quarries  heap'd  and  hnrl'd, 
To  build  them  domes  that  might  outstand  the  w  orld— 
Who  knows  but  that  the  heavenlier  art,  which  share! 
The  life  of  (aids  with  man,  was  also  theirs — 
That  they  themselves,  triumphant  o'er  the  power 
Of  late  and  death,  are  living  at  this  hour; 
And  these,  the  giant  homes  they  still  possess, 
Not  tombs,  but  everlasting  palaces, 
Within  v\  ho*<>  depths,  hid  from  the  world  above, 
Even  now:  they  wander,  with  the  few  they  love, 
Through  subterranean  gardens,  by  a  light 
I'nknovvn  on  earth,  which  hath  nor  dawn  nor  night? 
IClse.  why  those  deathless  structures?  why  the  grand 
And  hidden  halls,  that  undermine  this  land  ? 


t  Apellcs.          t  See  Notes  on  the  Epicurean 
$  The  llermea  Trismegistus. 


ALCIPHRON. 


423 


Why  else  hath  none  of  earth  e'er  dared  to  go 
Through  the  dark  windings  of  ih.it  re;, ha  l.r-low, 

•iit  from  heav'n  itself,  except  ti: 
Of  Silt-ace,  through  those  endless  luhyriiuhs  trod?" 

Thus  did  I  dream — wild,  wandering  dreams,  I  own, 
But  such  as  haunt  me  ever,  if  .-; 
Or  in  thai  'pause  'twiitt  joy  and  joy  I  he. 
Like  a  ship  hush'd  between  two  uavts  at  sea, 
Tlii'ii  do  these  spirit  whisperings,  like  the  sound 
Of  the  Dark  Future,  come  appalling  round; 
Nor  can  1  hreak  the  trance  that  holds  me  then. 
Till  high  o'er  Pleasure's  surge  i  mount  again! 

F.v'n  now  for  new  adventure,  new  delight, 

My  heart  is  on  the  wing — this  very  nigut, 

The  Temple  on  that  island,  half-way  o'er 

From  Memphis'  gardens  lo  the  easier;, 

Sends  up  Us  annual  rite*  to  her.  whose  beams 

Bring  the  sweet  time  of  night-flowers  mid  dreams; 

The  nymph,  who  dips  her  urn  in  silent  lakes, 

And  turns  to  silvery  dew  each  drop  it  lakes; — 

Oh,  not  our  Uian  of  the  North,  who  chains 

In  vestal  ice  the  current  of  y" 

But  she  who  haunts  the  pay  Bubastiant  grove, 

And  owns  she  sees,  from  her  bright  heav'n  above, 

Nothing  on  earth  to  match  that  heav'n  but  Love. 

Thinks  then,  what  bliss  will  be  abroad  to-night! 

Beside,  that  host  of  nymphs,  who  meet  the  siyht 

Day  afier  day,  familiar  as  the  sun, 

Coy  buds  of  beauty,  yet  unbreath'd  upon, 

And  all  the  hidden  loveliness,  that  lies, 

Shut  up.  as  are  the  beams  of  sleeping  eyes, 

Within  these  twilight  shrines — to-night  will  be, 

Soon  as  the,  .Moon's  while  imrk  in  heav'n  we  see, 

Let  loose,  like  birds,  for  this  festivity  ! 

And  mark,  't  is  nigh  ;  already  the  sun  bids 

His  evening  farewell  to  the  Pyramids, 

As  he  hath  done,  age  after  age,  till  they 

Alone  on  earth  seem  ancient  as  Ins  ray; 

While  their  great  shadows,  stretching  Irom  the  light 

Look  like  the  first  colossal  stejis  of  .Ni^lit, 

Stretching  across  the  valley,  to  invade 

The  distant  hills  of  porphyry  with  their  shade. 

Around,  as  signals  of  the  selling  beam, 

Gay,  gilded  flag's  on  every  house-top  gleam: 

While,  hark  ! — from  all  the  temples  a  rich  swell 

Of  music  to  the  Moon — farewell — farewell. 


LETTER  III. 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

Memphis. 
THERE  is  some  star — or  it  may  be 

That  inoon  we  saw  so  near  last  night— 
Which  comes  athwart  my  destiny 

For  ever,  with  misleading  light. 
If  for  a  moment,  pure  and  u  i.-e 

And  c:ilm  I  feel,  there  quick  doth  fall 
A  spark  from  some  disturbing  eyes. 
That  through  my  heart,  soul,  being  flies, 

And  makes  a  wildfire  of  it  all. 
I've  seen — oh,  Cleoh,  that  this  earth 
Should  e'er  have  giv'n  such  beauty  birth  ! — 
That  man — but,  hold — hear  all  that  pass'd 
Since  yester-night,  from  first  to  last. 


*  The  great  Festival  of  the  Moon, 
t  Bubastis,  or  Isis,  was  the  Diana  of  the  Egyptian  mytho- 
logy 


The  rising  of  the  Moon,  calm,  slow, 

And  beautiful,  as  if  she  came 
Fresh  from  the  F.lysinn  Ixiwers  below, 

Was,  wiih  a  loud  and  sweet  nrelnim 
Welcom'd  from  every  breezy  height. 
Where  crowds  stood  waiting  for  her  light 
And  well  might  they  who  view'd  the  scene 

Then  lit  up  all  around  them,  say, 
That  never  yet  had  .Nature  been 

Caught  sleeping  in  a  lovelier  ray, 
Or  rival'd  her  own  noon-tide  face, 
With  purer  show  of  moonlight  grace. 

Memphis, — still  grand,  though  not  the  same 

I  nmall'd  .Memphis,  that  could  seize 
From  ancient  Thebes  the  crown  of  Fame, 

And  wear  it  bright  through  centuries— 
Now,  in  the  moonshine,  that  came  down 

Like  a  last  smile  upon  that  crown, 
Memphis,  still  grand,  among  her  lakes, 

Her  pyramids  and  shrine's  of  fire, 
Rose,  like  a  vision,  that  half  breaks 
On  one  who,  dreaming,  still,  awakes 

To  music  from  some  midnight  choir : 
While  to  the  west,  where  gradual  siuki 

In  the  red  sands,  from  Libya  roll'd, 
Some  mighty  column,  or  fair  sphvnx, 

That  stood,  in  kingly  courts,  of  old, 
It  seem'd  as,  mid  the  pomps  that  shone 
Thus,  gaily  round  him.  Time  look'd  on, 
Waiting  till  all,  now  bright  and  blest, 
Should  fall  beneath  him  like  the  rest. 

No  sooner  had  the  setting  sun 
Proclaim'd  the  festal  rite  begun, 
Arid,  mid  their  idol's  fullest  beams. 

The  Kgyptian  world  was  all  nflont, 
Than  I,  who  live  upon  these  streams, 

Like  a  young  Nile-bird,  turn'd  my  boat 
To  the  fair  island,  on  whose  si, 
Through  leafy  palms  and  sycamores, 
Already  shone  the  moving  lights 
Of  pilgrims,  hastening  to  the  rites. 
While,  fir  around,  like  ruby  sparks 
I  "pon  the  water,  lighted  barks, 
Of  every  form  and  kind — from  those 

That  down  S\ -rue's  cataract  dfioots, 
To  the  grand,  gilded  barge,  that  rows 

To  sound  of  tambours  and  of  flutes. 
And  wears  at  night,  in  words  of  flume, 
On  the  rich  prow,  iis  master's  name; — 
All  were  alive,  and  made  this  sea 

Of  cities  busy  as  a  hill 
Of  summer  ants,  caught  suddenly 

In  the  overflowing  of  a  rill. 

Landed  upon  the  isle.  I  soon 

Through  marble  alleys  and  small  groves 

Of  that  mysterious  palm  she  loves, 
Reach'd  the  fair  Temple  oi  the  .M(x>n ; 
And  there — an  slowly  through  the  last 
Dim-lighted  vestibule  1  JNIS-  d — 
I'll-; ween  the  porphyry  pillars,  twin'd 

With  palm  mid  ivy.  I  could  see 
A  band  of  youthful  maidens  wind, 

In  measur'd  walk,  half  dancingly, 
Round  a  smnll  shrine,  on  which  was  plac  d 

That  bird,!  whose  plumes  of  black  and  whit* 
Wear  in  their  hue,  by  .Nature  trac'd, 

A  type  of  the  moon's  shadow'd  light 

In  drapery,  like  woven  snow 

nymphs  were  clad,  and  each,  below 


jThe  Ibis. 


424 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


The  rounded  hosom,  lcx>sely  wore 

A  dark  bine  zone,  or  bandelet, 
With  little  silver  stars  nil  o'er,- 

As  are  the  skies  at  midnight,  set. 
While  in  their  tresses,  braided  through, 

Sparkled  the  flower  of  Kg  y  pi's  lakes, 
The  silvery  lotus,  in  whose  hue 

As  much  delight  ihe  young  Moon  takes, 
As  doth  the  Day-God  to  behold 

The  lofty  bean-flower's  buds  of  gold. 
And,  as  they  gracefully  went  round 

The  worshipp'd  bird,  some  to  the  beat 
Of  castanets,  some  to  the  sound 

Of  the  shrill  sistrum  tirh'd  their  feet; 
While  others,  at  each  step  they  took, 
A    tinkling  chain  of  silver  shook. 

They  seem'd  all  fair — but  there  was  one 
On  whom  the  light  had  not  yet  shone, 
Or  shone  but  partly — so  downcast 
She  held  her  brow,  as  slow  she  pnss'd. 
And  yet  to  me,  there  seemed  to  dwell 

A  charm  about  that  unseen  face — 
A  something,  in  the  shade  that  fell 

Over  that  brow's  imagin'd  grace. 
Which  took  Tne  more  than  all  the  best 
Outshining  beauties  of  the  rest. 
And  her  alone  my  eyes  could  see, 
Enchain'd  by  this  sweet  mystery ; 
And  her  alone  I  watch'd,  as  round 
She  glided  o'er  that  marble  ground, 
Stirring  not  more  th'  unconscious  air 
Than  if  a  Spirit  had  moved  there. 
Till  suddenly,  wide  open  flew 
The  Temple's  folding  gates,  and  threw 
A  splendour  from  within,  a  flood 
Of  Glory  where  these  maidens  stood. 
While,  with  that  light, — as  if  the  same 
Rich  source  gave  birth  to  both,  there  came 
A  swell  of  harmony,  as  grand 
As  e'er  was  born  of  voice  and  hand, 
Filling  the  gorgeous  aisles  around 
With  the  mix'd  burst  of  light  and  sound. 

Then  was  it,  by  the  flash  that  blaz'd 

Full  o'er  her  features — oh  't  was  then, 
As  startingly  her  eyes  she  rais'd. 

But  quick  let  fall  their  lids  again, 
I  saw — not  Psyche's  self,  when  first 

Upon  the  threshold  of  the  skies 
She  patis'd,  while  heaven's  glory  burst 

Newly  upon  her  downcast  eyes. 
Could  look  more  beautiful  or  blush 

With  holier  shame  than  did  this  maid, 
Whom  now  I  saw,  in  all  that  gush 

Of  splendour  from  the  aisles,  display'd. 
Never — tho'  well  thou  kriow'st  how  much 

I  've  felt  the  sway  of  Beauty's  star — 
Never  did  her  bright  influence  touch 

My  soul  into  its  depths  so  far; 
And  had  that  vision  lincer'd  there 

One  minute  more,  I  should  have  flown. 
Forgetful  who  I  was  and  where. 

And,  at  her  feet  in  worship  thrown, 

ProfFer'd  my  soul  through  life  her  own. 

But,  scaroolv  had  that  burst  of  light 
And  music  broke  on  car  nnd  sight. 
Than  up  the  aisle  the  bird  took  wing, 

As  if  on  heavenly  mission  sent. 
While  after  him.  with  graceful  spring, 

Like  some  unearthly  creatures,  meant 

To  live  in  that  mix'd  element 

Of  light  and  song,  the  young  maids  went 
And  she,  who  in  my  heart  had  thrown 
A  spark  to  burn  for  life,  was  flown. 


In  vain  I  tried  to  follow ; — bands 

Of  reverend  chanters  fill'd  the  aisle: 
Where'er  I  son«ht  to  pass,  their  \\ari'!s 

Motion'd  me  back,  while  many  a  file 
Of  sacred  nymphs — but  ah,  not  they 
Whom  my  eyes  look'd  fur — throne'd  the  way. 
Perplex'd,  impatient,  mid  this  crmvd 
Of  faces,  lights — the  o'erwhelrnina  cloud 
Of  incense  round  me,  and  my  blond 
Full  of  its  new-born  fire, — I  stood, 
Nor  mov'd,  nor  breath'd,  but  when  I  caught 

A  glimpse  of  some  blue,  spangled  zone, 
Or  wreath  of  lotus,  \\hich.  I  thought. 

Like  those  she  wore  at  distance  shone. 

But  no,  't  was  vain — hour  after  hour, 

Till  my  heart's  throbbing  turn'd  to  • 
And  my  strain'd  eyesight  lost  its  power, 

1  sought  her  thus,  but  all  in  vain. 
At  length,  hot, — wilder'd, — in  despair, 
I  rush'd  into  the  cool  nrght-air, 
And  hurrying  (though  with  many  a  look 
Back  to  the  busy  Temple)  took 
My  way  along  the  moonlight  shore, 
And  sprung  into  my  boat  once  more. 

There  is  a  Lake,  that  to  the  north 
Of  Memphis  stretches  grandly  forth, 
Upon  whose  silent  shore  the  Dead 

Have  a  proud  City  of  their  own,* 
With  shrines  and  pyramids  o'erspread,— 
Where  many  an  ancient  kingly  head 

Slumbers,  immortaliz'd  in  stone; 
And  where,  through  marble  grots  beneath. 

The  lifeless,  rang'd  like  sacred  things, 
Nor  wanting  aught  of  life  but  breath, 

Lie  in  thpir  painted  coverings, 
And  on  each  new  successive  race, 

That  visit  their  dim  haunts  below. 
Look  with  the  same  unwitherin.' 

They  wore  three  thousand  years  agw. 
There,  Silence,  thoughtful  Grid,  who  lovei 
The  neighbourhood  of  death,  in  groves 
Of  asphodel  lies  hid,  and  weaves 
His  hushing  spell  among  the  leaves, — 
Nor  ever  noise  disturbs  the  air, 

Save  the  low,  humming,  mournful  sound 
Of  priests,  within  their  shrines,  at  praver 

For  the  fresh  Dead  entomb'd  around. 

T  was  tow'rd  this  place  of  death — in  mood 
k     Made  up  of  thoughts,  half  bright,  half  dark- 
I  now  across  the  shining  flood 

Unconscious  turn'd  my  light-wing'd  bark. 
The  form  of  that  young  maid,  in  all 

Its  beauly,  was  before  me  still; 
And  oft  I  thought,  if  thus  to  call 

Her  image  to  my  mind  at  will, 
If  but  the  memory  of  that  one 
Bright  look  of  hers,  for  ever  gone. 
Was  to  my  heart  worth  all  the  ri.-t 
Of  woman-kind,  beheld,  possest — 
What  would  it  be,  if  wholly  mine, 
Within  these  arms,  as  in  a  shrine, 
Hallow'd  by  Love,  I  saw  her  shine, 
An  idol,  worshipp'd  by  the  light 
Of  her  own  beauties,  day  and  night — 
If  't  was  a  blessing  but  to  see 
And  lose  again,  what  would  Ms  be? 

In  thoughts  like  these — but  often  crost 
By  darker  threads — my  mind  was  lost. 


*  NreropolU,  or  the  City  of  the  Dead,   to  the  wath  of 

Memphis. 


A  LC  IP  II  RON. 


42.5 


Till,  near  that  City  of  the  Dead, 

Wak'd  from  my  1  ranee,  I  saw  o'crhcad — 

As  if  by  some  enchanter  bid 

Suddenly  from  the  wave  to  rise — 
Pyramid  over  pyramid 

Tower  in  sufee-^ion  in 
Wiiiiij  one,  aspirins,  as  if  soon 

T  would  touch  the  )W>T<  rail; 

Anil,  on  iis  summit,  the  white  moon 

Rested,  as  on  a  pedestal! 

The  silence  of  the  lonely  tombs 

And  temples  ro'ind,  where  nought  was  heard 
But  the  high  palm-tree's  tutu  ; 

Shak  ;>y  bri-rxr  or  bini, 

FormM  a  deep  contrast  to  the  scene 
Of  revel,  where  I  late  had  been ; 
To  those  gay  sounds,  that  still  came  o'er, 
Faintly,  from  many  a  distant  shore, 
And  th'  tinmnnber'd  lighls,  that  shone 
Far  o'er  the  flood,  from  Memphis  on 
To  the  .Moon's  Isle  and  Babylon. 

My  oars  were  lifled,  and  my  boat 

Lay  rock'd  upon  the  rippling  stream ; 
:>•  vague  though!*,  alike  afloat. 

Drifted  through  many  an  idle  dream, 
With  all  of  which,  wild  and  unfix'd 
As  was  their  aim,  that  vision  mix'd. 
That  bright  nymph  of  the  Temple — now 
With  the  same  innocence  of  brow 
She  wore  within  the  lighted  lime, — 
IVovv  kindling,  through  each  pulse  and  vein 
With  passion  of  such  deep-felt  fire 
As  Gods  might  glory  to  inspire ; — 
And  now — oh  Darkness  of  the  tomb. 

That  must  eclipse  ev'n  light  like  hers! 
Cold,  dead,  and  blackening  mid  the  gloom 

Of  those  eternal  sepulchres. 

Scarce  had  I  turn'd  my  eyes  away 

From  that  dark  death-place,  at  the  thought, 
When  bv  i he  siimd  '»[  d-i.-hin^  spray 

From  a  light  oar  my  ear  was  caught. 
While  past  me,  through  the  moonlight,  sail'd 

A  little  gilded  bark,  thai  bore 
Two  female  figures,  closely  veil'd 

And  m. intled,  Inwards  that  funeral  shore. 
They  landed — and  the  boat  again 
Put  off'  across  the  watery  plain. 

Shall  I  confess — to  thee  I  may — 

That  never  yet  hath  come  the  chance 
Of  a  new  music,  a  new  ray 

From  woman's  voice,  from  woman's  glanje, 
Which — let  it  find  me  how  it  might, 

Fn  joy  or  grief — I  did  not  bless, 
And  wander  after,  as  a  light 

leading  to  undreamt  happiness. 
And  chiefly  rrm,  when  ho^s  so  vain, 
Were  stirring  in  my  heart  and  brain, 
i  :ui'  v  hnd  allur'd  my  soul 

Into  ;.  •  .  :jiie  and  l;tr 

i  I  In-  hi.s,  who  lix'd  his  goal 

In  the  liori.  -:ar — 

Any  bewilderment,  that  brought 
More  near  to  earih  my  high-flown  tho 
The  faintest  glimpse  of  joy,  less  pure, 
Less  high  and  heavenly,  but  more  sure, 
Came  welcome — and  was  then  to  me 
What  the  !;rst  llowery  isle  must  be 
To  vagrant  birds,  blown  out  to  sea. 

Quirk  to  the  shore  I  urged  mv  b.irk. 

And,  by  the  bursts  of  moonlight,  shed 
Between  the  lofty  tombs,  could  mark 

Those  figures,  as  with  hasty  tread 
3H 


They  glided  on— till  in  the  shade 
Of  a  sm.ii:  pyramid,  which  through 

Some  boughs  of  jialin  its  peak  display'd. 
They  vanish'd  instant  from  my  view. 

I  hurried  to  the  spot — no  trace 

Of  hie  was  m  that  lonely  place; 

•And,  had  the  creed  I  hold  by  taught 

Of  other  worlds,  1  might  ha\  .  l! 

Some  mocking  spirits  had  from  I 

Come  in  this  guise  to  cheat  my  sense. 

At  length,  exploring  darkly  round 
The  Pyramid's  smooth  sides,  1  luund 
An  iron  portal,— opening  high 

"1'wixt  peak  and  base — and,  with  a  pray'r 
To  the  bliss-loving  moon,  whose  eye 

Alone  beheld  me,  sprung  in  there. 
Downward  the  narrow  stairway  led 
Through  many  a  duct  obscure  and  dread, 

A  labyrinth  for  mystery  made, 
With  wanderings  onward,  backward,  round. 
And  gathering  still,  where'er  it  wound, 

But  deeper  density  of  shade. 

Scarce  had  I  ask'd  myself  "  Can  aught 

That  man  delights  in  sojourn  here  f" — 
When,  suddenly,  far  off,  I  caught 

A  glimi^e  of  light,  remote,  but  clear, — 
Whose  welcome  glimmer  seem'd  to  pour 

From  some  alcove  or  cell,  that  ended 
The  long,  steep,  marble  corridor, 

Through  which  I  now,  all  hope,  descended. 

Never  did  Spartan  to  his  bride 
With  warier  foot  at  midnight  glide. 
It  seem'd  as  echo's  self  were  dead 
In  tliis  dark  place,  so  mute  my  tread, 
Reaching,  at  length,  that  light,  I  saw — 

Oh  listen  to  the  scene,  now  raised 
Before  my  eyes,  then  guess  the  awe. 

The  still,  rapt  awe  with  which  I  gazed. 
T  was  a  small  chapel,  lin'9  around 
With  the  lair,  spangling  marble,  found 
In  many  a  ruin'd  shrine  that  stands 
Half  seen  above  the  Libyan  sands. 
The  walls  were  richly  sculptur'd  o'er, 
And  character'd  with  that  dark  lore 
Of  times  before  the  Flood,  whose  key 
Was  lost  in  th' '  Universal  Sea,' — 
While  on  the  roof  was  pictured  bright 

The  Theban  beetle,  as  he  shines, 

U  hen  the  IN'ile's  mighty  flow  declines. 
And  forth  the  creat'.  •  light, 

Wilh  life  regenerate  in  his  wings: 
F.mblem  of  vain  inmgii; 
Of  a  new  world,  whf-n  ihis  is  cone, 
In  which  the  spirit  still  lives  on! 

Direct  beneath  this  type,  reclin'd 

On  a  black  granite  altar,  lay 
A  female  form,  in  crystal  shnn'd. 

And  looking  fresh  as  if  the  ray 

Of  soul  had  lied  but  yesterday, 
-.Ivory  hue, 

(Iraved  on  ihe  altar's  front  were  seen 
A  branch  of  lotus,  brok'n  in  two, 

As  that  lair  creature's  !ift>  h;id  been. 
And  a  small  bird  that  from  its  spray 
Was  winging,  like  her  soul,  away. 

But  brief  the  glimpse  I  now  could  spore 
To  the  ui!d,  nustic  wonders  round  ; 

For  there  was  yei  one  wonder  i 

That  held  me  as  by  witchery  bound. 

The  lamp,  that  through  the  chamber  shed 

Its  vivid  beam,  waa  at  the  head 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Of  her  who  on  that  altar  slept  ; 

And  near  it  stood,  when  first  I  came, — 
Bending  her  brow,  as  if  she  kept 

Sad  watch  upon  its  silent  flame — 
A  female  form,  as  yet  so  plac'd 

Between  the  lamp's  strong  glow  and  me, 
That  I  but  saw,  in  outline  trac'd, 

The  shadow  of  her  symmetry. 
Yet  did  my  heart — I  scarce  knew  why— 
F.v'n  at  that  shadow'd  shape  beat  high. 
Nor  long  was  it,  ere  full  in  sight 
The  figure  tiirn'd  ;  and,  by  the  light 
That  touch 'd  her  features,  as  she  bent, 
Over  the  crystal  monument, 
1  saw  't  was  she — the  same — the  same — 

That  lately  stood  before  me — bright'ning 
The  holy  spot,  where  she  but  came 
And  went  again,  like  summer  lightning ! 

Upon  the  crystal,  o'er  the  breast 
Of  her  who  took  that  silent  rest. 
There  was  a  cross  of  silver  lying — 

Another  type  of  that  blest  home, 
Which  hope,  and  pride,  and  fear  of  dying 

Build  for  us  in  a  world  to  come  : — 
This  silver  cross  the  maiden  rais'.d 
To  her  pure  lips ; — then,  having  gazed 
Some  minutes  on  that  tranquil  face. 
Sleeping  in  all  death's  mournful  grace. 
Upward  she  turn'd  her  brow  serene, 

As  if,  intent  on  heaven,  those  eyes 
Saw  then  nor  roof  nor  cloud  between 

Their  own  pure  orbits  and  the  skies; 
And,  though  her  lips  no  motion  made. 

And  that  fix'd  look  was  all  her  speech, 
I  saw  that  the  rapt  spirit  pray'd 
Deeper  within  than  words  could  reach. 

Strange  pow'r  of  Innocence,  to  turn 

To  its  own  hue  whate'er  comes  near; 
And  make  even  vagrant  Passion  burn 

With  purer  warmth  within  its  sphere! 
She  who,  but  one  short  hour  before, 
Had  corne,  like  sudden  wild-fire,  o'er 
My  heart  and  brain, — whom  gladly,  even 

From  that  bright  Temple,  in  the  face 
Of  those  proud  ministers  of  heaven, 

I  would  have  borne,  in  wild  embrace, 
And  risk'd  all  punishment,  divine 
And  human,  but  to  make  her  mine ; — 
That  maid  was  now  before  me,  thrown 

By  fate  itself  into  my  arms — 
There  standing,  beautiful,  alone. 

With  nought  to  guard  her,  but  her  charms. 
Yet  did  I — oh  did  ev'n  a  breath 

From  my  parch'd  lips,  too  parch'd  to  move, 
Disturb  a  scene  where  thus,  beneath 

Earth's  silent  covering.  Youth  and  Death 

Held  converse  through  undying  love? 
No— smile  and  taunt  me  as  thou  wilt — 

Though  but  to  gaze  thus  was  delight, 
Yet  seem'd  it  like  a  wrong,  a  guilt, 

To  win  by  stealth  so  pure  a  sight ; 
And  rather  than  a  look  profane 

Should  then  have  met  those  thoughtful  eyes, 
Or  voice,  or  whisper  broke  the  chain 

That  lirik'd  her  spirit  with  the  skies, 
I  would  have  gladly,  in  that  place, 
From  which  I  watcli'd  her  heav'n-ward  face 
Let  my  heart  hronk,  without  one  beat 
That  could  disturb  a  prayer  so  sweet. 

Gently  as  if  on  every  tread, 

My  life,  my  more  than  life  depended, 

Back  through  the  corridor  that  led 
To  this  blest  scene  I  now  ascended, 

And  with  slow  seeking,  and  some  pain, 


And  many  a  winding  tried  in  vain, 
Emerg'd  to  upper  air  again. 

The  sun  had  freshly  ris'n,  rind  (!o\vri 

The  marble  hills'of  Arab,-, 
Scatter'd,  ns  from  a  conqueror's  crown, 

His  beams  into  that  living  sea. 
There  seem'd  a  glory  in  his  light, 

.Newly  put  on— as  if  for  pride 
Of  the  high  homage  paid  this  nieht 

To  his  own  Isis,  his  young  bride, 
Now  fading  feminine  away 
In  her  proud  Lord's  superior  ray. 

My  mind's  first  impulse  was  to  fly 
At  once  from  this  entangling  net — 

New  scenes  to  range,  new  loves  to  try, 

Or,  in  mirth,  wine  and  luxury 
Of  every  sense,  that  night  forget. 

But  vain  the  effort — spell-bound  still, 

I  linger'd,  without  power  or  will 

To  turn  my  eyes  from  that  dark  door. 

Which  now  enclos'd  her  'mong  the  dead  ; 
Oft  fancying,  through  the  boughs,  that  o'er 
The  sunny  pile  their  flickering  shed, 

'T  was  her  light  form  again  I  saw 

Starting  to  eartli — still  pure  and  bright, 

But  wakening,  as  I  hop'd,  less  awe, 
Thus  seen  by  morning's  natural  light, 
Than  in  that  strange,  dim  cell  at  night. 

But  no,  alas, — she  ne'er  return'd  : 

Nor  yet — tho'  still  I  watch — nor  yet, 
Though  the  red  sun  for  hours  hath  burn'd, 

And  now,  in  his  mid  course,  had  met 
The  peak  of  that  eternal  pile 

He  pauses  still  at  noon  to  bless. 
Standing  beneath  his  downward  smile, 

Like  a  great  Spirit,  shadowless! 
Nor  yet  she  comes — while  here,  alone, 

Sauntering  through  this  death-peopled  place, 
Where  no  heart  heats  except  my  own, 
Or  'neath  a  palm-tree's  shelter  thrown, 

By  turns  I  watch,  and  rest,  and  trace 
These  lines,  that  are  to  waft  to  thee 
My  last  night's  wondrous  history. 

Dost  thou  remember,  in  that  Isle 

Of  our  own  Sea,  where  thon  find  I 
Linger'd  so  long,  so  happy  a  while. 

Till  all  the  summer  flowers  went  by — 
How  gay  it  was  when  sunset  brought 

To  the  cool  Well  our  favourite  maids — 
Some  we  had  won.  and  some  we  sought — 

To  dance  within  the  fragrant  si 
And,  till  the  stars  went  down,  attune 
Their  Fountain  Hymns*  to  the  young  moon? 

That  time,  too — oh,  't  is  like  a  drenm — 

When  from  Scarnauder's  holy  tide 
I  sprung,  as  Genius  of  the  Stream, 

And  bore  away  that  blooming  bride, 
Who  thither  came,  to  yield  her  charms 

(As  Phrygian  maids  are  wont,  ere  wed) 
Into  ihe  cold  Sriimainler's  arms, 

Rut  met,  and  welcom'd  mine,  instead — 
\Vondfrin'_r,  us  on  rnv  neck  she  fell, 
How  river-tods  cuuld  love  so  well! 
Who  would  have  thought  that  ho,  who  rov'd 

Like  tho  lirst  hees  of  summer  then, 
Rifling  each  sweet,  nor  ever  lov'd 

But  the  froe  hearts,  that  lov'd  again, 
Readily  as  the  reed  replies 
To  the  last  breath  that  round  it  sighs— 


*  These  Soncs  of  the  Well,  as  they  were  called  by  the  i 
cients,  are  still  common  in  the  Greek  isle* 


ALCIPHROX. 


421 


Is  the  same  tl reamer  who,  last  n. 
Stood  aw'd  and  breathless  at  tl:i 
Of  one  Kgvptian  girl ;  and  now 
Wanders  aiming  tlicso  tombs,  with  brow 
Pair,  walchliil,  sad,  as  tho'  heju:t, 
Himself,  had  ris'n  from  out  their  dust! 

Yet,  so  it  is — nnd  the  same  thirst 

For  something  hi^h  and  pure,  above 
This  withering  world,  which,  from  the  first 

Make  me  drink  deep  of  woman's  love, 
As  the  one  joy,  to  huav'n  most  near 
Of  nil  our  hearts  can  meet  with  here, — 
Still  burns  me  up,  still  keeps  awake 
\  fever  nought  but  death  can  slake. 

Farewell;  whatever  may  befall,—  - 
I'r  bright,  or  dark — thou  'It  know  it  all. 


LETTER  IV. 

FROM  THE  SAME  TO  THE  SAME. 

/VONDERS  on  wonders  ;  sights  that  lie 

Where  never  sun  gave  ilow'ret  birth; 
Bright  marvels,  hid  from  th'  upper  sky, 
And  myst'ries  that  are  born  and  die 

Deep  in  the  very  heart  of  earth! — 
All  that  the  ancient  Orpheus,  led 

By  courage  that  Love  only  gives, 
Dar  d  for  a  matchless  idol,  dead, 

1  've  seen  and  dar'd  for  one  who  lives. 

Again  the  moon  was  up,  and  found 
The  echoes  of  my  feet  still  round 
The  monuments  of  this  lone  place  ; — 

Or  saw  me,  if  awhile  my  lid 
Yielded  to  sleep,  stretch'd  at  the  base 

Of  that  now  precious  Pyramid, 
In  slumbe:  that  the  gentlest  stir, 
The  stillest,  airtike  step  of  her. 
Whom  ev'n  in  sleep  I  watch'd,  could  chase. 
And  then,  such  various  forms  she  seem'd 
To  wear  before  me,  as  I  dream'd ! — 

Now,  like  Nei'tha,  on  her  throne 

At  Sai's,  all  reveal'd  she  shone, 

With  that  dread  veil  thrown  off  her  brow, 

Which  mortal  never  rais'd  till  now  ;* 

Then,  quickly  clmng'd,  methought  'twas  she 

Of  whom  the  .Memphian  bnalmen  tells      ' 
Such  wondrous  tales — lair  Rhodope, 

Tho  subterranean  nymph,  that  dwells 
'Mill  sunless  gems  and  glories  hid, 
The  Lady  of  the  1'yrarnid  ! 

At  length,  from  one  of  these  short  dreams 
Starling — as  if  the  subtile  beams, 
Then  phying  o'er  my  brow,  had  brought 
Some  sudden  light  into  my  thought — 
Down  fur  my  bunt-lamp  to  the  shore, 

Where  still  it.  palely  burn'd,  I  went; 
Resolv'd  that  night  to  try  once  more 

The  myslery  of  this  monument. 

Thus  arm'd.  I  scarce  had  reach'd  the  gate, 
When  a  loud  screaming — like  the  cry 

Of  some  wild  creature  to  its  mate — 

Came  startling  from  the  palm-grove  nigh  ;- 


Or,  whether  haply  't  was  the  creak 

Of  the  |iorials,t  said 

To  give  thus  out  a  mournful  shriek, 

\\  hen  oped  at  midnight  for  the  dead. 
VVImie'er  it  was,  the  sound  rame  o'er 

My  he-art  like  ice,  as  through  the  doo> 
Of  the  small  Pyramid  1  went, 
And  down  the  same  abrupt  descent, 
And  through  long  windings,  as  before, 
Reach'd  the  sleep  marble  corridor. 

Trembling  I  stole  along — the  light 
In  the  lone  chapel  still  burn'd  on  ; 

But  she,  for  whom  my  soul  and  sight 

Look'd  with  a  thirst  so  keen,  was  gone,— 

By  some  invisible  path  had  lied 

Into  that  gloom,  and  left  the  Dead 

To  its  own  solitary  rest, 

Of  all  lone  things  the  loneliest. 

As  still  the  cross,  which  she  had  kiss'd, 

Was  lying  on  the  crystal  shrine, 
I  took  it  up,  nor  could  resist 

(Though  the  dead  eyes,  I  thought,  met  mine) 
Kissing  it  too,  while,  half  ashamed 
Of  that  mute  presence,  I  exclaimed, 
"  Oh  Life  to  Come,  if  in  thy  sphere 

Love,  Woman's  love,  our  heav'n  could  be 
Who  would  not  ev'n  forego  it  here, 

To  taste  it  there  eternally  ?" 
Hopeless,  yet  with  unwilling  pace, 
Leaving  the  spot,  I  turn'd  to  trace 
My  pathway  back,  when,  to  the  right, 
I  could  perceive,  by  my  lamp's  light, 
That  the  long  corridor  which,  viewed 

Through  distance  dim,  had  seem'd  to  end 
Abruptly  here,  still  on  pursued 

Its  sinuous  course,  with  snake-like  bend 
Mocking  the  eye,  as  down  it  wound 
Still  deeper  through  that  dark  profound. 

Again,  my  hopes  were  rais'd,  and,  fast 

As  the  dim  lamp-light  would  allow, 
Along  that  new-found  path  I  past, 

Through  counile.-s  turns;  descending  now 
By  narrow  ducts,  now,  up  ngain, 
'Mid  columns,  in  whose  dale  the  chain 
Of  lime  is  lost:  nnd  thence  ul- 
Cold  halls,  in  which  a  sapless  throng 
Of  Dead  slood  up,  with  glassy  eye 
Meeting  my  gaze,  as  I  went  by. — 
Till,  lost  iiiu'iiiL:  these  winding  ways, 

Coil'd  round  and  round,  like  serpt-nls'  folds, 
I  thought  myself  in  that  dim  ma/e 

Down  under  Mccns"  Lake,  winch  holds 
The  hidden  wealth  of  the  Twelve  Kings, 
Sale  from  all  human  visit 
At  lenslh,  the  path  clos'd  suddenly  ; 

And,  by  my  lamp,  whose  glimmering  fell 
Now  faint  and  lamier,  I  could  see 

iXoughi  but  the  mouth  oi  a  Imire  well, 
Gaping  athwart  my  onwnrd  Inii'k, — 

.  \oir  of  darknt  ss,  black 
As  witches'  caldrons  are,  when  fill'd 
With  moon-drugs  in  th'  «-li|>sc  disiill'd. 
Leaning  to  look  if   liiol  might  p;i  s 
Down  through  that  i  ha.Mii,  I  saw,  beneath, 

As  far  as  vision  could  explore, 
The  jetty  sides  all  smooth  MS  glass, 

Looking  as  if  just  \amish  'il  o'fl 
With  that  dark  pilch  the  Sea  of  Death 
Throws  out  upon  its  slimy  shore. 


*  See,  for  the  vril  of  Neitha.  the  inscription  upon  her  tera-j     t  The  brazen   portals  at  Memphis,  mentioned  by  Zn*f« 
pie,  as  given  by  Plutarch  de  Is.et  Osir.  I  called  the  Gates  of  Oblivion. 


428 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Doubting  awhile;  yet  loth  lo  leave 

Aught  unexplor'd,  the  chasm  I  tried 
With  nearer  search;  and  could  perceive 

An  iron  step  that  from  ihe  side 
Stocxlidimly  out ;  while,  lower  still, 
Another  ranged,  less  visible, 
But  aptly  plac'd,  as  if  to  aid 
TV  adventurous  foot,  that  dar'd  the  shade. 
Though  hardly  1  could  deem  that  e'er 
Weak  woman's  foot  had  ventured  there, 
Yet,  urged  along  by  the  wild  heat 
That  can  do  all  things  but  retreat, 
I  placed  my  lamp, — which  for  such  task 
Was  aptly  shaped,  like  cap  or  casque 
To  fit  the  brow, — firm  on  my  head, 

And  down  into  the  darkness  went; 
Still  finding  for  my  cautious  tread 

New  foot-hold  in  that  deep  descent, 
Which  seem'd  as  tho'  't  would  thus  descend 
In  depth  and  darkness  without  end. 
At  length,  this  step-way  ceas'd  ;  in  vain 
I  sought  some  hold,  that  would  sustain 
My  down-stretch'd  foot — the  polisli'd  side, 
Slippery  and  hard,  all  help  denied : 
Till,  as  I  bow'd  my  lamp  around, 

To  let  its  now  faint  glimmer  fall 
On  every  side,  with  joy  I  found 

Just  near  me,  in  the  shining  wall, 
A  window  (which  had  'scap'd  my  view 
In  that  half  shadow)  and  sprung  through. 
'T  was  downward  still,  but  far  less  rude — 

By  stairs  that  through  the  live  rock  wound 

In  narrow  spiral  round  and  round. 
Whose  giddy  sweep  my  foot  pursued 
Till,  lo,  before  a  gate  1  stood, 
Which  oped,  I  saw,  into  the  same 
Deep  well,  from  whence  but  now  I  came. 
Thft  doors  were  iron,  yet  gave  way 
Ligutly  before  me,  as  the  spray 
Of  a  young  lime-tree,  that  receives 
Some  wandering  bird  among  its  leaves. 
But,  soon  as  I  had  pass'd,  the  din, 

Th'  o'erwhelming  din,  with  which  again 
They  clash'd  their  folds,  and  closed  me  lu, 

Was  such  as  seldom  sky  or  main, 
Or  heaving  earth,  or  all,  when  met 

In  angriest  strife,  e'er  equall'd  yet. 
It  seem'd  as  if  the  ponderous  sound 

Was  by  a  thousand  echoes  hurl'd 
From  one  to  th'  other,  through  the  round 

Of  this  great  subterranean  world, 
Till,  far  as  from  the  catacombs 
Of  Alexandria  to  the  Tombs 
In  ancient  Thebes's  Valley  of  Kings, 
Rung  its  tremendous  thunderings. 
Yet  could  not  ev'n  this  rude  surprise, 

Which  well  might  move  far  bolder  men, 
One  instant  turn  my  charmed  eyes 

From  the  blest  scene  that  hail'd  them  then. 
As  I  had  rightly  deem'd,  the  place 
Where  now  I  stood  was  the  well's  base, 
The  bottom  of  the  chasm ;  and  bright 

Before  me,  through  the  mussy  bars 
Of  a  huge  gate,  there  came  a  light 

Soft,  warm,  and  welcome,  as  tlie  stars 
Of  his  own  South  are  to  the  sight 
Of  one,  who,  from  his  sunny  hmiip, 
To  the  chill  Aorlh  had  dar'd  lo  roam. 

And  oh  the  scene,  now  opening  through 

Those  bars  that  all  but  sight  denied   — 
A  Ion::,  lair  alley,  fur  as  VH--.V 

Could  reach  away,  along  whose  side 
Went,  lessening  to  ihe  euJ.  a  row 

Of  rich  arcades,  that,  Iroin  between 
Their  glistening  pillars,  sent  a  glow 

Of  countless  lamps,  burning  unseen. 


And  that  still  air,  as  from  a  spring 

Of  hidden  light,  ilhunininfr. 

While — soon  as  the  wild  echoes  rons'd 

From  their  deep  haunts  aiiaiu  were  hoiis'd, — 

I  heard  a  strain  of  holy  :• 

Breathing  from  out  ihe  bright  arcades 
Into  that  silence — where,  among 

The  high  sweet  voices  of  young  maids, 
Which,  like  the  small  and  heav'n-ward  spire 

Of  Christian  temples,  crowu'd  the  ciioir, 
I  fancied,  (such  the  fancy's  sway) 

Though  never  yet  my  ear  had  caught 
Sound  from  her  lips — yet,  in  that  lay 

So  worthy  of  her  looks,  meth' 
That  maiden's  voice  I  heard,  o'er  ull 

Most  high  and  heavenly, — to  my  ear 
Sounding  distinctly,  like  the  call 
/     Of  a  far  spirit  from  its  sphere. 

But  vain  the  call — that  stubborn  gate 

Like  destiny,  all  force  defied. 
Anxious  I  look'd  around — and,  straight, 

An  opening  to  the  left  descried, 
Which,  though  like  hell's  own  mouth  it  seern'il, 
Yet  led,  as  by  its  course  I  deem'd 
Parallel  with  those  lighted  ways 
That  'cross  the  alley  pour'd  their  blaze. 
Eager  I  stoop'd,  this  path  to  tread. 
When,  suddenly,  the  wall  o'er-head 
Grew  with  a  fitful  lustre  bright, 
Which,  settling  gradual  on  the  sight 
Into  clear  characters  of  light, 
These  words  on  its  dark  ground  I  read. — 

"  You,  who  would  try 
This  terrible  track, 
To  live,  or  to  die, 
But  ne'er  to  look  back; 

"You,  who  aspire 

To  be  purified  there 
By  the  terrors  of  Fire 
And  Water  and  Air; 

"If  danger  and  pain 

And  death  you  dtsrffce  — 
On —  for  again 

Into  light  you  may  rise, — 

"Rise  into  light 

With  that  ferret  Bivir.e 
IS'ow  shrouded  from  sight 
By  the  Veils  of  the  fchrine! 


'  But  if 


The  words  here  dimm'd  a  war 
Till,  lost  in  darkness,  vasiue  and  dread, 
Their  very  silence  seem'tl  to  say 

Awfuller  things  than  words  e'er  said. 

"  Am  I  then  in  tho  path."  I  cried. 

"To  the  Gn  :'  shall  I  see, 

And  touch, — perhaps,  t-v'n  draw  aside 
Those  venerable  veils,  which  hide 

The  secret  of  Eternity  I" 
This  thought  at  once  reviv'd  the  zeal, 

The  thirst  for  F.gvpt's  hidden  lore 
Which  1  had  alinoi  cc;;sM  lo  letl. 

lii  the  new  dreams  that  won  mo  o'er. 
For  now — oh  happiness .' — it  seem'd 
As  il  toM.hnpfs  liriore  me  bearn'u — 
As  if  (hat  spirit-nymph,  whose  tread 

1  irac'd  down  Iniln-r  from  above, 
To  more  than  one  sweet  treasure  led — 
Lighting  me  to  the  fountain-head 

Of  Knowledge  by  the  star  of  Love. 


ALCIPHRON. 


42-J 


Instant  I  enter'd — though  the  ray 

Of  my  spent  lamp  was  near  its  last, — 
And  quick  through  many  a  channel-way, 

Ev'n  ruder  Ilian  the  lornier,  pa»'d  ; 
Till,  just  as  sunk  the  farewell  spark, 
I  spied  before  me,  through  the  dark, 
A  paly  fire,  that  moment  raised. 
\Vhu;'h  still  as  I  npproach'd  it,  h'a/ed 
With  stronger  light, — till,  as  I  c;:iiic 
More  near,  I  s.uv  my  pathway  led 
Uetween  two  hedges  of  live  flame, — 

Trees  all  on  lire,  whose  branches  shed 
A  glow  that,  \viihout  noise  or  Miioke, 

\"et  strung  as  from  a  furnace,  broke  ; 
While  oVr  tho  elanng  ground  between, 
\\'herc  nu1  sole,  onward  path  was  seen, 
Ho?  iron  bars,  red  as  with  ire, 

Transversely  lav — such  as,  they  tell, 
Compose  thai  trellis- work  of  fire, 

Through  which  the  Doom'd  look  out  in  hell. 

To  linger  there  was  to  be  lost — 

More  and  slill  more  the  burning  trees 
Clos'd  o'er  the  path ;  and  as  I  crost — 

With  tremour  both  in  heart  and  knees — 
Fixing  my  foot  where'er  a  space 
'T  wixt  the  red  bars  gave  resting-place, 
Above  me,  each  quick  burning  tree, 
Tamarind,  Balm  of  Araby, 
And  Egypt's  Thorn  combined  to  spread 
A  roof  of  lire  above  my  head, 
Yet  safe — or  with  but  harmless  scorch — 

I  trod  the  flaming  ordeal  through ; 
And  promptly  seizing,  as  a  torch 

To  light  me  on  to  clangers  new, 
A  fallen  bough  that  kindling  lay 
Across  the  path,  pursued  my  way. 

Nor  went  I  far  before  the  sound 

Of  downward  torrents  struck  my  ear; 
Anil,  by  rny  torch's  gleam,  I  found 
That  the  dark  space  which  yawn'd  around, 

Was  a  wide  cavern,  far  and  near 
Fill'd  with  dark  waters,  that  went  by 
Turbid  and  quick,  as  if  from  high 
They  late  had  dash'd  down  furiously; 
Or,  awfuller,  had  yet  that  doom 
Before  them,  in  the  untried  gloom. 
ISO  puss  appear'il  on  either  side; 

And  iho'  my  torch  too  feebly  shone 
To  show  what  scowl'd  beyond  tho  tide, 

I  saw  but  one  way  left  me — on! 
So.  plunging  in,  with  my  right  hand 

The  current's  rush  I  scarce  withstood, 
While,  in  my  left,  the  filling  brand 

Shook  its  last  glimmer  o'er  the  Hood. 
'T  was  a  long  struggle — oft  I  thought, 
That,  in  that  whirl  of  waters  caught, 
I  must  have  gone,  too  weak  for  strife. 

Down,  headlong,  at,  the  cataract's  will— 
Sud  fate  for  one,  with  heart  and  life 

And  all  youth's  sunshine  round  him  still! 
But,  ere  my  lurch  was  wholly  spent, 

I  saw,— outstretching  from  the  shade 
Into  those  waters,  as  if  meant 

To  lend  the  drowning  struggler  aid — 

A  slender,  double  balustrade, 
With  snow-white  steps  between,  ascending 

From  the  grim  surface  of  the  stream. 
Far  up  as  eve  could  reach,  and  ending 

In  darkness  there,  like  a  lost  dream. 
That  glimpse — for  't  was  no  longer— gave 

New  spirit  to  my  strength  ;  and  now, 
With  both  arms  combating  the  wave, 

I  rush'd  on  blindly,  till  my  brow 
Struck  on  that  railway's  lowest  stair; 
When,  gathering  courage  from  despair, 


I  made  one  bold  and  fearful  hound, 
And  on  the  step  firm  fooling  found. 

But  short  that  hope — for,  as  I  flew 
Breathlessly  up,  the  stairway  grew 
Tremulous  under  me.  while  each 
Frail  step,  ere  scarce  my  foot  could  reach 
The  frailer  yet  I  next  must  trust, 
Crumbled  behind  me  into  dust  ; 
Leaving  me,  us  it  crush'd  beneath, 

Like  ship-.vreck'd  wretch  who,  in  dismay, 
Sees  but  one  plank  't  wixt  him  and  death, 

And  shuddering  feels  that  one  give  way! 
And  slill  1  upward  went — with  nought 

Beneath  me  but  that  depth  of  shade, 
And  the  dark  flood,  from  whence  I  caught 

Each  sound  the  falling  fragments  made. 
Was  it  not  fearful? — still  more  frail 

At  every  step  crash'd  the  light  stair, 
While,  as  I  mounted,  ev'n  the  rail 

That  up  into  that  murky  air 
Was  my  sole  guide,  began  to  fail ! — 
When  stretching  forth  an  anxious  hand, 
Just  as,  beneath  my  tottering  stand, 
Steps,  railway,  all,  together  went, 

I  touch'd  a  massy  iron  ring, 
That  there — by  what  kind  genius  sent 
I  know  not — in  the  darkness  hung ; 

And  grasping  it,  as  drowners  cling 
To  the  last  hold,  so  firm  I  clung, 
And  through  the  void  suspended  swung. 

Sudden,  as  if  that  mighty  ring 

Were  link'd  with  all  the  winds  in  heav'n, 
And,  like  the  touching  of  a  spring, 

My  eager  grasp  had  instant  given 
Loose  to  all  blasts  that  ever  spread 
The  shore  or  sea  with  wrecks  and  dead- 
Around  me,  gusts,  gales,  whirlwinds  rang 
Tumultuous,  and  I  seein'd  to  hang 
Amidst  an  elemental  war, 

In  which  wing'd  tempests— of  all  kinds 
And  strengths  that  winter's  stormy  star 

Lights  through  the  Temple  of  the  Windi 
In  our  own  Athens — battled  round, 
Deafening  me  with  chaotic  sound. 
Nor  this  the  worst — for,  holding  still 

With  hands  unmov'd,  though  shrinking  oft, 
I  found  myself,  at  the  wild  will 

Of  countless  whirlwinds,  caught  aloft, 
And  round  and  round,  with  fearful  swing, 
Swept,  like  a  stone-shot  in  a  sling! 
Till  breathless,  mazed,  I  had  beg  in, — 

So  ceaselessly  I  thus  was  whirl'd, — 
To  think  my  limbs  were  chain'd  upon 

That  wheel  of  the  Infernal  World, 
To  turn  which,  day  and  night,  are  blowing 

Hot,  withering  winds  that  never  slumber ; 
And  whose  sad  rounds,  still  going,  going, 

Eternity  alone  can  number! 
And  yet,  ev'n  then — while  worse  than  Fear 

Hath  ever  dreamt  seem'd  hovering  near, 
Had  voice  but  nsk'd  me,  "is  not  this 

A  price  too  dear  for  aught  below?" 
I  should  have  said  "  tor  knowledge,  yes — 

J5ut  lor  bright,  glorious  Woman — no." 

At  last,  that  whirl,  when  all  my  strength 

Had  nearly  lied,  came  to  an  end; 
And,  through  that  viewless  void,  nt  length, 

I  felt  the  still-crasp'd  ring  descend 
Rapidly  with  me,  till  my  feet — 
Oh,  ne'er  was  touch  of  land  so  sweet 
To  the  long  sea-worn  exile— found 
A  resting-place  on  the  firm  ground. 
At  the  same  instant  o'er  me  broke 
A  glimmer  through  that  gloom  so  chill,— 


431) 


MOORE'S  WORKS. 


Like  day-light,  when  beneath  the  yoke 
Of  tyrant  darkness  striie^'ling  sttjl — 

And  by  th'  imperfect  gleam  it  shed, 

[  saw  before  me  a  rude  bed, 

Where  poppies,  strew'd  upon  a  heap 

Of  wither'd  lotus,  wooed  to  sleep. 

Blessing  that  couch — as  I  would  bless, 
Ay,  ev'n  the  absent  tiger's  lair. 

For  rest  in  such  stark  weariness, — 
1  crawl'd  to  it  and  sunk  down  there. 

How  long  I  slept,  or  by  what  means 

\Vas  wafted  thence,  I  cannot  say; 
But,  when  I  woke — oh  the  bright  scenes 

The  glories  that  around  me  lay — 
If  ever  yet  a  vision  shone 
On  waking  mortal,  this  was  one! 
But  how  describe  it?  vain,  as  yet, 

While  the  first  dazzle  dims  my  eyes, 
All  vain  the  attempt — I  must  forget 

The  flush,  the  newness,  the  surprise, 
The  vague  bewilderment,  that  whelms, 

Ev'n  now,  my  every  sense  and  thought, 
Ere  I  can  paint  these  sunless  realms, 

And  their  hid  glories,  as  I  ought. 
While  thou.  If  ev'n  but  half  I  tell 
Wilt  that  but  half  believe — farewell! 


LETTER  V. 

FROM  ORCUS,  HIGH  PRIEST  OF  MEMPHIS,  TO 
DECIUS,  THE  PRJETOR1AN  PREFECT. 

REJOICE,  my  friend,  rejoice : — the  youthful  Chief 
Of  that  light  Sect  which  mocks  at  all  belief, 
And,  gay  and  godless,  makes  the  present  hour 
Its  only  heaven,  is  now  within  our  power. 
Smooth,  impious  school ! — not  all  ihe  weapons  aimed 
At  priestly  creeds,  since  first  a  creed  was  framed, 
E'er  struck  so  deep  as  that  sly  dart  they  wield. 
The  Bacchant's  pointed  spear  in  laughing  flowers 

conceal'd. 

And  oh,  't  were  victory  to  this  heart,  as  sweet 
As  any  thou  canst  boast, — ev'n  when  the  feet 
Of  thy  proud  war-steed  wade  through  Christian  blood, 
To  wrap  this  scoffer  in  Faith's  blinding  h<x>d, 
And  bring  him,  tamed  and  prostrate,  to  implore 
The  vilest  gods  ev'n  Egypt's  saints  adore. 

What! — do  these  sages  think,  to  them  alone 

The  key  of  this  world's  happiness  is  known  ? 

That  none  but  they,  who  make  such  proud  parade 

Of  Pleasure's  smiling  favours,  win  the  maid, 

Or  that  Religion  keeps  no  secret  place. 

No  niche,  in  her  dark  fanes,  for  Love  to  grace? 

Fools ! — did  they  know  how  keen  the  zest  that's  gi  ven 

To  earthly  joy,  when  season'd  well  with  heaven  ; 

How  Piety's  grave  mask  improves  the  hue 

Of  Pleasure's  laughing  features,  half  seen  through, 

And  how  the  Priest,  set  aptlv  within  reach 

Of  two  rich  worlds,  traffics  for  bliss  with  each, 

Would  they  not,  Decins, — thou.  whom  th'  ancient  tie 

T  wixt  Sword  and  Altar  makes  our  best  allv, — 

Would  they  not  change  their  creed,  their  craft,  fbroiirs  ? 

Leave  the  gross  daylight  joys,  that,  in  their  bowers, 

Languish  with  too  much  sun,  like  o'er-blown  flowers, 

For  the  veil'd  loves,  the  blisses  undisplay'd 

That  slily  lurk  within  the  Temple's  shade  ? 

And,  'stead  of  haunting  the  trim  Garden's  school, — 

Where  cold  Philosophy  usurps  a  rule, 

Like  the  pale  moon's,  o'er  passion's  heaving  tide  ; 

Where  pleasure,  cramp'd  and  chill'd  by  wisdom's  pride, 


Counts  her  own  pulse's  regulated  play, 
'  And  in  dull  dreams  dissolves  her  lite  away. — 
He  taught  by  K.«,  quit  shadows  for  the  true, 
Substantial  joys  we  sneer  Priests  pursue, — 
Who,  far  too  wise  to  theorize  on  bliss, 
Or  pleasure's  substance  for  its  shade  to  miss, 
Preach  other  worlds,  but  live  for  only  this: 
Thanks  to  the  well-paid  Mystery  round  us  flung, 
Which,  like  its  type,  the  golden  cloud  that  hung 
O'er  Jupiter's  love-couch  its  shade  benign, 
Round  human  frailty  wraps  a  veil  divine. 

Still  less  should  they  presume,  weak  wits,  that  they 

Alone  despise  the  craft  of  us  who  pray; — 

Still  less  their  creedless  vanity  deceive 

With  the  fond  thought,  that  we  who  pray  believe. 

Believe! — Apis  forbid — forbid  it,  all 

Ye  monster  Gods,  before  whose  shrines  we  fall,— 

Deities,  framed  in  jest,  as  if  to  try 

How  far  gross  Man  can  vulgarize  the  sky ; 

How  far  the  same  low  fancy  that  combines 

Into  a  drove  of  brutes  yon  zodiac's  signs, 

And  turns  that  Heaven  itself  into  a  place 

Of  sainted  sin  and  deified  disgrace, 

Can  bring  Olympus  ev'n  to  shame  more  deep, 

Stock  it  with  things  that  earth  itself  holds  cheap. 

Fish,  flesh,  and  fowl,  the  kitchen's  sacred  brood, 

Which  Egypt  keeps  for  worship,  not  for  food, — 

All,  worthy  idols  of  a  Faith  that  sees 

In  dogs,  cats,  owls,  and  apes,  divinities! 

Believe! — oh,  Decius,  thc-j,  who  hast  no  care 

Of  things  divine,  beyond  the  soldier's  share, 

Who  takes  on  trust  the  faith  for  which  he  bleeds, 

A  good,  fierce  God  to  swear  by,  all  he  needs. — 

Little  canst  thou,  whose  creed  around  thee  hangs 

Loose  as  thy  summer  war-cloak,  guess  Ihe  pangs 

Of  loathing  and  self-scorn  with  which  a  heart, 

Stubborn  as  mine  is,  acts  the  zealot's  part, — 

The  deep  and  dire  disgust  with  which  I  wade 

Through  the  foul  juggling  of  this  holy  trade, — 

This  mud  profound  of  mystery,  where  the  feet, 

At  every  step,  sink  deeper  in  deceit. 

Oh !  many  a  time,  when,  mid  the  Temple's  blaze, 

O'er  prostrate  fools  the  sacred  cist  I  raise, 

Did  1  not  keep  still  proudly  in  my  mind 

The  power  this  priestcraft  gives  me  o'er  mankind,— 

A  lever,  of  more  might,  in  skilful  hand. 

To  move  this  world,  than  Archimede  e'er  plann'd, — 

I  should,  in  vengeance  of  the  shame  I  feel 

At  my  own  mockery,  crush  the  slaves  that  kneel 

Besotted  round;  and, — like  that  kindred  breed 

Of  reverend,  well-drest  crocodiles  they  feed, 

At  famed  Arsinoe,* — make  my  keepers  bless, 

With  their  last  throb,  my  sharp-fang'd  Holiness. 

Say,  is  it  to  be  borne,  that  scoffers,  vain 

Of  their  own  freedom  from  the  altar's  chain, 

Should  mock  thus  all  that  thou  thy  blood  hast  sold. 

And  I  my  truth,  pride,  freedom,  to  unhold  ? 

It  must  not  be  : — think'st  thou  that  Christian  sect, 

Whose  followers,  quick  as  broken  waves,  erect 

Their  crests  anew  and  swell  into  a  tide, 

That  threats  to  sweep  away  our  shrines  of  pride — 

Think'st  thou,  with  all  their  wondrous  spells,  ev'n  they 

Would  triumph  thus,  had  not  the  constant  play 

Of  Wit's  resistless  archery  clear'd  their  way  ? — 

That  mockinar  spirit,  worst  of  all  the  foes. 

Our  solemn  fraud,  our  mystic  mummery  knows. 

Whose  wounding  flash  thus  ever  'mong  the  signs 

Of  a  fnst-fallme  creed,  prelusive  shines. 

Threatening  such  change  as  to  the  awful  freaks 

Of  summer  lightning,  ere  the  tempest  breaks. 


*  For  the  trinkets  with  which  the  sacred  Crocodiles  were 
ornamented,  see  the  Epicurean,  chap.  10. 


ALCIPHRON. 


4.1] 


But,  to  my  point, — a  youth  of  this  vain  school, 
But  one,  \vlioin  Doubt  itself  hulh  fiiil'd  ID  cool 
Down  to  that  freezing  point,  \vh(>ro  Priests  despair 
Of  any  spark  from  th'  altar  catching  there, — 
Hath,  some  nights  since, — it  was,  methinks,  the  night 
Tliat  follow'd  the  full  moon's  great  annual  rite, — 
Through  the  dark,  winding  duett,  that  downward  stray 
To  these  earih-hidden  temples,  track'd  his  way, 
Just  at  that  hour  when,  round  the  .Shrine,  and  me, 
The  choir  of  blooming  nymphs  thou  long'st  to  see, 
Sing  their  last  night-hymn  in  the  Sanctuary. 
The  daiiaour  of  the  marvelluus  Gate,  that  stands 
At  the  Well's  lowest  depth, — which  none  but  hands 
Of  new,  untaught  adventurers,  from  above. 
Who  know  not  the  safe  path,  e'er  dare  to  move, — 
Gave  sisrnal  that  a  foot  profane  was  nigh  : — 
'T  was  the  Greek  youth,  who,  by  that  mornins's  sky, 
Had  been  observed,  curiously  wandering  round 
The  mighty  fanes  of  our  sepulchral  ground. 

Instant,  th'  Initiate's  Trials  were  prepared,— 
The  Fire,  Air,  Water;  all  that  Orpheus  dared, 
That  Plato,  that  the  bright-hair'd  Samian*  pass'd, 
With  trembling  hope,  to  come  to — what,  at  last? 
Go,  ask  the  dupes  of  Myst'ry ;  question  him 
Who,  mid  ferric  sounds  and  spectres  dirn, 
Walks  at  F.leusis;  ask  of  those,  who  brave 
The  dazzling  miracles  of  Mithra's  Cave, 
With  its  seven  starry  gates;  ask  all  who  keep 
Those  terrible  night-myst'ries  where  they  weep 
And  howl  sad  dirges  to  the  answering  breeze, 
O'er  their  dead  Gods,  their  mortal  Deities, — 
Amphibious,  hybrid  things,  that  died  as  men, 
Drown'd,  hang'd,  empaled,  to  rise,  as  gods,  again; — 
Ask  them,  what  mighty  secret  lurks  below 
This  sev'n-fold  mystery — can  they  tell  thee  ?  No  ; 
Gravely  they  kepp  that  only  secret,  well 
And  fairly  kept, — that  they  have  none  to  tell  ; 
And,  duped  themselves,  console  their  humbled  pride 
By  duping  thenceforth  all  mankind  beside. 

And  such  th'  advance  in  fraud  since  Orpheus'  time, — 

That  earliest  master  of  our  craft  suhlime, — 

So  many  minor  Mysteries,  imps  of  fraud, 

From  the  great  Orphic  Kgs  have  wing'd  abroad, 

That,  still  to'  uphold  our  Temple's  ancient  boast, 

And  seem  most  holy,  we  must  cheat  the  most; 

Work  the  best  miracles,  wrap  nonsense  round 

In  pomp  and  darkness,  till  it  seems  profound  ; 

Play  on  the  hopes,  the  terrors  of  mankind. 

With  changeful  skill;  and  make  the  human  mind 

Like  our  own  Sanctuary,  where  no  ray, 

But  by  the  Priest's  permission,  wins  Us  way, — 


•Pylliagorai. 


Where,  through  the  gloom  as  wave  our  wizard  rods. 
Monsters,  at  will,  are  conjured  into  Gods  ; 
While  Reason,  like  a  grave-faced  mummy,  sinnua 
With  her  arras  swathed  in  hieroglyphic  bands. 

Rut  chiefly  in  the  skill  with  which  we  use 

Man's  wildest  passions  for  Religion's  views, 

Yoking  them  to  her  car  like  fiery  steeds, 

Lies  the  main  art  in  which  our  craft  succeeds. 

And  oh  be  blest,  ye  men  of  yore,  whose  toil 

Hath,  for  our  use;  scoop'd  out  of  Kgypt's  soil 

This  hidden  Paradise,  this  mine  of  lanes. 

Gardens,  and  palaces,  where  Pleasure  reigns 

In  a  rich,  sunless  empire  of  her  own, 

With  all  earth's  luxuries  lighting  up  her  throne;— 

A  realm  for  mystery  made,  which  undermines 

The  Nile  itself,  and,  'neath  the  Twelve  Great  Shrinei 

That  keep  Initiation's  holy  rile, 

Spreads  its  long  labyrinths  of  unearthly  light, 

A  light  that  knows  no  change — its  brooks  that  run 

Too  deep  for  day,  its  gardens  without  sun, 

Where  soul  and  sense,  by  turns,  are  charm 'd, surprised 

And  all  that  bard  or  prophet  e'er  devised 

For  man's  Elysium,  priests  have  realized. 

Here,  at  this  moment, — all  his  trials  past. 
And  heart  and  nerve  unshrinking  to  the  last, — 
The  young  Initiate  roves, — as  yet  left  free 
To  wander  through  this  realm  of  mystery, 
Feeding  on  such  illusions  as  prepare 
The  soul,  like  mist  o'er  waterfalls,  to  wear 
All  shapes  and  hues,  at  Fancy's  varying  will, 
Through  every  shifting  aspect,  vapour  still : — 
Vague  glimpses  of  the  Future,  vistas  shown, 
By  scenic  skill,  into  that  world  unknown. 
Which  saints  and  sinners  claim  alike  their  own; 
And  all  those  other  witching,  wildering  arts, 
Illusions,  terrors,  that  make  human  hearts, 
Ay,  ev'n  the  wisest  and  the  hardiest,  quail 
To  any  goblin  throned  behind  a  veil. 

Yes, — such  the  spells  shall  haunt  his  eye,  his  ear, 

Mixt  with  his  night-dreams,  from  his  atmosphere ; 

Till,  if  our  Sage  be  not  tamed  down,  at  length, 

His  wit,  his  wisdom,  shorn  of  all  their  strength, 

Like  Phrygian  priests,  In  honour  of  the  shrine,— 

If  he  become  not  absolutely  mine,1 

Body  and  soul,  and,  like  the  tame  decoy 

Which  wary  hunters  of  wild  doves  employ, 

Draw  converts  also,  lure  his  brother  wita 

To  the  dark  cage  where  his  own  spirit  flits, 

And  give  us,  if  not  saints,  good  hypocrites, — 

If  I  effect  not  this,  then  be  it  said 

The  ancient  spirit  of  our  craft  hath  fled, 

Gone  with  that  serpent-cod  the  Cross  hath  chased 

To  hiss  its  soul  out  in  the  Theban  waste. 


THE   END. 


PUBLISHED   AND    FOR   SALE  BY 

CRISSY    &    MARKLEY, 

PHILADELPHIA. 


HANDSOME   LIBRARY    EDITIONS. 

HA.RSHALi,S  LIFE  OF  'WASHINGTON,  2  vols.,  8vo.,  compiled  under  the  inspection  of  tha  HonoraM* 

BUSHBOD  WASHINGTON,  from  original  papers  bequeathed  to  him  by  his  deceased  relative,  with  st<»i 

portrait  and  ten  maps. 
GOLDSMITH'S  WORKS,  with  an  Account  of  his  Life  and  Writings ;  edited  by  WASHINGTON  IRVING,  1  vol., 

8vo.,  with  steel  portrait. 

8COTTS  POETICAL  WORKS,  1  TO!.,  8vo.,  with  a  sketch  of  his  Life,  by  J.  W.  LAKE,  with  steel  portrait 
MOORE'S  POETICAL  WORKS,  1  vol.,  8vo.,  including  his  Melodies,  Ballads,  etc.,  with  steel  portrait. 
flirUNS'S  WORKS,  1  vol.,  8vo.,  with  an  Account  of  his  Life,  and  Criticism  on  his  Writings ;  by  JAMEI 

CCR&IE,  M.D.    Including  additional  Poems,  extracted  from  the  late  edition  edited  by  ALLAN  CUXMNO- 

HAM,  with  steel  portrait  and  vignette. 
POPE'S  POETICAL  WORKS,  1  voL,  8vo.,  complete,  with  Life,  by  JOHNSON,  new  edition,  with  portrait 

and  vignette. 

COLERIDGE,  SHELLEY  AND  KEATS'S  POETICAL  WORKS,  1  vol.,  8vo,  with  portrait 
COLERIDGE'S  POETICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS,  1  vol.,  8vo.,  with  portrait 
HOWITT,  MILLMAN  AND  KEATS'S  POETICAL  WORKS,  1  vol.,  8vo.,  with  portrait 
SHELLEY'S  COMPLETE  WORKS,  1  vol.,  royal  8vo.    The  Poetical  Works  of  Percey  Bysshe  Shelley. 

edited  by  MRS.  SHELLEY,  from  the  last  London  edition ;  containing  many  Pieces  not  before  published  • 

with  a  portrait  of  Shelley,  and  vignette,  on  steel. 
PALEY'S  WORKS,  containing  his  Life;  Moral  and  Political  Philosophy;  Evidences  of  Christianity;  N* 

tnral  Theology;  Tracts;  Horae  Paulinas;  Clergyman's  Companion  and  Sermons;  complete  in  1  vol., 

8vo.,  with  portrait  and  vignette. 
NEWTON  ON  THE  PROPHECIES;  revised  by  the  Rev.  W.  S.  DOBSON,  A.  M,  Editor  of  the  Attic  Greek 

Orators  and  Sophists,  etc.  etc.,  1  vol.,  8vo.,  complete. 
MISS  MITFORLVS  COMPLETE  WORKS,  in  Prose  and  Verse,  viz:— Our  Village,  Belford  Regis,  Country 

Stories,  Finden's  Tableax,  Foscari,  Julian,  Rienzi,  Charles  the  First,  1  vol.,  8vo. 
MRS.  OPIE'S  COMPLETE  WORKS,  3  vols.,  8vo.,  containing  many  pieces  never  published  in  any  former 

edition. 

CANMMi'.S  SEUTT  SPEECHES,  with  an  Appendix.    Edited  by  ROBERT  WALSH,  1  vol.,  8vo. 
HISTORY  OF  WYOMING,  in  a  series  of  Letters  from  Charles  Miner,  to  his  son,  William  Penn  Mjne^, 

Ksq.,  1  VOl.,  8VO. 


HUCIC'S  THEOLOGICAL  DICTIONARY — A  Theological  Dictionary,  containing  Definition* 
of  all  Religious  Terms;  a  comprehensive  View  of  every  Article  in  "<•)  cv«t<Mn  of  Divinity;  an  impar- 
tial Aroount  of  all  the  principal   Denominations  which  have  c'i'          '    i  the  llelijrious  World  from 
Hi.-  l.lrth  ..f  Christ  to  the  present  day;  together  with  an  accurate  Statement  of  the  most  Remarkable 
Transactions  and  Events  recorded  in  Ecclesiastical  History.     New  American,  from  the  last  Ixmdoo 
i ;  it-vised  and  improved  by  the  addition  of  many  new  articles,  and  the  whole  adapted  to  the 
:it  state  of  Theological  Science,  and  of  the  Religious  World.    By  tha  Kev.  GEORGE  Jtusfl,  A  M, 
with  aa  Appendix,  and  Sixteen  Illustrations.    1  vol.,  Svo. 

ALSO,  The  above  in  I  vol.  super-royal,  ISmo. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


-^CEIVED 

jt         *•"*  1  9  1986 

o«KC.  U£P7.  URL 
| 

L 
C 

I 
f 

L 

C 

| 

^ 

1  fnrri   f>~r%  r/^v-1 

s 


00 

=0 

>• 


A     000193979 


